Page 76 of The Sound Of Us

I’m so full I can hardly breathe. Slowly, I ride him, my hands behind me for support and my feet planted on either side of him.

Eli swivels his hips, his loud grunts filling the air. I let my vocal cords loose, joining him in a melody of sex-infused sounds. It’s the sound of us. Raw, uninhibited. Forbidden, but so innocent.

He grabs hard onto my hips, pulling me down, and the sounds from his throat increase in tempo and volume. He’s coming.

“Come, Eli,” I whisper into the air. “Come, love of my life. Come, beat of my heart.”

If he was hearing, would I have had the courage to say these words? I don’t know. But I say them knowing that somehow, he knows this already.

One day, I’ll look into his eyes and tell him, but for now, I tell him with my body and my soul. And with words, I tell myself what he means to me. I hear my own declarations and I know that I’ll never give this man up. He’s the stars that explode behind my eyes, the sizzle of electricity racing down my spine. He’s the truth my soul knows and I can never give him up, no matter how fleeting our time together.

Eli fucks up into me with all his might, and then, with a shout that matches his, I spill all over his stomach as he jerks deep inside my ass.

Chapter 42

Eli

He lies in my arms afterward, a lover, sated and free. His body glistened in sweat, curved to mine and his head resting heavily on my chest. His palm rests against my heart.

Even if words could be spoken between us as easily as two hearing people, it would not be necessary right now. Everything that needs to be said is being said. The beat of my heart against his palm. The press of his cheek against my chest. The possessiveness with which I hold him to me and his willingness to be enclosed inside this possessiveness.

All the words in the world would not convey adequately how much this man is mine. And how much I have become his.

He has given me more life here in this strange town than I ever thought possible. I thought my life was fine before him. And it was but, now I know what my mother meant when she said to find someone to love.

He shifts, turning his face up to mine.

Are you hungry? I sign. He frowns so I sign again: my fingers curved like a C against my chest and with raised eyebrows, I drag my hand down my chest once and point at him.

He thinks for a second and then places his curved fingers on his chest like I did and then points at himself. But before he points at himself, he drags his curved hand back up.

I laugh and shake my head. Grabbing my phone, I repeat the sign, dragging my hand down my chest once. Then I type: hungry. Then, I sign the way he signed, dragging my curved hand up and down, and type that sign: horny.

He laughs or smiles wide. Then, he makes the sign dragging his hand down once, and points to himself, followed by the same sign dragging up and down and points to himself. He's hungry and horny.

I laugh until my throat vibrates.

Unbidden, my eyes are drawn to the time on my phone. We have one hour and twenty minutes left.

Reluctantly, I rise from the bed, naked. Axel follows me but takes the sheets with him, covering himself up.

I grind my teeth, fury building inside me for what he becomes when we're not locked inside our lovemaking. He doesn’t notice my observations. He’s too busy searching for his clothes.

I turn my back to him to give him the privacy he thinks he needs and reach for my closet. From the back, I retrieve the piece of underwear I’d ordered online. A pair of black lace panties. My heart thuds in my chest, unsure if this is the right move. What if I’d misjudged that whole thing at the library when I first arrived?

I look over my shoulder to find Axel sitting on the side of the bed, his back to me. The bedding is still wrapped around his middle and his sweats are clutched in his hands. My eyes dart to the opposite side of the bed, near me, where his boxers lie—the piece of clothing he’s looking for.

I pull off the price tag from the underwear in my hand and approach him just as he rounds the bed, wrapped in the sheet. He drops onto the bed and reaches for his underwear. I sink to my knees in front of him. It breaks my heart how he avoids looking at my nakedness. This isn’t shyness. This is shame. And my resolve to take him away strengthens tenfold, even if I have to steal him away in the middle of the night, and then hide him from that sick fuck down the road.

My hand stills his. He looks at me curiously when I remove his boxers from his hand. Dropping it to the side, I tug on the bedding. He lets go slowly and I see the increased tempo of his breathing in the rise and fall of his chest. He avoids looking at me. Even with only the moon as our witness, our accuser and ally, he avoids looking at me. Thankfully, the moon provides enough light for me to watch his curiosity morph into hesitation and back to curiosity.

Seated naked before me now, he places his hands on the side of the bed. He bites into his top lip and averts his gaze. But when he feels the brush of the silk panties against his foot, his eyes fly down and he breaks my heart with his horrified leap backward.

I grab onto his ankle, my fingers soothing, while I hold him in place. He stills, but his chest heaves.

He shakes his head rapidly. No. No. No. His shame screams back at me, reverberating throughout his body with sounds only I can decipher.

I rub my palm up and down his calf, dropping soft kisses along the inside of his thighs and coaxing him back to that safe place where he gives himself to me without inhibition. The place that belongs only to us, where shame and pain and hurt cannot exist.

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