Chapter Eighteen
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
HOT WATER RAINS DOWN my back, relieving some of the soreness in my muscles. It’s a nice contrast to the cold compress I’ve been holding against my face since I got back from the field. A bruise has already started to form along the cheekbone with some of the discoloration bleeding up toward my eye, and right in the middle of it all is a small laceration from where Dakota’s knuckles made an impact I hadn’t noticed until I saw my reflection in the hallway mirror. Charlie was doing her best to avoid me; however, she couldn’t help but stare when she did look at me. I looked like hell, and I knew it. Her unwavering gaze only confirmed it.
“Are you okay?” she asked, and it shocked me. I didn’t think she would speak to me for at least two days after last night.
“Yeah, your boyfriend says hi.” I tried to give her a tight smile, but the small twitch in my face sent a shockwave of discomfort through my cheek and into my skull.
I didn’t wait for her to respond, trudging into the kitchen to find something cold—frozen peas, frozen meat, or a frozen compress, I didn’t care—to put against my face. Luckily, Joseph had already pulled the compress out, instructing me to take a load off. And that’s what I did.
When Charlie tried to press me for information about what happened, Joseph stepped into the living room, telling her to mind her business and help him with dinner. From my spot on the couch, I could hear bits of their muffled conversation but tried to block them out, piecing together what I wanted to say to Sloan when I visit him tomorrow.
After dinner, I dragged my aching body up the stairs and straight into the bathroom to take a shower, hoping it would bring some more relief, and it did.
Closing my eyes, I let my head fall into the steady stream and my mind wanders to a bedroom somewhere far from here. The windows showcase city lights expanding as far as the eye can see. A reflection stares back at me in a floor-length mirror. It’s me, but I look different…My hair is a tad longer, and I’m dressed in a white button-up with black dress pants. A black tie hangs from my hand. From the open door, I hear the sounds of her heeled footsteps before she appears, digging through her purse for something. The light pink shade of her dress brings out the warmth of her skin tone and the way it hugs her every curve is fucking delicious. My fingers clench at my sides at the mere thought of touching her. Long hair falls over her shoulders in delicate chocolate waves, they’ve been placed perfectly to make sure she looks good from any angle, and damn does she. When she catches me staring, she smiles and raises a brow. “Can I help you?”
Fuck yes, she can.
All I want to do is strip her out of that dress and have my way with her. It seems she has the same idea. She drops the purse on the dresser and closes the space between us, wrapping her arms around my shoulders from behind and kissing my neck. A soft hum rumbles in my throat in response as I lean back into her embrace before she tugs my shoulders turning me around. I plant my hands on either side of her neck, pulling her mouth to mine, and when her fingers brush over my already semi-hard cock, it sends all the blood rushing there.
My need for breath is greater than I’d like it to be. When my lungs force me to take a deep breath, it pulls me from the memory. I brace my palms against the wall.
Without even thinking about it, my fist wraps my cock and the image of her dropping to her knees infiltrates my mind. Her mauve-painted lips form an “O” as she bats her lashes, looking up at me. My fingers tangle in those warm chocolate waves, tugging her hair as her tongue laps the underside of my dick.
Fuck, why can’t this be real? There is something different here than last night. Something I’ve never had with Charlie: a longing to have this woman wrapped around me, to feel her heart beat against mine as she comes undone. I stroke myself, imagining she is here, and my mental image changes. Suddenly she’s on her knees on the floor of this very shower.
I groan as she licks the head of my cock, and after a few more, she takes me fully into her mouth, as far back as she can. “Fuck, beautiful. If you’re not careful, I’ll come in that pretty mouth.” My words make her smile, and she simultaneously moves her hand and mouth.
My throat grows tight as my hand tightens around my base, pulling and stroking, eyes screwed shut as the water beats down on my back. I want this to be real so fucking bad. No, I need it to be.
She switches between deep sucks and long strokes of her tongue. When she looks up at me through her thick eyelashes, there’s a slight quirk in the corner of her mouth. She feels so good, according to my imagination, and she knows it. That’s the sexiest thing of all.
I fist my hand in her hair, pushing my cock deeper down her throat. There’s no hesitation from her. She opens her jaw and takes me deep, and when she moans, I come. A stream of cum hits the tiled wall. My fingernails dig into the tiles above me, using the wall to brace myself as my legs quiver beneath me. This release is hot and all-consuming, completely different from last night.
I continue to stroke myself and let every last drop fall until it’s washed away.
“Shit.” I sigh, my left palm still braced against the wall.
A daydream isn’t going to be enough. I need the real thing. But it’s not just my body that longs for this woman…
My heart does, too.
An ache deep inside me has kept itself concealed until today. Hearing someone is out there looking for me—
But not just anyone. My wife…It still didn’t feel real to hear the words spoken, but they are real, and she is real. And I will do whatever it takes to find my way back to her…Starting with talking to Sloan to figure out what the fuck is going on.
When the water finally runs cold, I turn the dial until it’s at its coldest and let the water rush over me for exactly two Mississippis before turning it off. Rubbing the towel over my head, I wrap it around my waist and meet the reflection in the mirror. I let out a sharp inhale when my fingers graze over the laceration on my cheek, tender to the touch and only going to get worse by tomorrow. At least he didn’t give me a black eye.
For the first time since I arrived in Bezer, I allowed myself to stare at my reflection. Almost every time I’ve come into contact with a mirror over the last year, I avoid lingering in it too long. Why? I can’t stand looking at someone I don’t recognize. Someone I can’t remember.
How do you wake up with no recollection of who you are? Charlie’s words from when I first arrived echo through my mind. And isn’t that the million-dollar question?
Maybe if I had the answer, I’d be able to find a way home…to her…my life.
Find a way back to me.
I stare into the eyes of the reflection again, willing it to remember something—anything—that would help me. I begin to take inventory of the rest of the man in the mirror: shaved head; dark brown hair; facial hair that has started to grow from lack of shaving the past week; almond-shaped, hazel eyes with flecks of gold; a longer-shaped face with a broad forehead and pronounced cheekbones that narrow into a defined jawline; freckles dusting my right cheek and extending up toward my forehead with a single one on the left side of my nose; and four tattoos, but not a single one shakes a memory free.
“Who are you?”
The answer sits at the edge of my mind. I can practically hear it screaming from the edge of the abyss, trying to break through the fog, but it can’t. It’s trapped there, in limbo. I just wish there was an easier way to free it.