SWNOVELS Broken Rivalry : Chapter 15
Parking in front of the building, I linger in Eva’s car longer than necessary. My lips still tingle from the kiss with Ethan, and my hands quiver, overwhelmed by the sensations it stirred inside me. Ethan wasn’t my first kiss; high school had seen a number of those. But nothing could have prepared me for that kiss with him.
Resting my forehead on the steering wheel, I draw a deep breath. Soon, I’ll have to face Eva, who I anticipate will be heartbroken. Anger toward Ethan bubbles inside me for disrupting our session, even though I know he, like me, was oblivious to the emotional minefield between Eva and Cole. Witnessing their confrontation felt like inadvertently triggering a nuclear explosion.
Straightening in my seat, I resolve that this can’t happen again. The only way forward is for Eva to open up to us. If we understand her story, we can be better prepared.
Am I ready to share mine, though? I wince at the thought but nod to myself. If that’s what it takes, then yes, I am.
Ascending the stairs with unwavering resolve, I find Eva on the sofa, engrossed in a book, adorned in her typical dress pants and no-nonsense cardigan. Her face is composed, and if not for the redness of her eyes and nose, I might believe the events of an hour ago were mere figments of my imagination.
“Are you okay…?” My voice trails off as I approach the sofa cautiously, as though fearing I might startle her.
“Uh-huh,” she replies absentmindedly, reaching for a cookie beside her.
I observe her in silence for a few moments, uncertain how to broach the subject given her newfound composure.
It’s just pretend; you should know that. You pretend every day.
“Eva…”
The door opens, and Nessa enters, the clinking of glass audible from the bag she carries.
I raise my eyebrows, and she grins, mischief lighting her eyes.
“Ladies,” she announces, “it’s time to get shit-faced and spill secrets.” She places the bag on the counter, extracting bottles.
“How did you even buy this? You’re eighteen,” I question as she turns back toward us.
She shrugs. “The proper Brit helped. He’s twenty-one.”
I find it hard to believe Liam would do that.
“Did he?” I probe.
She shrugs again, turning back to retrieve the mixer and prepare whatever cocktails she has in mind.
“He said that in Europe, you can drink at eighteen. It only took one blow job.”
She turns around, laughing at the shock on our faces.
“God, you’re so gullible! It’s wishful thinking.”
I raise an eyebrow, amused yet intrigued, as she begins to pour the vibrant liquid into glasses.
Nessa balances three glasses in her hands, placing them on the small table before retrieving a mixer brimming with alcohol and setting it amid the glasses.
We each grab a glass, and Nessa, with a twinkle in her eye, raises hers in a toast. “To baring a smidgen of our souls, in the name of better protecting each other.”
The clink of our glasses resonates in the room, and I take a sip, tasting the margarita’s tangy sweetness on my tongue.
“You didn’t skimp on the tequila,” I observe, sensing the liquid fire slide down my throat.
She winks. “I figured some of us might need a bit more liquid courage than others to open up.”
A silence envelops us, punctuated by sips of our drinks and cautious glances, each of us pondering who will break the ice and what will be revealed.
Nessa downs her glass in one go and exhales audibly. “Alright, I’ll kick things off,” she declares, pouring herself another and leaning back with a mischievous grin. “Bet you didn’t know you’ve been living with a deaf girl, did you?” Her grin fades into a more somber expression as she lets the revelation sink in, allowing vulnerability to peek through her usually defiant demeanor.
My glass halts midway to my mouth. “You’re deaf? But…” I gesture toward the headphones.
“The headphones?” She taps them lightly, a small, introspective smile playing on her lips. “They’re a bit of a safety net, I suppose. They help me blend in, avoid the pitying looks and awkward conversations.”
Suddenly, things make sense: her distant look during conversations without eye contact, her occasional unresponsiveness.
“But how—” Eva begins, but Nessa’s eyes, locked onto mine, don’t waver until I glance away, and she follows my gaze. Her awareness of her surroundings is uncanny.
“How?” Eva repeats, her voice a blend of surprise and curiosity.
Nessa turns to her. “How do I manage to pretend? How do I speak that well?”
Eva’s cheeks flush faintly.
