Elliot, Song of the Soulmate (Love Austen 5)

“On the contrary. Proof this moment means something to you.”

“I think I’m nervous.”

“You think?”

“I am nervous.”

Wentworth drew him close and the electricity between them doubled.

Soft, hopeful eyes fixed on his. Elliot sucked in a breath.

Trembling, he raised their joined hands and placed those warm, careful fingers on his jaw. He looked into his eyes. “You can kiss me now.”

An infinite second passed, and Elliot feared Wentworth had changed his mind. He didn’t want this after all. Elliot dropped his chin and—

Wentworth drew a finger along his jaw and tipped his head up. He was met by the depths of the sea. “You’re beautiful.” Lips combed his as soft as butterfly wings.

The boat dipped and Elliot lost all sense of gravity. He flung his arms around Wentworth’s neck and held on tight. The shivery sensation didn’t cease.

“Are you okay?” Wentworth asked.

“It’s odd. It feels like I’m falling and can’t stop.”

Wentworth chuckled and pressed their lips together again. “Dinnae worry. I’ll catch you.”

Strong arms curved around his waist and Wentworth guided them both to the bed. The sneaky press of their groins as Elliot straddled him, those large hands roaming Elliot’s back. Elliot sighed at the magic of being touched. He flicked his tongue against Wentworth’s lips, a question. A bloody hopeful one.

Wentworth groaned and Elliot’s skin exploded in goosebumps. Fingers melted into Elliot’s hair and cupped his head. Wentworth’s hot tongue slid into Elliot’s mouth. Oh, hell. This was intense.

His first real kiss.

Beyond anything he’d ever imagined. Every nerve sang. So potent, how had he ever resisted?

He lost himself in sensation, exploring every inch of Wentworth’s mouth, hands at those strong shoulders, up that corded neck, in that thick, silky hair. He tasted of chlorine and mint, like he’d snuck a Mentos from the glovebox on the drive here. There was something amusing—thrilling—about Wentworth’s optimism, and he smiled into another kiss.

“You better stop me,” Elliot murmured with a swivel of his hips. “Or I’ll lose my virginity before we’ve been on a single date.” He paused. “A single official date.”

Wentworth kissed him again before drawing back. “Are you saying all our lessons—”

“Were dates. Of course they were. You flirted with me the whole time, and I . . .”

“Flirted back?”

“I always wanted more.” Elliot swallowed. “But I—”

Wentworth pressed a finger to his lips. “I’m not going to move on.”

Elliot was too pragmatic to believe him. Even though, at this particular moment, he desperately wanted to. He sighed inwardly. “I’ll miss you when you do.”

Wentworth pulled them to their feet and drew out the stool under his piano. “Sit down, bumblebee.”

Elliot laughed. “Bumblebee?”

“Because you’re cute, kind, and sweet like honey.”

Elliot raised his brows. “Really?”

“And because one stinging insult from you would surely break a man’s heart.”

His brows couldn’t rise any higher.

Wentworth winked and perched next to him on the stool, fingers sliding over the keys as lovingly as they had up Elliot’s back. He leaned over and nipped a kiss. “I want you, Elliot. Always.”

Their first official date was a midnight picnic at the beach. They chose a full moon and a sheltered bay, and they shared their hopes and dreams over crackers, grapes, cheese, and Elliot’s mum’s lemonade.

“What do you want to do when . . . well, when you’ve finished school?”

“Study psychology, and travel the world.”

Waves rushed to shore and breezes sprayed sand over them. Wentworth hooked his arms behind his head and stared at the stars, smirking. “You can do that living on a boat, you know.”

Elliot snickered, shaking his head. Wentworth, Wentworth, Wentworth. “Let’s make a rule.”

Wentworth rolled onto his side and propped himself on his elbow. “What kind of rule?”

“The kind we follow and don’t break.”

“What is the purpose of this rule?”

“To discourage distorted expectations.”

“Why do I have a feeling I won’t love this?”

Probably because he wouldn’t. “Rules are meant to be respected, not loved.”

Wentworth grumbled. “You’ll make an excellent Head Boy next year.”

“I might not get elected.”

He scoffed. “You’ve more than convinced the student body. Now what rule do you want me to follow, Head Boy?”

Elliot felt as light as the breezes around them. “I want us to enjoy each moment.”

“Done!”

“And, not talk of the future more than a week ahead.”

“But—”

“Promise me.”

“Two weeks ahead?”

“Wentworth.”

Wentworth pressed his lips together on a laugh, and nodded. He caressed a lock of hair off Elliot’s face. “Whatever makes you happy, bumblebee.”

Their second date, Elliot took Wentworth to the opera. He’d scored half-price tickets and he’d never been to an opera before, and . . . it was music. Maybe Wentworth would like it?

It was, Elliot decided during intermission, remiss of him not to look up the opera’s synopsis. Wentworth steered them back to their seats, grinning. He and his dad loved the opera; he’d been to many in the UK and Europe, and he knew this one well.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Elliot said, folding his arms and slouching into his seat.