Page 87 of Ruthless Desires: Vol. One
Swearing, Elliot pants, “I love the way you feel.”
With a grin, I sit up. He plants a kiss on my forehead as he pulls out. We’re both hot and sweaty, and my stomach is a sticky mess, but I don’t care. This weekend was amazing, and this feels like a blissful extension of it.
“I loveyou, Ell.”
“Mmm. And I love you.”
“How could you not? I’m practically perfect.” I wink at him.
He rolls his eyes. “Let’s get cleaned up.”
Chapter four
Rhett
At home, I find Oliver and Elliot curled up in Ell’s bed, still sound asleep. By the time I go on a run and take a quick shower, I can hear them just starting to get up.
So I head downstairs in nothing but a pair of shorts and get some coffee brewing. By the time I have it poured and breakfast almost done, they’re shuffling into the kitchen, hair still damp from their shower.
Oliver grins when he sees me. “Omelettes? You’re the best. I’m keeping you.”
I snort. “Like you could ever get rid of me.”
Yawning, Oliver wraps his arms around me from behind. He presses his face into the bare skin of my back, and his words vibrate down my spine. “Wouldn’t want to.”
My skin crawls, but my chest warms with satisfaction. “I know.”
“How was Wren this morning?”
Elliot pauses after Oliver asks the question, his coffee mug halfway to his mouth. That look of guilt travels across his face for a few seconds before he takes a sip.
“Tired,” I say. “But happy, I think.”
I hesitate to reveal more. Elliot, Oliver, and I have been pretty open with each other when it comes to what we’ve learned about Wren, unless it’s something more personal that she might like to reveal to each of us separately.
But I have no idea what proper period etiquette is.
My sister was killed when she was a child. And when it came to things like periods and sex, my mother was fairly squeamish.
Do I tell them Wren’s on her period? Do I not? Does it matter? What if she doesn’t care if people know she’s on her period, and I’m being weird? What if shedoescare?
I think it’s probably best I keep my mouth shut.
“You sleep well?” Elliot’s voice is quiet, and he won’t look at anything but his coffee.
“Yeah.” I shove a plate in front of where he’s sitting at the counter. “Really well, actually.”
“Good.”
By the time I’ve made Oliver’s omelette and my own, Elliot has barely picked at his. Oliver is watching him with concern. Omelettes are Elliot’s favorite.
“She seems okay, you know.” I watch him closely.
Elliot sets his fork down before resting his face in his hands. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t take back that I said it was best for us to forget her.”
“Elliot.” I round the counter, grabbing his shoulder and turning him on the stool until he’s facing me. “Mistakes are a part of being human.”
It’s a hard truth I’ve become intimately familiar with over the past few years. One that Ell and Oliver have to remind me of constantly.
