Page 188 of Ominous: Part 1
“I saw the name. I… have a connection. In the office?”
Trafalgar. Financial aid. Ms. Corbin.For fuck’s sake.
He closes his eyes a second, but he speaks fast, like he’s scared I’m going to walk away. “I’m sorry, I know, it’s too much. It’s a lot. But he plays baseball, doesn’t he? And I saw your yearbook, digitally, it’s online. Very high-tech.” He’s looking at me again as I hold onto his words. “There were some photos of the two of you, in theStudents Having Funsection.” He can’t hide his smile with that phrase because the title falls short.
My mind races. I grind my teeth together as I watch him try to explain, even knowing, where Eli is concerned, I’d give a free pass for anything.
“He didn’t deserve this from you,” he says, pressing another kiss to my wrist.
My heart seizes and I feel emotionally exposed.
Closing my eyes, I try to clear my head for a moment, even as I shift on Eli’s lap and desire burns through me, maybe more so since this obsessive revelation.
I remember Nic’s face when he saw what I did.
A baseball game.
I was at his baseball game. He looked so good in his uniform. Blond curls, pale, flushed skin. Bat in hand. We said we’d get matching tattoos one day, but we never even kissed. I just… I just assumed, him walking me to class, holding my hand… I just assumed it meant something more. I built it all up inside my head. I… imagined it.
I wanted to…I wanted to feel something. I wanted to belong to someone.
But when I’d shoved up my sleeve, out of place in Wilmington’s heat, he’d looked as if he might be sick. Then he’d spun around, checking no one was near us. And he said,“What the fuck did you do, Eden?”
When I open my eyes, I think I’m still waiting for the same revulsion in Eli’s face.
I wait for his lip to curl, his eyes to narrow. For him to shove me off of his lap. Maybe make me get out of his car and walk home.
“I want to carve over it,” he says instead, like one might say they’re hungry, or they need a rest, or a drink of water. “I have a box cutter. At home.”
I try to remember I need air to live. That I can’t just hold my breath every time he makes me feel things I want to run to and squirm away from all at once.
“Do you still speak to him?” He tilts his head as he asks, his fingers now pressing tight over the scars, like he no longer wants to see it. But not because he’s disgusted, I realize.
Because he wants his name there instead.
Something akin to elation bursts in my chest. It knots up with anger and I couldn’t exactly name how I feel, right now, in this moment.
“No,” I tell him, like a promise. “Never.”
He squeezes my thigh tighter. Harder. “Good,” he whispers. He leans in closer to me, pinning my wrist behind my back, but not in a painful way like he did before. “Don’t ever talk to him again. He hasn’t earned any more of your fucking time.” And before I can respond, before I can formulate words, or work through my emotions, he’s kissing me.
His mouth fucking devours me, bruising and biting, teeth hitting together, his tongue fighting mine. I reach for the string of his joggers, arching my neck as we break our mouths away from one another and he bites a line down my throat, his fingers spread out over my ass, one hand still pinning my wrist behind my back.
“Baby girl,” he says, like a warning against my throat. “What’re you doing?”
I untie the string, pulling down the waistband of his pants. I push my hand down his boxers, wrapping my fingers around him, hard and heavy andachingfor me.
“Fuck me.” I remember our words from the kitchen as I pump him, unsure if I’m doing it right, because last time we had sex, he guided my movements.“Right here. Like this.”He’s already peeled back some of my worst secrets and I think, maybe, I want him to prove he still likes me, after learning about these scars.
A groan leaves his throat, the sound against mine. Slowly, as I stroke him, my wrist cramping from the angle, he pulls back, looking up at me, hand still gripping my ass, his chest heaving. “Yeah?”
Lust catches fire inside of me, and all I can feel is relief at the fact he’s not going to stop me.Oh, thank God.“Yes,” I tell him. “Yes.”
His eyes search mine, as if trying to find how I really feel. My true consent.
Whatever he sees, it must be enough, because when I tug on his pants after I reluctantly give up the feel of his cock, he obliges, shifting his hips. And as a startled little sigh leaves my lips and all I can think about is sinking down onto his dick, filling myself up withhim,he’s turning us.
It’s one fluid motion from him, but I’m awkwardly pressed against the seat, and he’s reaching for another button which lowers the top half down, down,down,until he’s over me, his hand jerking my thigh to the side, fingers pulling down my underwear. I help him, both of my hands free now, and when the fabric is between my ankles, I kick it off with my shoes.
