CAUGHT IN THE ACT
1556 Words
A few bullshits have danced in my face for a week now after the gala, and it all has to do with the Baelaforts.
Cainan. She’s my nemesis.
It all began when a high school classmate of mine, whom I no longer remember, commented on one of the posts, expressing curiosity about me and stating my tough actions in high school.
She said I was quiet but dangerous.
She said I didn’t shy away from killing with words or throwing a punch.
In fact, she said so many things. Things that I can neither accept because I think they're exaggerated nor deny because I know I was indeed someone difficult. But I think the consequences of my actions have long blunted my edges a bit.
Cainan saw this girl’s comments and indulged her, urging her to provide proof, which she did.
A video. One taken when another classmate of mine provoked me to a fight.
I can’t remember much about the bone of contention, but, looking back now, it was probably a trivial matter.
The fight didn’t need to happen.
Now Cainan has spread the video, and I’m being butchered without pity online.
Folks are demanding an apology. Others are cursing me, praying that I disappear or die.
I believe some of these people could just be obsessive fans of Adam who would have the earth swallow me if they could.
As for the Baelaforts… well, Dedan has been helpful. Adam too. The rest… not so much. Now I find myself praying… hard… that the parents return to their jobs.
According to Dedan, they were not always around, so why did they choose this awkward and brutal moment to be?
“Adam…” I mumble, knocking faintly on the man’s already open door.
He’s lying on the bed on his stomach, watching a less provocative video on his laptop, while his twin broods at the desk, looking out the window.
They both turn to me. And while Adam’s gaze is soft and smiley, there’s nothing much I can say about Babel’s. Does the man even have an expression?
“Ca...n you please wash my hair?” I say, quite nervous about having such a request for Adam. Also, Babel keeps staring at me with those blank eyes of his. “It’s too thick and tiring for me,” I add truthfully.
Babel huffs. “You are a strong woman who cannot wash your own hair,” he states boorishly, and my brows furrow in a frown.
“Are you scared of drowning in the massive depressive state of your own room, Babel?” I retort. “I’ve seen you in here more than I’ve seen you there.”
Adam chuckles as he leaves his bed, earning a glare from his twin.
“You’re submitting to this twenty-year-old child?” the latter snaps, his expression shifting into irritation as he regards his brother.
Adam chuckles again. He extends his hand to brush his brother’s head as he walks past him. “You being thirty doesn’t make you act any less than a child, brother. My condolences on your maturity.”
That last sentence rips a chortle out of my throat as Adam approaches me and lays his hand across my shoulders, leading me toward my room.
“I’m sorry for bothering you,” I mumble. “I usually pay for a hair wash due to the state of my hair. But in here I feel like I can’t do shit.”
Adam rubs my arm. “Next time you want something, you tell me. Don’t let my father intimidate you. As for washing your hair, I’m more than happy to do it.”
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.
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Adam and I stand alone in the shower, stripped to our underwear, embracing every drop of water that sprinkles on us.
After letting my strands fully absorb the water, Adam turns off the shower and applies shampoo to my hair, massaging my scalp until lathers appear.
He gathers the foam, then crosses his arms around my waist to hug me from behind, caressing my belly with his foamy fingers.
I rest the back of my head on his chest, close my eyes, and lean completely into him as he lowers his head to my ear before whispering, “How do you feel… about the internet chaos going on about you?”
I sigh. “Numb?”
“I know, right? They’re looking at the video unfairly. There were two of you in it, after all. And it didn’t look like the other person was getting beaten. You both matched in strength.”
“But I’m the one who has come into the public light, and in no other way than through the Baelaforts, perceived to be the love of the nation’s heartbeat.” I look up at him while raising a brow. “Which is you, obviously.”
Adam smirks, meeting my gaze. “They’re irrelevant. But… ‘love’… I like that word.”
He turns on the shower, but we remain locked in our posture.
“Speaking of love, I know we’re not in love, but what’s your love language?” I ask.
Adam takes his time before replying. “On the physical side… I would say kissing. I love kissing to bits and touching, too.
“I think you could foreplay for a whole night and c*m with that rather than having sex.”
“I love s*x too, but I love the edging attached to foreplay, which is why I always want it to last longer.”
“Shall we challenge ourselves then—just kiss and tease each other for three straight days?”
Adam’s grin widens. “The orgasm will be mad. We could end up breaking the bed.”
“Yeah, right…” I mumble, and silence descends on us.
However, it’s a good silence. Rather than talking, our bodies start to move—Adam’s hand still caressing my tummy, my own hands stretching back to hold his head.
The mood quickly shifts from the innocent effort to wash my hair to an intense lustful scene.
As the water showers on us, Adam leans down and starts kissing south from my ear to my neck to my clavicle, his hands sliding up to grip my breasts gently.
His thumbs and index fingers squeeze each n****e hard through my crop-top vest, and I wince out of pain but also out of a hint of pleasurable sensation that courses through my body.
Triggers are pulled. Foundations are laid. The course is set. And Adam and I are horny as f**k.
The man doesn’t fail to express that with his body, and my own body reacts just the way he wants, my moans coming out without restraint as he plays with my n*****s while sucking my earlobe.
“The doors… the doors are open, Adam…” I tell him right after my eyes catch that the glass doors of the bathroom’s inner quarter are wide ajar, as well as the bathroom’s main door.
The man doesn’t respond with words. Instead, his hand sneaks up from my breast to my neck, tightening a little on the latter before lifting my head so that our lips meet.
Our warm tongues embrace; Adam’s tastes like a mixture of alcohol and raspberry. And his cold lips complement both the taste and the warmth of his tongue.
Within seconds, I’m pulled by the enthralling hold of craving and arousal, without a single clue how to get myself out of it.
Adam too seems engulfed in the undoing flames of passion, his breath fanning my skin, sending chills through my bones, as well as signals of an incoming copulation to my femininity.
I’m so distracted by all this that I fail to recognize the voice calling my name from the hallway.
Even as the voice draws near until it sounds right at my door, I’m still oblivious to it. Neither Adam nor I regard the voice or even fear the impact of being caught in the act at the moment.
“Elioza? Are you here?” the voice comes again. This time, it’s nearer. Whoever it is must be too close. Too close; they may see us.
Then it dawns like a lightning bolt striking in broad daylight—the negative impact of being caught.
It flashes before my eyes, and I find myself disengaging from Adam at breakneck speed, pushing him to a corner where he won’t be seen.
Luckily for us, Mrs. Baelafort appears just after I save Adam from getting caught.
She stands in front of the main bathroom door, staring down at me.
“Did you not hear me calling?” she asks. Her voice is quite stern.
“No… I… I’m sorry,” I stutter, shaking my head as my shoulders fall in defeat.
Mrs. Baelafort sighs and brushes it off. “Anyway, let’s talk.”
She sits on the bed, crosses her legs, and stares boldly at me. Meanwhile, I’m flushed and flustered at once.
Looking down at myself, I notice my hardened n*****s poking through the thin material of my vest.
My eyes quickly shift back to the woman, and I find her gaze right where mine left, a scowl stealing her expression.
That’s when I fully realize how f****d I am here.
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