Eleven

Eleven

DESI

I feel so foolish. I should have never let the alcohol go to my head and flirted so much with Jace. I mean, yeah, he made the "daddy" comment, but he was clearly joking and of course I took things too far. And then to tell him I've never kissed anyone before?! Ugh, he probably thinks I'm such a loser. No wonder he felt like he had to let me down easy and tell me it wouldn't be a good idea for us to be more than friends.

I let myself into my room and swing my arm behind me, slamming my door shut with my power. With an aggressive sweep of my hand, my curtains race across the rod, colliding in the center. I kick my shoes off and focus on the zipper on the back of my dress. It slides down with little effort and my dress ends up in a pile at my feet.

It's a release to use my power. I've spent weeks bottling it up and acting like a human. My lazy nature isn't made for loading dishwashers and folding clothes by hand. I'm like a fish running on land when I thrive floating in the water. All that pent-up energy along with the sting of rejection is too much to contain.

It hurt when Jace said if he kissed me, he would never come back for more. Am I so easy to discard? The way all my dates turn out seems to say I am. My self-confidence is already raw, and with every word Jace said, he picked at the open wound until it bled.

After putting on a satin nightgown, I wiggle my finger at the clothes on the floor. My dress and undergarments float to the laundry basket, and my shoes slide across the carpet until they sit side by side inside my closet. I dust off my palms, like I've just spent hours tackling the dirtiest of jobs. Desperate for something to ease my stress, I will my oil diffuser to turn on. The room fills with the calming scent of lavender and a soft blue light. I fall onto my bed and motion for the lights to turn off.

When I'm as comfortable as I can get in my agitated state, my power pulls back the curtains. I turn on my side, my gaze drifting to Jace's bedroom. The light is still off, signaling that he either hasn't come upstairs yet or he already went to sleep while I was getting ready for bed.

I doubt the latter is true. I've been slyly watching him every night for weeks now, learning his routine, and there's no way he did everything he needs to do in that amount of time. He always turns his blankets and sheets down first, as if prepping his bed for his entry. Then he separates all his laundry from the day, takes a shower, does a set of stretches, and reads for a while before finally turning out the light.

He hasn't come up for the night. I wonder what he's doing down there. I hold back a laugh that turns into a snort. Probably sipping on disgusting grass juice and contemplating the next video game he should buy.

As if on cue, I hear his footsteps on the stairs. They're slow, almost unsteady, like he's trying to decide which way to go. I close my eyes and hold my breath as I wait for a knock at my door. I'm not sure why he'd come talk to me; I think we said all that needed to be said tonight. But then he starts walking again, heading across the house into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him. I exhale deeply and let my eyelids flutter open.

Covered by the veil of night, I watch as the light clicks on and he enters his bedroom. He's distracted by something on his phone and doesn't so much as spare a glance at his window. But that's no different than usual. He doesn't pay attention on a regular night; I'm not sure that he even realizes our rooms share this view. Unbuttoning his dress shirt, he walks into his bathroom.

But something strange happens after that. He comes back out a few seconds later in nothing but his black boxer briefs, running his fingers through his chestnut hair, causing it to stand in different directions. His thumb is still swiping across his phone's screen, which is highly unusual. He hasn't taken a shower, turned down his bed, or separated his laundry. I'm choosing to ignore how creepy it is that I know his routine that well.

My gaze drifts below his waistline, and my thighs clench with desire, a gasp escaping my lips. Jace's nightly routine has gone out the window because whatever he's looking at has given him a massive erection.

"Fuck," I whisper, drawing my bottom lip between my teeth.

He paces the room, and not once does he look up from his phone. He fidgets between slipping his hand down to adjust himself and rubbing his palm along the back of his neck. It's almost as if he's conflicted.

What's got you all riled up, Wilder?

The pacing stops and he stares down at his erection, which is still alive and well. I swear he tilts his head enough that he can see my window from the corner of his eye. Like he's made up his mind about something, he marches across his room and slams his hand against the light switch on the wall.

The room goes dim but not dark. The bathroom light is still on, casting everything in a buttery glow. He walks to the foot of his bed and tosses his phone on the mattress before falling back beside it. I lift my head from my pillow and examine the profile of his body. He lies there with his feet touching the ground and his arms at his side for what feels like several minutes. The screen goes dark, and I wonder if he fell asleep. All of this is so unlike him.

My question is answered when his head slowly turns my way. I drop down, landing in an awkward position. My heart hammers in my chest, and I freeze. He didn't see me. There's no way he knows I'm awake. My diffuser light isn't that strong, is it?

I inch my head in his direction, hoping his gaze has moved away. I suck in a sharp breath. He's still facing me, and his hand is drifting down his abdomen. I should turn my back and ignore what he's doing.

But I don't.

The overwhelming desire to match his movements has the back of my fingers brushing over the swells of my breasts. I take in a sudden breath when I feel how hard my nipples are through the satin, and I can't help but turn my hand over and pinch them once, my lips parting with a whimper. Keeping my eyes on him, I slide one hand down my stomach to match his, but instead of stopping, I slide my fingers just beneath the waistband of my lacy panties, running them over the silky, soaking wet skin between my thighs.

My breathing stops as I wait to see what he'll do next. He follows my lead. The tips of his fingers inch beneath his waistband. He swipes them back and forth, teasing himself before his entire hand disappears inside. The black material of his underwear leaves nothing to the imagination. His fingers curl around his hard length. He tips his head back, and I swear he lets out a drawn-out fuck.

I stop teasing myself and press my thumb to my clit, sliding two fingers inside my slick entrance, and I'm unable to stop the moan that slips from my lips. The need I'd been feeling for Jace boils to the surface and there's no more holding it back. Not when it feels like he's watching me as he pleasures himself.

Taking my bottom lip between my teeth, I rub harder and my back bows off the bed as my legs begin to shake. But I don't take my eyes off him. All I can think of is how I wish it was his hands on me, and that this is the first time I'm openly acknowledging that I have thought of him every time I've touched myself for the past three weeks.

He locks eyes with me, and the space separating us disappears. It's like the pool that our rooms overlook vanishes into a black hole. His window becomes my window, and we're right beside each other. The languid strokes of his hand pick up speed and his lips part. His mouth is so perfect, those sharp peaks of his cupid's bow. I want to know how his kisses taste.

His mouth moves and I hear the words as if he's whispering them in my ear. Come for me.

I can't stop myself from unraveling. I cry out as the little coils in my lower abdomen unfurl and every nerve ending in my body crackles with pleasure. But I don't close my eyes like I ordinarily would. I keep them on him and say his name. I beg him to let go.

Jace. . . please.

He curls into himself, his chin resting on his chest. The muscles in his abdomen flex and he grits his teeth. His hand stops on an upward stroke, and he trembles. It is so damn beautiful to see him falling apart.

Jace's arms fall lifelessly to his sides, and he stares at his ceiling fan. He remains like that, his chest rapidly moving up and down. When his breathing slows, he looks my way again and tips his chin. His mouth forms the words thank you before he stands up and vanishes into his bathroom.

He'sthanking me? Damn, I should be on my knees—well, I'd like to be.

But I have a feeling what just happened between us is the closest I will ever get to touching him. And I'll just have to be okay with that.