Page 62 of Feed Your Fiends

???

My cock is dry and my chest isn’t pressed against pillowy tits but the pillow top mattress instead. It hadn’t been that way an hour ago when I’d woken up, only to fall right back into heaven with Elle still warm, beating and pinned beneath me.

I spring up, tug on the nearest sweatpants, and bolt for the living room, my heart thundering in my ears. I fiddle with my phone, blindly opening the video surveillance app as I scan the living room and kitchen.

She has to be here. The lift won’t work without my keycard I’d hidden, and the emergency exit to the stairs would’ve let off a ring so shrill it could wake the dead.

A cool breeze rustles my hair, and ice rushes through my veins as I storm back into the living room and peer out the open balcony doors. It’s empty.

No. She wouldn’t have—

But she wanted to in the hospital, and that was merely days ago.

Fear grips my throat as my bare feet slide across the textured, graphic tile of the balcony. I will myself to not believe it even as I peer over the railing. I’m so high up that I can’t make out the details of the street below, but what’s clearly absent are flashing blue lights and hundreds of spectators.

A painful gasp of relief escapes my lips as my stomach resettles, but not for long. I’m about to tear through the surveillance app when something catches my eye. An ajar door. The theatre’s ajar door.Fuck.

I’d forgotten to lock it after our shower. The last thing I needed was for her to stumble across the death portrait when death was already on her mind.

There’s a trail leading to the doors, my mother’s letters I’d shredded, and I know she’s followed them like breadcrumbs. Because of my pet, Jarett, I’d held off on any staff coming over to clean and while I could damn well pick up after myself, I couldn’t touch those letters. They burned my skin and my eyes every time I saw the slanted handwriting. The destroyed evidence left behind of someone I’d never see again.

Elle doesn’t glance up when I first enter the dark room. She’s too preoccupied reading the fragmented letters without a hint of shame at being caught. She looks so damn cosy in one of my long-sleeved sleeping shirts.

“Don’t you know that following a trail someone else has set is a trap?”

“I’m already here in your lair…” her eyes drift to the tanks. “Or your aquarium? I didn’t know you liked fish.”

“I like to watch them swim.”

“But there aren’t any.”

“I had to say goodbye before Beaulieu.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry. It went to a doting home.”

She nods before refocusing on the papers. “These are letters from your mother? She had another son?”

“You read my letters?” I stall. Instead of her, I look at the corpse portrait that Elle has already become accustomed to because she’s still here with her.

Aria read those letters, and I had to explain them to her, but Elle took one look at those endearing descriptions that didn’t match me, and it was crystal clear to her.

“Yes,” she says unapologetically. “I didn’t think we had many boundaries left between us. Besides, you said to make myself at home and that nothing was off limits,” she says at my cock pointedly.

“And I meant it.”

“Then?” She lifts a scrap of paper.

I make her straddle me before spreading her ass cheeks so that they warm my hardening cock like a bun. Then, I rest my chin between her tits and sync my breathing with hers. I can’t talk. Not yet.

I’ve wanted to share this secret with Elle and only Elle. Had Aria not come along, I wouldn’t have told any of the horsemen. I don’t know why. Pride? I’d always held my mother in such high regard. Having a kid didn’t change that, but having a kid, a prince that I thought was me this whole time, did.

I was never special.

“Gant,” she runs her soft fingers through my hair. “There’s no escape for us, right? You said our lives are irrevocably intertwined.”

I kiss her, and she lets me. It damn near hurts to pull back as I release her lip from between my teeth a few seconds later. “Absolutely no escape.”

---