Page 35 of Devilry

They all begin stuffing shit in their bags and rising from the table. I follow them to the door and say goodbye to them one at a time.

“Elijah, could you stay back, please?”

He freezes at the threshold.

Reaching around him, I grab the door handle and pull it closed. Even though I shouldn’t, I lock it. When the click of the door sounds, I move back and he lets his body sag onto the hard surface behind him. My eyes flick from the locked door back to his face before putting a somewhat safe distance between us— not a lot, but enough that we both get a good enough look at one another. It’s then I can see, without the interference of everyone else, his troubled and tired look from earlier has returned.

“Are you okay?” I ask him. “You look…”

“I look?”

“Are you okay?” I repeat, a little more forcefully. “You were unusually late today.”

“I can make up the time—”

“Elijah,” I say with an exhale. “You don’t need to make anything up. I’m asking because I’m worried about you.”

He rubs the back of his neck, his apprehension calling to me. The longer he stays silent, the more time there is for worry to seep in, and I don’t like it.

“You don’t have to talk to me about it.” I step toward him. “But if there’s something bothering you, you should talk to someone.”

He looks at me, the yearning from earlier calling to me even more than before.

“I kissed someone.” His voice is just above a whisper. His eyes hold my gaze, green pools of unnecessary regret staring back at me. While I’m stunned by the words that’ve come out of his mouth, it’s the way they make me feel inside that takes me by surprise.

To care or not to care.

“Elijah, you can kiss anyone you want.”

My stomach rolls, my body protesting at my lie.

“Then why have I been up all night worrying about what you’ll think of me instead of worrying about the potential mess I’ve put myself in?”

Confused, I only focus on the one part of the conversation that appeals to me. “Why would it matter what I think of you?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” he shouts, irritated. Every part of him screams desolation as he tries to figure out a riddle neither one of us has the answer for. “I don’t know anything about anything anymore.”

“And that kiss?” I pry, stepping close enough to touch him.

“It wasn’t you,” he blurts out.

I skim my thumb across his plump bottom lip. “And that’s a problem?”

He lets out a shaky breath, his gaze moving up from my mouth and settling on my face. “Apparently it is.”

“What are we going to do about it?” His eyes darken with desire at my question, but he doesn’t answer. “Elijah,” I prod, more forcefully. “What are we going to do about it?”

“Kiss me.”

His request hardens my dick, as if he wrapped his hands around me and stroked it himself. “Do you know what you’re asking of me?”

“Please.”

I push myself up against him, our bodies flush, both our cocks hard. “Are you sure?”

“Cole.” My name comes out like a strangled cry. He places his hand on my chest. “Kiss me.Please.”

The crack in his voice combined with the simplest of pleas, is what pushes me over the edge. The caution. The trepidation. The fear. It all should be there, but the second my mouth touches his, it doesn’t matter. Everything but the two of us is nonexistent.

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