Chapter 21

Aro

I snap my eyes open, the entire front of my head aching in that way it does when you’re not getting good sleep. I rub my face, Hawke popping into my mind. I jerk my eyes to the bedside table, seeing the time is after two in the morning.

I pop up, the light in the hallway that I’d left on for him still illuminated.

Is he back? I didn’t hear him come in, and it’s not like I was really waiting, but I do want to make sure he’s safe.

I slip off the bed and rise, stepping toward my door. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but after Dylan dropped me off, I tried to find something to do.

I played Grand Theft Auto V. Went into the bakery and snooped around. Called my sister, but she and her boyfriend were putting Matty to bed.

I went up onto the roof and tried looking at the stars, but all I kept doing was watching the street for him to come home.

Finally, I gulped down two of his beers and crawled into his bed, but then I remembered that it wasn’t my bed, so I crawled into mine instead.

I leave my room and step quietly down the hallway to the other side and see his door wide open.

My stomach sinks, and I peer inside, the bedside lamp on and his bed still made.

Dread sits like a brick in my stomach. No…

I turn, trying to control my breathing, and check the gym, the great room, the other tunnel leading to Rivertown, and the bakery.

Where the hell is he?

I squeeze my eyes shut, grinding my teeth together. Where the fuck is he?

I thread my hands through my hair, ready to go out there and find him. Why is he still out? What’s he doing?

I race back to my room, grabbing my phone and checking for missed calls or messages, but…

There’s nothing.

Not one single thing.

What if Green Street showed up like he anticipated? What if the cops raided the party and Reeves got him?

What if he found someone to go home with?

I drift back into the great room, my fingers paused over his number, but if something bad has happened and he’s capable of answering the phone, he would’ve called or texted to warn me already.

And if he’s with someone, I don’t…

I sink into the couch, sick to my stomach.

I don’t want to remind him that I’m here. It would be humiliating.

I throw my phone down and drop back, slouching.

I just want him to have fun. I want him to find something good, because he’s amazing, but these girls…

I mean, he’s super particular. And picky! They don’t know how to roll with that. How he always lets you know there’s a better way to do something, really doesn’t like to be dirty, and if I put away the dishes, he sweeps through again and makes sure they’re all facing the same way on the rack. It’s kind of cute, but most women would want to kill him.

And they’re not going to be gentle the way he needs them to be. He’s kind of fragile. You just have to be there and not pressure him, and before you know it, he’s holding you so tightly you can’t tell which limb is his or yours.

And the way he breathes into your neck when he holds you… It’s absolutely incredible. But you have to earn that from him with patience. Trust.

No one deserves him.

I tip my head back, whimpering. Why did I tell him to hook up with someone? I should’ve stayed. Vetted her, whoever it was, because I know what he’s like, and I can help. There’s no point in him wasting his time on someone like Schuyler again.

The door in the roof creaks open, and I look up, seeing his long legs descend.

Shit.

I bolt up, move left and then right, see the PlayStation controller and grab it, unpausing the game I was playing earlier.

“Oh, come on!” I shout before I even move my character, but he can’t see the TV from that angle anyway, so whatever. “Oh, you bastard!”

I punch the button, zoning in on the screen, but I notice his every move as he climbs down the staircase. Long black shorts, sneakers, no shirt….

I move, jerking my body right and getting my character into his car. “No, go faster,” I blurt out, glancing up. “Hey.”

He doesn’t stop or look at me, though. He simply passes by the couch, and my stomach twists as he opens the fridge door and then closes it.

“Now, go get the bag of money,” I yell at the TV.

I’m sure he can see through me. Like I haven’t been in the hideout obsessing about what he’s doing, where, and with whom.

It’s fine, though. He’s safe. That’s all that matters.

He wasn’t with Green Street. He wasn’t with the cops.

He was…with a girl. Cool.

I rage drive, the tips of my fingers charged and my thumb jerking the joy stick. Barreling though the city streets, I purposely side-swipe cars parked on the curb and then skid around the corner.

