Page 22 of Avalanche
That sharp feeling deepens, a rift of tectonic plates beneath the surface. It’s the same feeling that danced behind my ribs when Matty opened the door for Antoine at the cafe. When he gave him that smile that, so far, I’ve only ever seen him give Lily.
Adoration. That’s what it was.
How can I compete with that?
I drop onto the couch and squeeze my eyes shut, throwing one arm over my face. Like maybe if I shut out everything, I can make sense of the noise in my head.
“Everything okay, ma puce?”
The couch dips and suddenly Antoine is at my side, his body pressed against mine as we sink into the worn sofa.
“Didn’t want to join Matty and Lily in the shower?” I retort, staring into the darkness of my own sleeve.
Antoine huffs, the sound a mixture of amusement and offended disbelief.
“It’s fine,” I lie. “If you wanted to.”
“Hmm.” I can hear the smile in Antoine’s voice. “Is that so?”
I shrug, dropping my arm to my lap, opening my eyes to stare at the wall of beer cans. At the textured ceiling, the old water mark, the drooping curtain.
“And if I was to fuck him?” Antoine’s voice is a purr, dangerous and low against the side of my throat. “If he asked me to. You would be okay with that?”
Heat boils beneath my skin, a surging violence racing up my spine, grinding in my bones. I turn to glare at him, teeth gritted, my breath coming short and fast through flared nostrils.
Antoine grins, a sharp-edged smile flashing white against his skin, green eyes dancing.
“You’re jealous.” He says it with all the pleased surprise of someone receiving an unexpected gift. “You’re jealous of Matty.” His smile grows. My anger falters, stumbling against confusion, against the sincerity of that smile.
He reaches out, tracing the stubble of my jaw with warm fingers, gently turning me to face him. His eyes dart between my own, smile softening to something more uncertain as he searches for something in my gaze.
“I’m jealous too,” he whispers. “Did you think I wouldn’t be? When you pressed his head between Lily’s thighs—didn’t you know I’d want that to be me instead?”
The last vestiges of anger cool, doused like embers beneath icy water. I blink at him as something heavy settles in the pit of my stomach, tightening my throat.
“I… I didn’t think…” I stammer.
But I should have, shouldn’t I? Here I was, silently raging about a smile, about an opened door, but I touched Matty. Felt him quiver beneath my fingertips as he made Lily come, as he spilled his own pleasure onto the mattress.
“Hmm,” Antoine hums, his fingers tapping a rhythm against my jaw. “Non. No, you did not.”
He trails invisible calligraphy down the side of my neck, resting one hand heavily on my shoulder.
“Perhaps next time, we talk first, yes? Like adults.” His lips curve, eyes tilting up at the edges as if delighting in my discomfort. “Instead of sulking like little school children.”
I huff, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “I wasn’t sulking.” But the words sound sulkish even as I say them and a self-deprecating smile tugs at my lips. “I’m sorry. You’re right. We should have talked first. Properly, I mean.”
Because we have talked. Sort of. We’ve teased each other about Matty. About the way both of us watch him when we don’t think the other will notice. About the way Matty blushes when either me or Antoine look at him too long, or sit too close to him on the couch, or accidentally brush up against him in the kitchen.
“I liked it though,” Antoine admits sheepishly. “Liked watching you both.” He shrugs, cheeks darkening as he leans back into the couch, shifting in his seat, widening his knees. “I think Matty liked it too.”
“Yeah.” The agreement comes on a barked laugh. “Yeah, I think he did.”
Warmth coils low in my stomach at the memory of it. The sound of Matty’s mouth against Lily, her little mewling cries of pleasure, the feel of power as I held Matty down, as he looked at me with those blue eyes full of adoration and hunger and desire. At the way they widened in surprise as he came, untouched, with only the taste of Lily on his tongue and the feel of my hand on his neck.
I want more of it. More of him.
“And so?” Antoine drawls, “what happens next?”
