19. Lena

19

LENA

T he house is quiet. The sun is still bright outside, but in the living room, the curtains are drawn, casting the room in a sensual, dusky light. My heart is pounding as I lie beneath him on the couch.

Talon's eyes are hungry as they rove over my body, and his lips curl into a devastating smile. I can feel the hard planes of his chest against mine, his skin damp with sweat, and his breath hot on my neck.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmurs. "You're so beautiful when you let go, Lena."

I shiver at the sound of my name on his lips. His hands grip my thighs, squeezing gently, and he lifts me slightly, positioning me just right.

"Look at me," he commands, and I open my eyes, meeting his intense gaze. His eyes are dark and stormy, and I'm lost in them. "You're mine, aren't you? Can't get enough."

I nod, unable to speak, as he lowers me onto him. "That's it," he growls. "Take what you need."

I move with him, my body instinctively matching his rhythm. His hands move to grip my hips, guiding me, and his mouth finds my neck, kissing and sucking gently.

"You're so tight, Lena. So perfect," he whispers.

I moan softly, my breath coming in sharp gasps as pleasure coils within me. Talon's fingers dig into my skin, his movements becoming more frantic. His desire fuels mine, and I surrender to the sensations, letting the pleasure consume me.

Talon's thrusts become more urgent, and he buries his face in my neck, his breath hot against my skin. "You feel so damn good," he groans. "I'm close, baby."

His words send me over the edge, and my body tightens around him as I climax, crying out his name. Talon follows soon after, his body tensing as he fills me, his breath a ragged mix of grunts and curses.

We lie tangled together for a moment, our hearts pounding in unison. I can feel his heavy breaths against my skin, and I know he's looking at me, but I keep my eyes closed, still riding the wave of pleasure.

"You're incredible," he says softly, tracing lazy patterns on my back with his fingertips.

I smile, feeling a warmth spread through me. "You too," I whisper back, turning my head to kiss his shoulder softly.

The warmth of Talon's body against mine is suddenly shattered by Mr. Wilson's bellow from the doorway. "What the fuck is going on here?"

My blood runs cold. I freeze, unable to move, as if staying still might make this moment disappear. But Mr. Wilson's face is turning an alarming shade of purple, and Mrs. Wilson behind him lets out a horrified gasp.

"You disgusting pieces of shit!" Mr. Wilson storms into the room.

Talon moves fast, wrapping a blanket around me as we scramble up from the couch. My hands shake as I clutch the fabric to my chest, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"This is sick. You grew up together!" Mrs. Wilson's voice quivers with revulsion. "Like brother and sister!"

"Get your fucking clothes and get out!" Mr. Wilson advances on Talon, who positions himself between me and our foster father. "You want me to call the cops? Tell them about all the shit you've broken? The windows? The car? How you've been grooming her?"

"That's not—" I protest, but Talon cuts me off with a sharp look.

"I'm leaving," Talon says, his voice steady despite the tension crackling through the room. He's already pulling on his jeans, movements precise and controlled. "Give me five minutes to pack."

"Three," Mr. Wilson spits. "Or I'm calling them right now."

My hands tremble as I clutch the blanket tighter around my body. Talon's jaw clenches, his muscles tense as he faces Mr. Wilson.

"And if I ever see you within a hundred yards of this property again, I'm calling the cops." Mr. Wilson's face is still purple with rage, spittle flying from his lips. "You hear me, boy? I never want to see your face again."

Talon's eyes flick to mine for a split second, and I see something dark pass through them. But he says nothing, just nods and heads upstairs.

Mrs. Wilson grabs my arm, her nails digging into my skin. "Get dressed," she hisses. "You disgusting little whore."

The words cut deep, but I lift my chin, refusing to let her see how much they hurt. I gather my scattered clothes from the floor, my cheeks burning with humiliation as Mr. Wilson's eyes follow my every move.

The stairs creak under my feet as I hurry to my room. Through the thin walls, I hear Talon moving around in his room, shoving things into his duffel bag. The sound makes my heart ache. After everything we've shared, after finally giving in to our feelings, it's all falling apart.

I want to run to him, to beg him to take me with him, but Mr. Wilson follows me up the stairs. He stations himself in the hallway between our rooms, arms crossed, ensuring we can't communicate.

"Three minutes," he barks.

This isn't right—what we have isn't wrong. We both wanted this. But the words stick in my throat as I walk toward my room.

I watch Talon throw his duffel bag into his car through my bedroom window. He doesn't look back as he peels out of the driveway, leaving me alone with the Wilsons and their disgust.

I collapse onto my bed, pulling the covers tight around my trembling body. I was wrapped in Talon's arms just minutes ago, feeling complete, whole, and loved. Now, there's nothing but emptiness and the echo of Mr. Wilson's rage.

My skin still burns where Talon touched me, a ghost of his fingers tracing patterns of desire. The memory feels surreal now, like a beautiful dream shattered by the harsh light of reality. My chest aches, and tears slip down my cheeks as I replay those final moments.

The look in Talon's eyes before he left—there was something there, something fierce and determined. But he didn't fight to stay. He just... left. Again. Just like when he turned eighteen.

Mrs. Wilson's words ring in my ears. "Like brother and sister." But she's wrong. Talon and I were never that. From the first moment I saw him, there was always something else between us—something inevitable. As if we're soulmates and were destined to end up together, but now he's gone.

I curl tighter into myself, my body still humming from our encounter. How can something that felt so right be treated as so wrong? The warmth of the afternoon sun streams through my window, but I feel cold inside. Empty.

The happiness of mere minutes ago seems like a cruel joke now. I can still taste him on my lips, feel the weight of his body against mine, and hear his whispered promises. All of it is gone instantly, scattered like ashes in the wind.

My fingers clutch at the sheets, and I catch the lingering scent of his skin. Fresh tears spill over as reality crashes down around me. I'm truly alone now, trapped in this house with people who see our love as something twisted and wrong.