“Whipping the controller around doesn’t make your character go any faster,” Hawke tells me.

Yes, it does.

But I don’t respond out loud. Now that I know he’s safe, and he’s talking to me, I’m going to let him wonder what I’ve been up to instead, having a fine time here without him.

“Turn right,” he tells me.

He drops into the seat next to me, laying his head back, and I keep wanting to look at him out of the corner of my eye to check for hickeys or lipstick, but I don’t care. And if he corrects me again, I’m gonna hit him.

“Raising the controller in the air isn’t going to help you climb the stairs faster, Aro.”

“Shut up.”

“Use the knobs and buttons.” He launches over and grabs for my controller, but I scoot away, breaking into a laugh. “You’re wasting valuable energy,” he shouts.

“I promise I’ll live.”

“Aro…” He reaches for me.

“No!” I pull away.

But he loses patience and picks me up, controller and all, and hauls me over into his lap. I laugh, steering like I’m driving a car as he wraps an arm around my waist, holding me tight.

“Just stay still,” he orders. “That’s always your problem. You get too worked up too fast. Use the damn buttons.”

I play, moving in his lap, leaning and jerking, and he rests back against the couch, taking a swig of his beer.

The scent of whiskey drifts through the air, but he doesn’t seem drunk enough for all the time he’s had in the seven hours since I left him. He wasn’t drinking for all that time.

I swallow, entering the club to go get my money. “So?” I broach.

“So, what?”

I hit the buttons, keeping my eyes ahead. “Who was it?”

I keep my voice light and gentle, fighting to sound like Kade or his other friends if they were asking him about his sex life.

“Schuyler,” he finally says.

I get shot on screen, and I shudder, feeling it.

“And?”

He’s quiet for a moment and then, “You really want to hear this?”

God, I want to puke. “Yeah,” I chirp, steering my controller and trying to sound extra chipper. “If you want to tell me, that is. I need to live the teenage dream vicariously.”

I smile, laughing under my breath, and I want to punch myself. Why am I doing this? I don’t want to know.

But I need to.

His voice is quiet and raspy. “We went into the shower.”

I square my shoulders, feigning interest in the game. “Did she wash you?”

“No, I washed her.”

He looked at her. Touched her. Didn’t think about anything else, did he? Nothing.

“With your hands or a cloth?” I ask him.

“With my hands.”

I blink away the images in my head. “Did you like it?”

He breathes out a laugh and takes a drink. “I was a lot more relaxed this time.”

Oh, fucking awesome. “Yeah, you’re welcome,” I spit out.

I’m really glad I could help you work through some of your hang-ups.

I punch the buttons, fighting to keep the scowl off my face. Why did it have to be her? Thinking about her gloating at their college campus earlier in the day and making sure I know that the two of them will be all on their own this fall, partying and screwing like animals… Goddammit.

“Anything else?” I ask, glaring at the TV screen.

But he just falls quiet, and another sinking feeling hits me. He’s afraid to tell me something.

“What did she do?” I demand.

Just fucking say it.

His voice is quiet, but the only thing I hear as the video game plays. “She gave me a blow job.”

My chin trembles, and tears wet my eyes. “In the shower?” I say, but it comes out as a whisper.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Did you like it?” I ask him.

“Yeah.”

Pain wracks my body, and I can’t take it. I cry out and push myself to my feet, launching the fucking controller right at the TV. I hear the impact, but I’m whipping around and glaring at him before I see if it hit. “It’s like second nature, isn’t it?” I growl. “Giving it away to whoever is available for a good time? Congratulations, Hawke. You are finally a typical male, after all!”

He pushes off the couch, all of a sudden not so drunk and spitting words right back at me. “And what do you know… You do give a shit, after all.” His eyes smile as he gloats, staring down. “You fucking little liar.”

What?

