Page 15 of Keeping Ava

He’s holding onto a throw blanket in his left hand, while the other hangs off the side with a phone on the floor beneath his fingertips.

“Christ, please help me,” I say low, a prayer, as a tiny snore slips past those lips. Lips I’d give anything to kiss. To taste.

I can’t stop myself either. I’m not in control of my body.

My feet carry me to him, almost close enough that his fingers brush my skin. Almost.

It’s reckless. Stupid.

But I don’t care. The pull between us makes me do what I shouldn’t, and while I know I’ll regret this for days to come, I gingerly pull the blanket from his hand and cover him. There’s a sigh from his lips and something mumbled—an unintelligible grunt—that quiets into a hum of approval when I kiss his forehead.

The feel of his skin on mine sears me. Destroys more of the wall I need to keep erect.

For a second, I close my eyes and savor him just like this. In secret. Privately.

Without him knowing that I had a moment of weakness.

“Sleep, Eli. I know you’re tired.”

“Ava stay?” Every cell in my body freezes, and I’m afraid to look at Eli and find him staring up at me. At being caught. “I’ll protect her.”

Those words cause my eyes to flash open, and I realize he’s dreaming. Thinking of me. On how to protect— of always being my hero. It endears him all the more to me.

These emotions growing within are a torment. Unfair.

Why couldn’t I have found him in a normal manner? At the movies, my bakery, or grocery store?

Because without a single doubt, I know I would’ve let myself get swept up in him if I had.

With that thought in mind, I walk out of the room and toward his laundry area. I’m on autopilot as I do; putting my clothes in, setting the temp and load size, and after dropping in some detergent, I close the lid slowly. Elijah doesn’t stir, and I don’t go back to where he is.

Instead, I go back to my room and close that door.

Lock myself inside all over again.

It’s better this way. No one will know about my moment of weakness.

No one but me.

* * *

His masculine scent is everywhere inside his home.

Surrounding me. Haunting me. Invading my senses.

Branding my DNA with his mark and I’m becoming an addict, looking for ways to fill my need without seeking him out. Like right now. I’m inside the hall bathroom doing something I shouldn’t.

It’s been a week since I caught him unaware and napping on the couch—ignorant to my newly acquired creepy-like tendencies. Moreover, in those seven days, I’ve become a prisoner to my feelings and wants. Insane for even contemplating anything past my survival.

Because that’s where my focus should be. Yet it isn’t.

Instead, it’s on him.

And maybe it’s because of the crazy, horror-filled ride I’m on, but stopping isn’t an option at the moment. He’s both a reprieve and solace. Something I can hold onto, even if it is in secret and behind these four walls that I’m letting go.

I’m showering; lathering with the tiny bit of his body wash I stole and fighting the urge to touch myself while he’s downstairs inside the gym. Lifting weights. Being delicious. He goes every other day for thirty minutes before breakfast unless he’s working, and today I broke down.

So, while he thinks I’m asleep, I’m taking advantage of his generosity.

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