Page 21 of Unhinged Obsession

I take it all in without moving a muscle. Yep. There are the familiar charcoal walls. The hockey sticks mounted above his dresser. The curtains that don’t quite keep the sunlight out. I've been in here more times than I can count over our years at St. Augustine, usually to steal one of his hoodies or annoy him while he was supposed to be studying, but I've never woken up here.

Especially not like this.

I glance down, realizing I'm practically swallowed by a black Saints hoodie that hangs halfway to my knees. The sleeves cover most of my hands, and when I instinctively slip one beneath the oversized fabric, my breath catches as I realize there's nothing underneath it.

Heat rushes into my cheeks as pieces of last night begin drifting back to me. Elijah carrying me. I know I was drugged and left in the Cathedral. Everything is sort of fuzzy before I woke up in Elijah’s arms. One minute I was in my room, and then everything was hazy until he was angrily carrying me to Benjamin’s room to see a doctor. I remember hearing them bicker over finding a female doctor, even though both of them were on the same side of the argument.

I remember burying my face against his neck as he carried me into his room.

I remember the warmth of his mouth brushing my forehead... my temple... the side of my neck, each touch so gentle it felt less like desire and more like he was reassuring himself I was really here with him.

The memories make something inside my chest ache in such a weird way. Like I finally have what I’ve been longing for, but I know we’re not out of the woods yet.

Carefully, I turn my head to look at my best friend. My cheeks flush as I remember what we did last night, how he brought me pleasure I didn’t know existed. He came in his pants just from touching me, and that makes me feel so empowered. I remember being naked with him, feeling the heat of his body, but I don’t remember him dressing me in his hoodie. He must of done that in my sleep, and I make a mental note to tell him that I like the idea of him touching me in my sleep. There’s something exhilarating about it that I don’t fully understand, but I’m hoping to learn with the broody hockey player lying next to me.

Elijah is still asleep, and his arm is draped securely around my waist like sometime during the night I'd unconsciously curled against him and he'd never once considered letting me go. The blankets have slipped low enough that I can see the lean definition of his chest and stomach, his sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips where they rest against the sharp V disappearing beneath the waistband.

He's always been so incredibly handsome.

Everybody knows Elijah Moretti is handsome. I try to stifle my giggle when I think about when we were in high school, and just how broody the attention made him. People would comment on how pretty he was, how striking his face was, and he would throw his head back in annoyance. I always loved how he never seemed to see himself the way others do.

I rub my hand across his forearm, and his fingers instinctively flex into my side. He groans sleepily and mumbles the pet name he gave me when we were kids. Everyone always asked him why he called me that, but in pure Moretti fashion, he would confirm nothing and deny everything.

I’ve always wondered what little dove means to him.

There's something unfair about seeing him like this, softened by sleep and bathed in the pale morning light filtering through the curtains. His blue eyes are hidden behind impossibly long lashes resting against his cheeks, his breathing slow and even, and every hard edge he carries so effortlessly during the day has disappeared. Lying here beside me, he doesn't look like the future head of a mafia family or the most feared initiate of the Black Crown Society.

He just looks like my Elijah. The boy who always ordered mint chocolate chip ice cream because it was my favorite, and in case I didn’t like whatever new flavor of the week I was trying out.

The boy who apparently kept a spare inhaler in his pocket for years without ever telling anyone because seeing my asthma attack was scarier than any of the mafia training his father put him through.

Elijah’s fingers flex gently against my side before tightening just enough to pull me a little closer, and a quiet, contented sound rumbles in the back of his throat like he'd been searching for me without ever waking up.

The tiny movement sends warmth spreading through every part of me, so unexpected that tears immediately sting the backs of my eyes.

I love him more than I think I could possibly articulate to him, and that makes me sad that he may never know how my soul truly aches for him.

Somewhere along the way, without either of us noticing, my heart quietly crossed a line it can never come back from. Despite what happened between us last night, I know what we’re up against, even if he feels the same way for me.

The Black Crown Society has already decided what my future looks like. I found another note in my room before I remember everything going hazy.

Whoever has been leaving those notes is becoming bolder by the day, because Paris told me she received one too. They drugged us. They dressed us up like some twisted offering and left us in the Saints’ cathedral for everyone to find. Whatever game they're playing is escalating, and the closer Elijah stands to me, the more dangerous it becomes for him.

I shift the tiniest bit, trying not to wake him, but his arm immediately tightens around my waist. A sleepy smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and he looks less like a dangerous mafia heir who would slit throats and ask questions later, and more like a frat boy who is giddy about his first co-ed sleepover.

"Come here, little dove," he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep as he tucks me impossibly closer against his chest.

I twist in his arms and ask him a question that I don’t think he’ll answer: “Why do you call me your little dove?”

“Because you’re the only thing that has ever brought me an ounce of peace,” he whispers without hesitation, and opens his eyes to let his gaze rove over my face.

I’m speechless, but he doesn’t seem to mind, because he uses the opportunity to pull me on top of him. He kisses me roughly, with the need of a man who is starving for affection. I get the innate sense that maybe he’s just starved for me.

I let my hands thread through his thick, black hair and I groan into his mouth when his hands slide up the backs of my thighs to rest against my ass.

When I pull away for air, he says, “We have to go to Castlebrook Falls so that I can get some help with the Choosing Ceremony. I don’t want any pushback on this. I’ll handcuff you to me if I have to, and—” I cut him off with a soft kiss before pulling away.

“I’m not going to give you a hard time, Elijah.” I brush his messy hair off his forehead so I can see him better. His eyes flutter shut for half a second, like he loves the affection I’m showing him. “It’s you and me; we’re in this together like we’ve always been.”