“You seriously stood there at that party and told me to go screw someone?” His eyes blaze as he digs in his eyebrows and looks at me like I’m shit. “‘Just don’t forget your condom’, like you’re my fucking mother? Are you serious right now? No wonder I have trust issues with women! You’re not doing me any good. Just playing with my head more!”

He advances on me and I stumble back.

“Do you have any idea,” he shouts, “how much it hurt for you to want someone else to have me? To just pass me off like that? Like what we’ve been doing means nothing?”

But before I can respond, he’s gone. He storms off down the hall, and a second later, I hear a door slam shut.

Okay, so maybe I underestimated our relationship. Something tickles my cheek, and I wipe it, realizing I’m crying.

But I’m not the bad guy here. I want him, I act like I don’t, but I do care.

I charge after him, passing the empty surveillance room, and seeing his bedroom door closed now. I throw it open, seeing him sitting on his bed, and I stalk up to him. “You know what? Screw you!” I say, tears welling again. “I don’t want to care! You’re a smart guy. Figure out why!”

He surges to his feet, coming at me. “Get in my bed.”

“Fuck you.”

“Get in my bed!” he yells and lifts me into his arms. My heart drops to my feet as he holds me by the backs of my thighs, and I push at his shoulders, his mouth inches from mine.

“What are you going to do?” I gasp. “Make me blow you so you can compare?”

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says.

And he dives in, covering my mouth with his and cutting off my breath. His lips pause on mine, both of ours partially open, and fire spreads over my mouth, across my cheeks, into my hair and down to my toes. My clit pulsates, and I whimper, needing more. I move over his lips, soft, but he groans, diving in and taking me full force. I wrap my legs around him, and he slides one hand up the back of my scalp, kissing me again and again.

“You think I would let her touch me?” he whispers, hefting me up high. “Only you’re allowed to touch me.”

I look down at him as he carries me to his bed, dipping down for another kiss. And then another.

We fall to the mattress, and he thrusts between my legs, covering my mouth with his again.

“I thought you were going to come back,” he tells me. “Or text me and tell me not to do it.”

A sob catches in my throat. “It’s going to be hard to leave you when the time comes, you know?” I press my forehead to his. “You’re my only friend.”

He slips his hand down the back of my underwear, grabbing a fistful of my ass and grinds himself into me, holding me flush with his body. “Friends can do this, right?”

“Yeah,” I whimper, a light sweat already covering my body.

He comes down, pinning my hands above my head and kissing me. Slow. Firm. Playful. Biting my lips, his breath getting ragged as the heat from his tongue makes the room spin. I can’t stop. I squirm into him, inching up to kiss him back, but I want to touch him.

I tip my head back, inhaling and exhaling as he trails down my neck, trying to calm myself down. I don’t want him to stop, but we’re going too fast.

He didn’t touch her. I look down at him. Thank God.

Only I’m allowed to touch him, he said. I smile to myself, loving that.

“Is this mine?” he asks.

I feel myself float back to Earth and focus in on him pinching the T-shirt I’m wearing between his fingers.

I smirk. “Friends can do that, right?”

Share clothes?

But he gives me a mini-scowl. “It’s dirty.”

I shrug. “It smelled good.”

He chuckles and sits up, gazing down at me. “Take it off.”

Bubbles pop under my skin. His bedroom light is still on. He’ll be able to see me like that first night on the couch, and his eyes burned everywhere they touched.

I sit up, drop my eyes, and pull his shirt over my head. Cool air hits my chest, and I set the garment aside. I lie back down, feeling him watch me.

But when I meet his eyes, he’s not staring into mine. His gaze lingers on my blue underwear, which thankfully aren’t trimmed in lace or some shit. I’d have to thank Dylan someday.

“Take those off too,” he says.

The flesh of my nipples pebble, and he sees it, his mouth twitching with a smile.

Slowly, I slide my hands inside and push the panties down, watching him watch me the whole time. I can barely breathe, seeing his body go rigid when I’m all naked and lying on his blanket.

He sits there, and he doesn’t leave, but he doesn’t come back in either. I know he’s worried about what will happen. How his head will never let him have what he thinks he wants.