Nessa waves her hand, her eyes reflecting a depth of unspoken stories. “I lost my hearing at fourteen. It was a tough pill to swallow, and it changed my life in ways you probably can’t imagine. But I learned to adapt, to find new ways to communicate and connect with the world around me. Meningitis led to an infection, which spread to the cochlea. I’m not ashamed, but I hide it because I don’t want to be defined by it. I don’t want to be the ‘poor deaf girl.’ It’s not who I am.”
I nod, a strange sense of understanding washing over me. “You’re not that to us,” I assure her, moving closer and enveloping her in a gentle, supportive hug. “You’re Nessa, our roommate, our friend, badass extraordinaire, and master hexer.”
She offers a small, genuine smile. “I know. But after losing my hearing, I spiraled, got drunk, stole a car at my sister’s wedding, earned myself a DUI, and, well, here I am. But!” She raises a finger dramatically, “In four months, I can drive again.” She takes a long, deliberate sip. “Who’s next?”
“Okay, my turn,” Eva says, refilling her glass with a bit more resolve in her eyes. “I owe you guys at least this much after the meltdown you witnessed.”
I take her hand while Nessa, ever the comic relief, snorts, “Oh, come on, as far as meltdowns go, that was like a two out of ten. Remind me to tell you about the time I ended up in a tutu at the police station.”
My eyebrow lifts, silently requesting that story for another time.
Eva clears her throat, a little shaky but determined. “Cole Westbrook and I were… from different circles in high school. He was the star athlete, and I, the music geek. Our paths never really crossed until—” She pauses, sipping her drink for a bit of liquid courage.
My fingers squeeze hers, offering silent encouragement.
She shows us her left hand, a scar boldly interrupting her palm. “I had a full scholarship to Julliard, then the accident occurred.”
Nessa and I exchange a glance, recognizing the pained twist of Eva’s expression at the mention of “accident,” suggesting there’s more to the story. Yet this moment isn’t about prying; it’s about sharing.
“It cut the nerves in my left hand,” she continues, voice barely above a whisper, “and Cole… he played a part in it, whether he meant to or not. It’s a wound that never quite healed, and seeing him again, it’s like ripping off a bandage that was barely holding everything together.” She sighs. “I can’t play the violin like before. Julliard, my dream, it’s gone. I spent a year in rehab trying to fix the damage and figure out a new, unplanned future, and this is why I’m starting one year late. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.” She finishes her drink in one go.
My heart swells, filled with the depth of their shared sorrows and unspoken struggles. And then, it’s my spotlight, my moment to bare a piece of my soul.
“Back then, I was a totally different person,” I start, a bit of sadness sneaking into my voice. “I was a student at Crestwood Heights Academy with Ethan.”
“The school for the elite jerks, right?” Nessa interjects.
I half laugh, half snort, smirking a bit. “Exactly that one. Ethan and I, we’ve never been friends. I’m not sure why… it should have been logical for us to band together, but my father requested me to stay away from him. You know, not to meddle with the son of the boss. And Ethan seemed to dislike me from the first time I met him at his parents’ garden party.”
Eva gives me a side smile. “He doesn’t seem to dislike you now…” She trails off.
I blush a little. “No, he doesn’t, does he?” And that’s a piece of the puzzle that doesn’t fit my idea of the narrative. We became rivals for no real reason. Always wanting to best the other on stupid things and pulling annoying pranks. Like I once put lube on his history paper while I was at his house, he stole my underwear while he was at my house to expose them around school… petty shit that I almost missed sometimes when I was sleeping on the uncomfortable sofa of the trailer or passing through the metal detector of my new high school.
I shake my head, letting go of the memory. “I was wealthy… not Hawthorne wealthy, but wealthy enough to get a brand-new Audi for my seventeenth birthday and walk through school hallways in Louboutins.”
Eva whistles low and slow, an echo of sympathy in the sound.
