“Yeah.”
“Look at me.”
I’m not used to people using my real name. It’s not often that I give it out. I’ve gone by “Sassy” since college and at this point, only a handful of people know that’s not my legal name.
Somehow, when Elliott says my name, I forget everything but him.
I forget everything but the fact that he’s here with me.
I forget everything but the way my name sounds on his lips.
I forget everything but the way I want to taste him.
Forcing myself to look up at Elliott, I’m once again caught off-guard by how big he is. He really is giant. He’s tall and muscular and wide and safe.
He’s safe.
I don’t feel scared or worried with him. I’ve never been afraid he was going to hurt me or break me or damage me. That’s just not his style. It never has been. No, my concern with Elliott has always been something else.
My heart.
He could crush it.
I’ve only been on the couch with him for a few minutes and already, my self-control is fading. Half of me wants to scream out that I love him and half of me wants to run off into my room an
d hide. I can masturbate alone one more night. That’s all right. No harm, no foul, right?
“What?” I ask. His eyes are gentle.
“I want to tell you something.”
He carefully removes my hand from his leg and holds it in his own. Oh, shit. This is it, then. This is the part where he tells me we’re only going to be friends. This is the part where he tells me I’m out of line, where he says he doesn’t want me.
This is the part where he doesn’t want me.
I force myself to stay calm. I force myself to breathe and stay calm and to relax. Just relax, I tell myself. Relax.
Elliott doesn’t say anything right away and my determination to stay chill vanishes completely.
“What?” I repeat.
“I love you.”
“What?” I screech, dropping his hand.
Fuck, I heard him wrong.
What the fuck did he just say, because I heard “I love you” and I know that’s not what he said.
“What did you just say?” I ask again. I hear the desperation in my own voice. I hear it, and I sort of hate it, but I don’t know what to do.
I jump up and stand, looking at him, suddenly aware of how little I’m wearing, suddenly aware of the fact that Elliott, my fucking childhood dream, is sitting on my couch and I think he just said he loves me.
“You heard me,” he says, and I wonder how he can be so calm right now. If anything, Elliott looks the most relaxed I’ve seen him all day, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m going a little crazy.
I pinch myself.
“What are you doing?” He asks.