“Turn on your phone,” I tell him.

He looks at me, puzzled.

“Don’t record, but watch me through the camera,” I instruct. “Like you’re watching something you can’t touch.”

The detachment makes him feel safe. Maybe he’ll be less nervous if he can pretend that I’m not really here. That he’s not really here…

“Aro…”

“It’s okay, Hawke,” I whisper. “Let’s just see if you like it.”

He takes his phone out of his pocket, and I can tell by the pinch between his brows that he’s not sure this is right.

But he raises his phone, pointing it at me, and I start. I slide my hands down between my legs, my breasts plumping out and sitting high on my chest, and he stares at me on his phone, his breathing already getting shallow.

I rub myself, my finger over my clit again and again, bending up my knees and spreading my legs just a little.

The camera moves up, and I lick my lips, biting them to hold back the smile, but it comes out anyway. My skin warms with embarrassment, but I kind of like it. I like him watching me.

I slip my left hand down farther, thrusting my middle finger inside, and before I know it, I’m lost in this.

And so is he. He doesn’t blink, a fire lighting behind his eyes as he watches every move, slowly moving the phone up and down my body, taking in every inch.

I close my eyes, pushing against the bed, again and again as I fuck with my left and rub with my right, performing for him.

My tits bounce back and forth, and I moan. “Hawke,” I breathe out. “Record it. Do it.”

I don’t care. I want him to have this of me for as long as he wants. I want to know that when he fantasizes, it’s to me.

I arch my back, pretending he’s on top of me. “Hawke.” I rub myself hard, adding another finger and moving it so fast, about to come. “Hawke…”

He doesn’t answer though. I open my eyes, seeing him still holding the phone, but he’s not looking through it anymore. His eyes are downcast as he watches my fingers, need written all over his face and in the glow of sweat on his neck. The camera’s forgotten. He’s just watching.

Did I go too fast? Does he not like it?

I stop, pulling my hands away, and sit up, grabbing his face. “Hawke.”

But he just drops his phone, zones in on me, and takes the backs of my legs, yanking me down until I’m on my back again.

I gasp, but then he’s there. His mouth between my thighs, licking so slowly.

I throw my head back and grab hold of his, holding him to me. “Oh, God.”

Taking my nub softly between his teeth, he sucks it hard and then flicks it with his tongue. He strokes his tongue all over, reaching up and squeezing my breasts in both of his hands as he eats me.

He moves his mouth up and down, getting quicker but steady, and I feel it building.

“Hawke, just like that,” I cry.

He sucks, licks, sucks and licks, and I move with it, fucking him back, again and again, until…

I go still, the orgasm exploding and spreading through me, up into my belly and down my thighs. I cry out, shuddering as he sucks me all the way through it.

I gasp and fall back to the bed, shaking and all my warmth sinking between my thighs.

Oh, God…

I’m afraid to open my eyes, so I don’t, just feeling his mouth on my stomach, my breasts, and then my forehead before he wraps me into his body and I fall asleep.

Friends can do this.

I wake up in the dark room, my body curled into his and my head on his shoulder.

I look up at him, the light from the hallway illuminating the room just enough that I make out the sharp ridge of his jaw, the Adam’s apple I licked last night, and his mouth. I reach up, brushing it with my fingers. Does he taste like me? I want to kiss him to find out, but I don’t want to disturb him. I like him like this.

“When I die, I hope it’s with this view,” I mouth, gazing at his face that’s home.

I smile and slowly sit up, careful not to disturb him. I’m being silly. In a few months, we won’t know each other anymore, but whatever view I end up having some day, I hope it’s like him. He’s a good kisser.

I dress in some of Dylan’s leggings, a tank top, and a hoodie, the morning chill seeping through the cement and my socks, and I grab my phone off the charger, heading out of the room to let him sleep in peace.

I tap out a text to Bianca, checking in and letting her know I’ll see her soon, and then I head out to make something to eat, but I stop.