I wave her pity away, not wanting it to dampen the fire kindling within me. “It was all an illusion, really. My father, the CFO of Hawthorne Enterprises, got entangled in a financial scandal that I suspect—” I halt, shaking my head. I don’t want them to know that I suspect Ethan’s father to be equally guilty but with the wealth and cunning to pin everything on my dad. “We lost it all, ended up in a trailer park, and my father… he took his own life in his cell six months after being sentenced.” A fact that still twists a knife in my gut. I know he was drowning in shame, but I can’t reconcile that with him being ready to abandon us. A part of me suspects Ethan’s father played a role in that too. I drain my glass, the liquid courage soothing my raw nerves, and pour another. “I finished my senior year at public school, and with my grades taking a hit, scholarships were off the table. That’s why I worked full-time last year, and then this opportunity came along.” I shrug, trying to shake off the heaviness of my past.
Nessa leans back, her eyes reflecting sympathy and newfound understanding. “Fuck… We’re quite the band of Oliver Twist, aren’t we?”
Eva and I share a giggle, the tension lightening a bit, and I find a small comfort in the humor Nessa always manages to find, even in the heaviest of moments.
Despite the pain, I experience a sense of relief having shared my truth, and I see it mirrored in them too. They’re more at ease, though the alcohol is likely lending a hand in that as well.
“You know what we need now?” Eva asks after a while—her words slurring a little. “Greasy takeout!”
“I second that!” Nessa agrees. “Let’s order in,” she adds, grabbing her phone from the table.
I glance over at them, seeing Eva’s head slumped against the sofa, her eyes barely staying open.
I toy with the phone in my hand, my mind a whirlwind of emotions after the revelations we’ve all shared. My fingers hover over the keys, contemplating whether to reach out to Ethan or to allow the night to absorb my unspoken words and feelings. I didn’t want to, but damn it, I like you. A lot. This wasn’t the plan. Ugh. I hit send before I can second-guess myself.
No reply comes, and a pang of regret twinges in my soul. But then, the doorbell rings, signaling the arrival of our Chinese food. I stagger slightly as I stand, making my way to the door, but when I open it, it’s not the delivery person standing there. It’s Ethan, bags of food in hand and a concerned expression on his face.
“Why are you here?”
He steps inside, placing the food on the counter, his eyes scanning the room, landing on the bottles and our two roommates—Eva is now lightly snoring, and Nessa smirks knowingly.
Nessa winks, grabbing a bag of food and retreating with her headphones in place. “We both know I won’t hear anything. Have a great night, Poppy… and Small Prick.” Her words leave me blushing, my gaze snapping back to Ethan.
“Why are you here?” I repeat, my heart racing.
“Are you drunk?” His voice is low. Intense. And it sends shivers down my spine.
“Not enough to not mean what I say or regret what I do,” I reply, my voice steadier than I expected.
He sighs, his hands cradling my face. “I like you too, Poppy.”
“You came all this way to say that?” My voice is barely above a whisper.
“Yes,” he murmurs, “because if I texted back, I wouldn’t have been able to do this.”
His lips meet mine, and it’s like everything else just vanishes. It’s us, our secrets, and the undeniable connection that pulls us together. We lose ourselves in each other, not going all the way but going far enough that the barriers between us crumble, leaving only raw emotion and unspoken promises in their wake.
His lips are a gentle yet insistent pressure, and my world narrows down to this moment, to the feel of him, the taste of him. My hands, once trembling, now find a sure place on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath them. Ethan pulls back, his eyes searching mine, a question lingering in their depths.
I answer by closing the distance between us again, my actions speaking louder than words ever could. My hands slide up, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper into the kiss. His response is immediate, a low groan vibrating through him as his arms wrap around me, pulling me flush against him.
We break apart, breathless, foreheads resting together, and for a moment, we simply breathe each other in. His hands, warm and steady, slide down to rest on my hips, thumbs caressing the exposed skin there.
“Poppy?” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion and desire.
“I want this, Ethan,” I say, trying to sound sure of myself. “I know what I’m doing, okay?”
His eyes, dark and intense, lock onto mine, and there’s a silent exchange, a promise of what’s to come. I take his hand, leading him toward the bedroom, our fingers entwining naturally. The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of us, our shared secrets, and the new path we’re forging together.
