Page 64 of What We Bury

He turns to go anyway. Gets one hand on the doorframe.

And stops.

I watch it happen—watch the leaving simply fail. His knuckles whiten on the wood. His shoulders lock. Every line of him is pointed at the hallway, at the front door he came in through, and he doesn’t take it. He just stands there gripping the frame like it’s the only thing keeping him upright, and I realize I’ve never once seen Eli unable to do a thing he’d decided to do.

“Don’t go,” Sage whispers, her eyes flicking to me like she’s making sure I’m on board here. I give her a quick nod. “Stay.”

The room goes still.

Eli turns, his eyes locking on hers, unblinking. There’s a long, suspended moment where I’m very aware of my hand still under the covers, still slick with her. Aware of Eli’s breath in the doorway being too even, too controlled. The way you breathe when you’re working not to feel something.

“Sage,” he says, voice low, frayed at the edges in a way I haven’t heard before. “I can’t. You don’t?—”

“Come here.” Her voice is small but clear. “Please.”

“I shouldn’t?—”

“Eli.”

He closes his eyes for one beat. When he opens them, something has cracked. The wall is still up, but he pushes off the doorframe and approaches the bed. His gaze drops to my mouth. Then lower. To the sheet bunched at Sage’s hips. To my hand.

“Take it out,” he says.

I go still.

Sage does too, her breath catching sharp. Eli doesn’t look at me when he says it. He looks at her like he’s carving himself open with the effort of staying where he is.

I slip my hand free.

“Tell me what she tastes like.”

I lift my fingers to my mouth, sucking her juices from each digit. Her flavor blooming on my tongue. I don’t break eye contact with Eli as I do it. He’s not looking at my face, though. He’s watching my hand, and the rough sound he makes somewhere at the bottom of his ribs has me moaning with pleasure.

I wipe my mouth on the back of my wrist. All the while, Sage is silent, chest rising and falling quick as she watches both of us.

“She’s . . . sweet,” I say. “Like nothing I’ve tasted before.”

Eli shudders. “Show me.”

I don’t know if he means her or me, but it doesn’t matter. The word flips a switch. I move back, giving Sage room, and she sits up, nervous and vibrating as she pulls the blankets to the side and shimmies out of her sleep shorts.

When her knees drop open, I let out a groan and Eli moves to the foot of the bed, hands shoved into his pockets like he needs to be restrained.

He does.

“Micah,” he says.

“Eli.” My voice comes out hoarse.

“Touch her again.”

Sage’s whole body shudders.

“Eli,” I start.

“Look at how wet she is. She wants you to.”

“Sage.” I turn back to her. Her hair is damp at the temples. Her eyes are dark and steady. “Tell me what you want.”