Veering back down the hall, I pass Hawke’s room and enter the gym. Padding over, I jump on the exercise bike, no clue what I’m doing or why, but something surges inside me, like I’m ready to go. About to attack.

It’s a good feeling.

I start up some music on my phone—“Esto No A Terminado”—and pedal, slowly at first and then faster. Five minutes pass, my limbs are warm, and after ten minutes, I’m rising up out of the seat and pedaling as hair comes loose from my French braids and sticks to my forehead.

I slow after thirty minutes, feeling like I could go longer, but my feet hurt on the pedals. I need sneakers.

Hopping off, I throw in a load of laundry, make some breakfast, and tidy up the great room, seeing the dent in the TV. I wince, gently running my hand over the splintered screen.

I hadn’t realized I’d actually hit it. I walk back into the kitchen, dragging my guilt with me.

Somehow it seemed worse, the idea of him touching her than her touching him. If he’d really laid a hand on her, my head would’ve exploded. I don’t care that I told him to do it. He knows me well enough by now to know I’m full of shit.

“Hey, what’s that smell?”

I look up from my seat on the island, my knee bent up as I paint my toes with the black polish that I borrowed from Dylan last night.

“Empanadas.” I let my eyes fall to his stomach that peeks out as he stretches his arms and yawns. “You didn’t have beef, so I made apple.”

I tear my gaze away and continue painting as he drifts into the kitchen, yawning again.

He picks up a pastry, taking a bite. “Shit,” he blurts out, and I hear him chew. “That’s really good.”

Damn right, it is. You’re not going to see those at his cousin’s bakery.

Or is she his aunt? I think I heard that Quinn Caruthers is technically the aunt of the others she’s pretty much the same age as, so...

He takes his laptop that I had open and twists it around, looking at the screen. “GED?”

I glance up, seeing him staring at me. I go back to concentrating on my task. “Just seeing what I’m in for, in case I want to get it.”

And then I shut up, hoping he drops it. I didn’t mean to leave that out for him to see. He’ll think he’s motivating me or some shit. Thank God, he didn’t see me working out this morning. He would’ve beamed with pride.

I quit school about a month into my senior year, so while Hawke and I are the same age, I’m behind. There just wasn’t a point anymore. I couldn’t go to school and give a shit about the French Revolution or Virginia Woolf when Bianca was calling me in tears at my foster home because Mom was too tired to take Matty to preschool and she had a math assignment to get done before her own classes.

Which she hadn’t gotten done the previous night because my stepdad had a party. She couldn’t leave to go somewhere quiet because there was no one to watch Matty. They needed help. I had to work.

“A high school diploma is better,” Hawke says. “Not every college accepts a GED, and you won’t be eligible for some financial aid.”

I dip the brush into the polish.

I’m not going back to high school. I still don’t give a shit about the French Revolution.

But he doesn’t press more, finishes his empanada, and grabs another as he pours some of the coffee I made. I glance up at his bare arms and neck, immediately flushing with heat. What would he look like if he’d grown up in my town?

That back would be covered in tattoos, for sure. Not a bad image, actually. The cords and muscles would look phenomenal covered in ink.

I blow out a slow breath and brush the paint on my toes, thankful I have something to do to distract myself. He hasn’t touched me yet this morning. I know we’re friends, but a little reassurance that he liked last night would be awesome because I’m starting to feel guilty.

I mean, his head was between my legs eight hours ago.

I sigh, the brush slipping over the top of my toe, painting it black. Son of a bitch.

I go to grab a napkin, but he’s there, sliding the stool up to the island in front of me and sitting as he takes my foot and the polish.

I only resist a little, but then I let him. I lean back on my hands as he pinches my toe between his fingers and cleans up my mess. Dipping the brush in and wiping it free of excess, he chews and paints, and I stare at his mouth, still wanting to see if I’m still on his lips.

“I want to do that to you,” I say in a quiet voice.

“Paint my nails?”