As the bedroom door clicks shut behind us, Ethan draws me into his chest, his heartbeat a steady, reassuring rhythm against my own erratic pulse. A flutter of nervousness dances in my stomach, heightened by the firm pressure of his arousal against me.
“I want to kiss you everywhere,” he murmurs, his voice a sultry whisper as he showers my face with gentle kisses. “And taste every inch of you.”
My fingers find the hem of his shirt, pulling it upward to reveal a chest that is both toned and invitingly warm beneath my lips. I press kisses to his skin, each one a silent promise, as I breathe him in. His cologne is a heady mix of bold and subtle notes, a scent that is undeniably irresistibly Ethan. Smoldering cedarwood and spicy black pepper intertwine with a velvety undertone of vanilla, creating an intoxicating blend that is as bold as it is elegantly understated.
I’m totally swept up, losing myself in his scent and how he feels. Each kiss and touch, it’s like we’re saying everything without speaking, revealing how much we want each other.
He removes his shirt, and as his hand slides under mine, a shiver of anticipation dances across my skin. His touch, a gentle exploration, trails upward until he’s cradling my breast over the fabric of my bra. His eyes, dark and questioning, lock onto mine as he squeezes gently, seeking silent permission in the depths of my gaze.
A low moan escapes me, and my arms lift, inviting him to take our moment further.
He lifts my shirt, allowing it to join his on the floor, and his lips embark on a tantalizing journey from my jawline, tracing a path of shivers down my neck. He lingers at my collarbone, nibbling delicately, eliciting a quiet sigh from me before his lips daringly approach the curve of my breast.
My fingers weave into his hair, my short nails grazing his scalp as I curl my fingers into a fist, silently pleading for the sweet torture of his devilish lips to continue. His movements, slow and deliberate, become an exquisite agony, and I find myself lost in the sensation, in the slow build of desire that he masterfully orchestrates.
He catches my nipple through the thin material of the bra, and I arch my back, losing myself in the sensation of his hot mouth.
He pushes me toward the bed, and before my back touches the mattress, he unhooks my bra.
I don’t even have time to comment on his dexterity before his mouth closes around my naked breast, his tongue swirling around my hard nipple.
“Oh, Ethan…” My voice is a whisper, but it’s thick with the pleasure coursing through me.
His response is a low, husky murmur. “Poppy, hearing you say my name like that… I want that every single time.”
I close my eyes as he starts making his way down my body with his mouth, grazing with his teeth or licking my burning skin, making me whimper and beg for something unknown.
His lips reach the waistband of my jeans, and he looks up, once again asking for permission.
My heart is in my throat, apprehension smothering the gentle buzz of alcohol, but I nod anyway.
He kisses my lower stomach again and starts to unbutton my jeans slowly. I raise my hips before even realizing it.
He lets out a scoff, brushing his nose back and forth on my panties. “Patience. I’ve waited too long not to enjoy every second of this.”
I’m far too gone, my lower belly squeezing painfully as the mere thought of his tongue on my pussy makes me dampen my panties. Far too gone to ask what he means by waiting that long.
He pulls my jeans down and kisses my hip bone. “So long,” he whispers against it and kisses it again.
“Raise your hips,” he commands.
I obey without a second thought, and I’m much too lost in his touch to care when he pulls both my jeans and bright-pink cotton panties off, leaving me bare in front of him. My wet and swollen flesh is stark proof of my need for him.
He rests his strong hands on my hips and kisses my inner thigh, his stubble scratching at the sensitive skin, making me wetter. He kisses the inside of my other thigh, eliciting from me a mewling sound.
I reach blindly for him, and as my finger finds his soft locks, he licks my slit with a slow, strong lap until he reaches my throbbing clit and sucks it in his mouth.
I shout his name, arching my back at the overwhelming, almost painful pleasure his tongue is giving me. He repeats the slow torture, and all I can do is grip his hair to the point of pain, but he does not complain. He keeps on lapping at me, drinking like a greedy man, letting out moans against my clit, which causes the pleasure to build like an electrical current at the base of my spine. I didn’t think it was possible for anything to feel this good, and my fingers have never brought me half the pleasure his tongue is giving me.
As I sense my orgasm building more and more, his tongue becomes faster, his suction of my clit harder as if his actions are directed by my moans, and maybe they are.
