An Arrow To The Chest

Chapter 41

"Was that really necessary?" He asks only a second after she leaves the kitchen, and I watch her back until she disappears from view.

"You said to get rid of your one-night stands, and that's exactly what I did. In fact, you should be thanking me"

"Thanking you? Jealousy doesn't look good on you; you know that?"

The stupid smirk on his face suggests that he's finding this amusing, and I want to ask him what on earth he finds so funny.

"I'm not jealous, I'm pissed off. It was a fucking performance Arrow- it was like she wanted us all to hear. Next time why don't you hire some backing vocals or an orchestra to harmonise with her."

"I really don't get how this is my fault. Bad judgement of character, I'll try to bring someone a bit quieter next time."

His remark pisses me off even more, and I don't know if I can take another night of hearing some girl screaming his name in total bliss. Does he not get it? I don't want his naked body anywhere near another girl, the idea repulsing me to a point I physically feel a sinking in my stomach. But I can't exactly tell him that.

"Can't you just go back to their place? Why do I always have to wake up and see a new girl helping herself to my coffee or my mugs in the morning? You have absolutely no consideration for anyone but yourself!"

"If I want to bring back a different girl every night then I fucking will- don't tell me what I can and can't do. Just because you've got a little crush, and wish it was your body I wanted to fuck, doesn't mean you get to be a bitch about it. Grow up, Eloise."

My cheeks burn at his comment, realising just how transparent I am, and hate myself for it. Deny, deny, deny.

"A crush? On you? You have got to be kidding me- I wouldn't let you fuck me even if- "

"Did you listen last night? Wish her moans were your moans, wish it was you I was slamming myself into? Is that what's got you so riled up, knowing the closest you're going get is to touch yourself and wish it was me?"

His crass words take me off guard, and I stutter like an idiot. Who the hell did he think he was? He starts walking towards me, and I hold my hand up in a halt position before he gets too close.

"You are sick. And deluded. Sick and deluded."

"Sick and deluded?' he repeats, taking another step forward. I try taking a step back, realising how close he's now standing, only the countertop pushes into my back and hinders me from moving any further. I'm trapped.

"Yes! I find you disgusting, I-" before I have time to finish his sweaty palms are on either side of my face, holding my head still as his mouth collides with mine. I feel his teeth graze my lips as he violently tugs at them, trying to get them to comply and kiss him back.

I shouldn't kiss him back; I'm meant to be mad at him. But God, how I want to.

All it takes is a moment of weakness for my arms to wrap themselves around his neck, and for my body to react to his. I press myself against him as I kiss him as hard as I can, pouring every bit of hatred and jealousy out into his mouth.

Kissing him is like fireworks and explosions, and being submerged into boiling water that is scorching my skin and cooking me alive.

His hands move from my cheek to my hips, and I freeze in preparation for him to push me away, probably followed by some rude or snide remark. For a moment I wonder whether he kissed me to prove a point, to prove that I did have some weird obsession towards him. But I also didn't care. If It meant kissing him for a moment longer, I'd submit to any stupid point he wants. I just need him to kiss me a little longer. I'd do anything.

To my surprise he grips my hips and lifts me onto the countertop, his mouth unbothered that I've stopped reciprocating, and instead, kissing a line along my jaw. I realise how heavy I'm breathing, and my chest rises and falls whilst thick pants escape my mouth.

His lips hit a sensitive spot against my neck and an involuntary gasp falls from my lips, my whole body folding into him as my legs wrap themselves around his waist and pull him in. Oh God, Oh God, Oh God.

His name is on the tip of my tongue ready to come out in a raspy moan, only I hold it back. I'm scared that if I say it once, I'll want to repeat it again and again until it's the only word my mouth knows how to say.

Just as I think I want him buried in my neck forever, his lips find their way back to mine, and I'm reminded of how perfectly they mould into me. I could kiss his lips forever.

I feel the roughness of his fingertips graze the bare skin by my hips, with my top sliding up ever so slightly. He hesitates, and it feels as if he's asking for permission to touch my bare skin, giving me an option to change my mind. It feels almost sinful to say no, my body begging to be pressed against him, wanting to feel every inch of him against every inch of me.

"Eloise, tell me to stop," he says the words so quietly against my lips that I question whether he even said them. Maybe it was my own subconscious mind playing at my guilty conscious? I ignore it, and instead clamp my legs tighter around his waist, trying to get him to come closer.

"Tell me to stop," no, it was definitely him saying it.

He rips his mouth away but keeps his forehead pressed against mine- his breath equally as loud and strained. His eyes are squeezed shut so forcefully the bridge of his nose is wrinkled, and I feel a burning desire to place a kiss against the tip.

"But I don't want you to," I whisper, the words feeling pained and viscous in my mouth. His lips are still so close, and if I just lean the tiniest bit, I'd be back to kissing him.

Anyone could have walked in and caught us red-handed; my legs still around his waist, and his hands resting against my hips. I wonder whether Tia would quietly walk away, allowing us to sort this mess out between us, or whether she'd cause a scene and want to catch us in the act?

The smart thing to do would be to ask Arrow if we could go to his room or anywhere more private, but I'm scared the magic bubble he seems to be entrapped in will pop.

"If we're going to do this, the boyfriend needs to be out the picture."

He opens his eyes and looks at me, and I can feel my expression freeze up. Do this? Do what? Was he suggesting what I think he's suggesting?

"W-w-what?" I stutter.

His hands move from my hips to my bare thighs, squeezing as he moves up to the edge of my shorts. His thumb flicks over the fabric, straight between my legs in a swift but gentle motion- enough to make me yelp and seize under his touch. I needed him to touch me like that again.

"I'm done playing this dumb fucking game. You want me to touch you, and make you moan, and make you as wet as you're getting now? Well, sort your shit out, then come find me. But I'm not fucking around while some other guy thinks you're his, okay?"

He's giving me an ultimatum. Him or Jackson.

I want to tell him that making me choose wasn't fair, that this was my life he was messing with. The choice should be easy; I should be able to tell him that I wasn't going to pick him over someone I've loved for so long. Someone that everyone keeps reminding me I'm 'so lucky' to have. But I can't.

"Okay."

"Okay what?" he asks.

"Okay, I'll come find you when I sort my shit out," I say the words slowly, not really wanting to say them, and instead, wanting to carry on the fiery make-out session from before. I want to feel his thumb flick against my most sensitive parts, and his mouth to suck aggressively against the delicate part of my neck.

But I can tell the moment is over, and I unwrap my legs from around his waist as he takes a step away from me.

"I don't get where this moral compass has come from if I'm honest. You don't take me as the type to care whether a girl has a boyfriend or not."

"And you don't seem like the type to cheat on their boyfriend, so it looks like we shouldn't judge books by their covers."

"Touché," I mutter as he stalks out.