I remain silent, because he knows what I mean.

I want to taste him.

When I don’t answer, he looks up, and I see the realization. His lips twitch, trying to keep the smile away.

“You gonna push me away if I try?” I press.

He shrugs a little, moving to the next toe. “I don’t know. I usually don’t know that I don’t like something until it’s too late.”

That’s the conundrum. I like that he feels comfortable with me, but pushing too hard could ruin everything. And I don’t know how hard is too hard.

I shift my eyes, scared to ask but needing to. “Did you like it? What we did last night?”

He finally raises his eyes, and then in two seconds he tosses the brush and hauls me into his lap, pulling my hips into his body. “If you were still in bed when I’d woken up,” he says over my lips, “you would’ve found out how much I liked that.”

I can’t hold back the smile.

He grazes my mouth with his, saying, “How much I liked your lips.”

“Labios,” I whisper the Spanish word, wrapping my arms around his neck, my mind easing.

He dips his head down, grazing my throat. “Your neck.”

“Cuello.”

He grips my ass and pulls me up, biting my breast through my clothes. “And your breasts.”

I tip my head back, tingles everywhere. “Chichis,” I tease.

“And your cunt,” he murmurs, looking at me and sliding a hand between my legs. My clit begs for more.

I kiss his forehead. “Concha,” I instruct him.

We kiss, and I settle back in with him between my legs and my head spinning. Is he just having fun? I need to keep it fun. I can’t fall for him. What if he didn’t fall for me? I can’t be the hurt one.

“You can say cunt but not tits?” I ask.

He smiles, pushing me back up onto the counter. “One of my many mysteries.”

Both the English and Spanish words are pretty vulgar, but I’d let him say them to me. Just him.

He works on the rest of my toes, blowing on the black paint, and I’m glad I’m wearing leggings and a sweatshirt, so he can’t see the chills all over me. I’ve never seen a man do this for a woman before. I suddenly want him to wash my hair now.

“When did you get that Green Street tattoo?” he asks.

I lean back on my elbows. “When I was fifteen. Hugo, Nicholas, and Axel were in the same foster home. Hugo was aging out, but he was already at work. For a time—a short time—it just felt like…”

“Family.”

I nod, sad thinking about it. “I was naïve.”

At the time, I felt like I belonged to no one and nothing, and they were giving me a purpose. Everyone is searching for an identity, young people especially. It didn’t take me long to realize how small that world really was.

I take a bite of his second empanada. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

I sit back up and trace the words inked underneath his collarbone under his T-shirt. “When did you get this?”

He smiles up at me. “As soon as I turned eighteen. My dad has the same quote tattooed on him. He got it when he was falling in love with my mom.”

These violent delights have violent ends.

“It’s not a very hopeful quote,” I tease.

More like something I’d get tattooed after a breakup.

But he jerks his chin, gesturing behind me. “Vivamus, moriendum est,” he recites the words on the wall back there. “I think the two quotes mean the same thing in a way. One warns that passion that burns too hot can be destructive. The other reminds us that no matter what we do…” He levels his eyes on me. “Everything is eventually destroyed anyway.”

So, fuck it. We’re only here once, and it goes so fast. Love as much as possible.

He finishes the last nail. “My father feared how much he loved my mother, but he couldn’t not have her.”

“Why did he fear his love for her?”

“Because we can lose ourselves in other people.”

He twists the cap back on the nail polish, and I gaze down at him, remembering last night. How lost he seemed. How he didn’t even seem in his mind. He was out of control.

“And then…” He rises, relaxed with a playful look on his face. “The next thing you know, you’re having duels where you kill her cousin and four other people die, and all because you had a wild time at a party one night and fell in love with a pretty face after only ten minutes of knowing her.” He plants his hands at my side, getting in my face. “Now you’re dead.”

I smile, connecting the Romeo and Juliet reference to the quote on his skin.

“Dylan has a race tonight.” He slaps both sides of my ass. “Want to ride with her?”

I widen my eyes. Really?