Suddenly, his hands dig deeper into my skin, and he enters me with his tongue, prompting a cry of his name as my back arches, lifting away from the bed.
I fall back on the bed, breathless, seeing stars at the side of my vision. As I catch my breath, he stands up, his hair ruffled by my fingers, and his lips are red and glistening with my pleasure.
He lets his eyes graze my naked body as I slowly come down from the orgasm he gave me.
“You look stunning after an orgasm.” He grins playfully. “I should give you one daily.”
A breathy laugh escapes me. “If you must.” I look at him, and my eyes stop at the bulge in his pants.
“It’s hardly fair, you know. You get to see me naked. I need to see you too.”
He keeps his eyes locked with mine as he undoes his jeans and pulls them down with his boxers.
I let my eyes trail down, and my breath catches in my throat, my eyes growing wide at his hard cock.
A pure cocky grin full of pride appears on his face.
“I will fight Nessa to the death next time she calls you Small Prick,” I declare, a playful yet serious tone in my voice.
He chuckles. A light, amused sound. “I’m glad to have you on my team.”
I sit up, my eyes locked with his cock, and reach for him, my fingers brushing against his hard stomach.
He captures my hands, bringing them to his lips for a soft, lingering kiss. “We’re not going to have sex tonight, Poppy. I know you’re not too drunk, but I’d much rather do it when you’re fully sober.”
My fingers curl around his hard length, pulling him closer, not quite ready to let the moment end. “I want to taste you too. Just…” My cheeks warm, and my eyes flicker down to his erection before meeting his gaze again. “Just tell me what to do.”
He inhales sharply, his frame closing the distance between us. “Do as you feel,” his voice drops to a deeper, huskier tone, his eyes hooded yet ablaze with a restrained intensity.
I look back down at his cock, and without thinking, I lean forward and lick the drop of precum pearling at the top.
He hisses, and I take it as encouragement. I wrap my tongue around the tip as he slides his hand into my hair. I take him a bit more into my mouth and look up as I suck on him, feeling the weight on my tongue.
He grabs my hand and wraps it at the base of his cock. His hand over mine, he guides our hands, stroking the velvety softness as I continue to suck on the head of his cock. He lets go, and I continue to slide my hand, my saliva allowing the friction and glide of it into my mouth. Ethan caresses my hair and pushes his hips forward tentatively. My eyes meet his, and I open my mouth wider, taking more of him in my mouth, sucking harder.
Struggling to keep my balance with the action, I rest my other hand on his hard ass and maintain a smooth, steady rhythm, pulling back to below the head and then taking him into my mouth as deep as I can without gagging, encouraged by the almost animalistic sounds coming from his mouth.
“Poppy, princess. Oh God, your mouth is perfect,” he groans.
I press my tongue up on the underside of his shaft and apply a little bit of suction, enough to make my cheeks hollow on the upstroke.
I increase the pace as his fingers cradle the back of my head, his hip movements becoming more erratic.
“Princess,” he groans. “Princess, I’m going to come. If you don’t stop now—”
I want him to come in my mouth, and as his cock swells slightly, getting even harder in my mouth, a loud grunt laced with my name erupts from him as the first shot hits the back of my throat. I swallow it all and delicately let go of his softening cock.
He gazes at me, his expression inscrutable, then gently wraps his hand around my throat, pausing briefly as he guides me down onto the bed, enveloping me in a deep, passionate kiss.
Once our kiss breaks, Ethan subtly shifts, reaching for the comforter before aligning himself behind me. His arm, a blend of strength and tenderness, encircles me, drawing me into a close, warm embrace. Our naked bodies find a natural fit together, curving into one another. His breath, a gentle and steady warmth, caresses the back of my neck, its rhythmic whisper coaxing me toward sleep.
I lie here, sensing the gentle beat of his heart against my back. Closing my eyes, I’m enveloped in safety and peace, more than I’ve known in a long time.
As I drift into sleep, securely cradled in Ethan’s arms, a single, lingering thought flits through my mind: Is this serenity a mere fleeting moment, or will this assurance persist in the hard morning light?