“I missed you, sweetheart.” Thrust. “I missed your tight pussy.” Thrust. “I missed your tiny moans of pleasure.” Thrust. “I even missed your fucking stubbornness.”

Our breaths mingle together, rough and unpolished with raw, unhinged pleasure. Our scents mix and fill the air, killing the chlorine smell and replacing it with pheromones.

Is it weird that pheromones should only be in the brain, but they’re now floating all around us? I can inhale them off Aiden’s skin, taste them on my tongue.

He angles my thighs up, and I gasp as he hits that sensitive spot inside me. He pulls out almost completely until only the tip remains, then rams back in over and over.

And over.

The orgasm hits me with a power I haven’t felt before — sharp, deep, and violent. My back arches off the ground as I scream.

Aiden swallows the sound with his lips against mine. He kisses me through my orgasm. He worships my mouth with his tongue and my pussy with his cock.

I can feel myself clenching all around his length, almost strangling him, suffocating him.

He continues his onslaught for a few more seconds before he growls, “Mine.”

22

Elsa

Past

I strain as I drag the heavy bag behind me. I had to bring everything. The sandwich, my drawings, and all the Maltesers.

I tricked Uncle Agnus into buying me more behind Daddy’s back.

The boy with grey eyes must like Maltesers, too. He’s so generous and always shares them with me.

I stop near the basement door and throw a glance around the dark corridors. Them monsters lurk here, you know, but I’m not scared of them. I’m scared that someone — a person — follows me and finds Grey Eyes.

Yesterday, Uncle Reg almost found me. If I hadn’t heard him come down the stairs and smelled his pipe, I wouldn’t have escaped in time.

I hid in my room and didn’t see the boy with grey eyes.

I miss him.

I was counting down the hours until I could see him again, sit by his side, and listen to him talk all night.

He doesn’t say much, though. I have to always talk because he’s usually silent.

Holding the flashlight under my armpit, I slowly open the basement door.

A smile tugs on my lips. “I’m here!”

No response.

“Grey Eyes?” I drag the bag behind me as I close the door. The creaking is haunting in the silence. It’s a little scary, too.

Whenever I come in, the chains would rattle as he’d stand up to meet me.

I direct the light towards the corner. The bag’s dragging sound comes to a screeching halt.

He lies in the corner, both arms shielding his face.

But that’s not it, no.

Red oozes down his skin and onto the floor.

Red as in blood. So much blood.

“Grey Eyes!”

I run towards him, my heart beating so fast like it wants to leave my chest. Once I’m within touching distance, I crouch in front of him, my lips trembling.

He’s not moving.

Why is he not moving?

“Grey Eyes…” I shake him with unsteady hands, all sweaty and cold. “Wake up. I brought you Maltesers and your favourite sandwich with cheese and ham. I brought you juice and everything.”

The flashlight falls to the ground as I lean closer to his face. Tears soak my cheeks, and I taste salt. “Grey Eyes… P-please, don’t go. Don’t leave like Eli… Don’t leave me.”

“I… won’t.”

“Grey Eyes!”

His lids slowly flutter open, but he doesn’t get up. They’re black in the dark, his eyes. Like all the emotions have been taken out of him.

His face appears pale and his lips are dry and cracked. The blood has turned sticky around his arms.

It’s a mess. I need to fix it before them monsters come here.

Daddy says sharks smell blood from far away, and I think them monsters do, too. They’ll smell Grey Eyes’ blood and then attack him.

I run back to my bag and shuffle it across the dirty floor. Perspiration trickles down my temple and down my nose from the effort.

Panting, I search through it. There are napkins and water. Since Grey Eyes always gets hurt, I stole cotton balls and the bottle Daddy uses to clean my wounds. He said an injury needs to be cleaned before it’s wrapped.

I wipe the sticky blood away with dry napkins. Blood is gross, you know. It wouldn’t go away from the skin.

A deep wound cuts along the side of his arm near his elbow.

It must’ve hurt so much.

The need to cry hits me, my nose tingles and my eyes burn, but I don’t cry. I have to be strong for him.

“It’s going to sting.” Biting my lip, I pour the liquid onto his injury.

A whimper comes from him as he watches me with half-closed eyes.

“I’m sorry it hurts. I’m so sorry.” Tears stream down my cheeks even when I tell them not to.

Just because he’s not crying shouldn’t mean he’s not hurt. I’m crying for him, not for me.

Using the cotton balls and the napkins, I wrap it around the wound as tightly as I can. Daddy said it has to be tight and clean so no nasty germs get in there.

“W-who did this to you?” I ask. “Them monsters?”

He nods once.

“I’m going to save you. I p-promise.”

His other hand wraps around my arm and tugs me down. I lie beside him, his injured hand remaining limp between us.

“Stay like this,” he whispers.

My lips tremble and my nose tingles as I stare at him and cry. I cry for what seems like forever. My tears turn into hiccoughs and then into loud sobs.

It’s ugly, snot and tears cover my face, but I can’t stop.

It hurts so much.

His thumb wipes under my eyes. “Don’t cry.”

“I can’t stop.”

“I don’t like it when you cry.” He continues gathering my tears and making them go away.

“Why?”

“Because it hurts me when you’re hurt.”

“M-me, too. That’s why I’m crying. I don’t want you hurt.”

“I’m going to be okay, Elsa.”

“Promise?”

He doesn’t answer. I jerk into a sitting position, hiccoughing and drawing involuntary breaths. “P-promise?”

“I can’t.”

“But why?” I shriek. “Does it hurt too much? I’m going to kiss it better.”

Leaning over, I place a kiss on the side of his bandage. “Daddy says it heals when you kiss it.”

He smiles. It’s weak and with no energy, but he smiles.

“You need to eat.” I rummage through my bag and bring out the sandwich.

It takes me some time to help him sit up against the wall. Once he’s settled, I wrap the blanket around him and place the sandwich between his fingers.

“You have to eat all that to get better.”

He munches slowly, not like the other days when he was so hungry, he devoured it.

I crouch in front of him, place my arms on my knees, and watch him. His injured arm lies limp beside him. The bandage around it is ugly.

“I have an idea!” I search in the bag and bring out my black marker. I was going to show him the picture of houses I’ve been drawing and ask him if he knows how to make one.