Chapter 4 #2
He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. “You have no idea what you do to me, Amelia," he whispered, the words a low growl that vibrated through me.
The anger was gone, replaced by something raw and dangerous, something that both terrified and strangely excited me.
His hand, calloused and strong, cupped my cheek, his thumb gently stroking my skin. For a moment, the fear remained, a cold knot in my stomach.
“What do I do to you?” My heart hammered against my ribs, but I raised my eyes and challenged him, my voice trembling slightly.
“You drive me fucking wild.” A gruff, low tone filled the air as his voice descended, heavy as a winter fog.
“Alex doesn’t fucking matter. You’re mine in my mind, especially ever since we kissed.
I can’t get you out of my head. I can’t stop thinking about how you tasted, how you felt, how you fucking melted for me. ”
He pulled me closer, the warmth of his body pressing against mine, erasing the chill that had settled in my bones.
His lips brushed against my ear again, sending shivers down my spine. “And I’m going to make sure you know it,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that resonated deep within me. The fear hadn't entirely vanished, but it was tangled with tingling desire.
His hand tightened on my hip, his touch possessive, and a strange thrill coursed through me.
He smelled of alcohol, but I hardly noticed it, his primal intoxication consuming me like a drug.
His dark, intense eyes, like pools of night, held mine captive, their gaze unwavering. His gaze fell to my lips, and the heat of his attention made butterflies erupt in my gut.
He leaned in, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of my neck, and I felt his tongue flick out, wet and hot, tracing a lazy path up to my ear.
A sound escaped me, something between a gasp and a moan, and I hated myself for it. His hand moved lower, sliding over the curve of my ass, squeezing hard enough to make me bite my lip.
“Caiden,” I warned, my voice shaky, but he just chuckled, low and dark, the sound vibrating through me like a fucking earthquake.
“Don’t fucking fight it, Amelia,” he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. “You want this as much as I do. I can feel it.”
He pressed his hips against mine, and I felt the hard ridge of his cock against my stomach, the heat of it searing through my clothes.
My throat went dry, my heart pounding so fucking loud I was sure he could hear it.
His hand slipped between my legs, fingers brushing the fabric against my spot that ached the most, and I nearly buckled.
“Fuck,” I breathed, my voice cracking, and he smirked, his eyes gleaming with that same predatory intensity that always sent shivers down my spine.
“That’s right,” he growled, his fingers pressing harder, teasing me through the fabric. “You’re soaking wet for me, aren’t you? Can’t hide it, Amelia. Your body fucking sings for me.”
I could hardly believe that this was the same Caiden who I feared and loathed, that version of him felt distant and unknown, as if it never existed.
But that version of him did exist, and a rage overwhelmed me.
With a surge of strength, I pushed him away.
"Don't you dare," I spat, the words laced with venom. “You really think you can control me?” The spell was broken, the intoxicating haze dissipated, replaced by a chilling clarity.
His surprised expression was fleeting, quickly masked by a flicker of something akin to hurt.
I attempted to push past him, but he grabbed my arm roughly. It was a cold reminder of his current drunk state.
He leaned in again, and I finally noticed how unfocused his eyes were. “Always so fucking stubborn.” A low groan escaped his lips as his eyes devoured my form, taking in every detail. “But, I do love that fire you get in your eyes.”
I yanked my arm free, muscles screaming, and glared at him, my eyes narrowed in a fierce stare. “This is too much, Caiden. I can’t think straight when you keep looking at me like that. And touching me like that.”
He stumbled but quickly adjusted himself. For a moment, he looked as if he would pursue me again, but thought against it.
Instead, he chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated in his chest. "Too much? Amelia, you haven't seen anything yet." His eyes, though still slightly unfocused, held a glint of determination.
I hated the way my skin flushed, hated that I felt it everywhere, prickling and ringing, that part of me that still remembered what it was like to be caged with him in the dark, and how he smelled wild and furious and alive.
But I also hated the dread that crept under my ribs, the old, conditioned fear that said men like Caiden were built to destroy, not to love. I didn’t trust that the monster and the man wouldn’t switch places, not even now, not even after all we’d survived.
He watched me, his face a mask carved from want and something crueler. “Thought maybe you’d changed,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, eyes locked on me. “Guess I was wrong. You’re still afraid of me.”
I was afraid. Not just of him, but of myself, of what I could become when I was with him, how easy it was to dissolve into the chaos of his presence.
It was a fear that made my hands shake, because I knew, somewhere deep, that wanting him was a form of self-destruction. That if I gave in, I’d be the girl in the cage again, and the aftershocks would never end.
“Maybe I just don’t want to be someone’s obsession again,” I said, voice soft, but edged with irony. “I’ve had enough of people staking claims on me.”
He reached for me, slower this time, almost gentle, as if afraid I would shatter. His hand hovered over my face, and in that pause I tasted the bitter tang of memory.
Every time he’d ever hurt me, every time I’d wanted him to stop but also wanted, sickly, for him to never let me go.
I hated him for it. I hated myself more.
His thumb brushed my jaw. “You really want me to leave?”
I tried to speak, but it came out as a ragged exhale. “I want you to stop drinking. I want you to stop looking at me like you’re going to tear me apart.”
“I can’t do either. I’ve tried, and I can’t.” He pressed his forehead to mine, eyes closed, breath hot and desperate. “It’s like you’re under my skin. I can’t kill it, and I can’t cure it. You’re in my blood, you always have been, I’m just accepting it now.”
His warmth bled through my skin, and the urge to melt into him, just for a second, was almost as strong as the need to run.
“I’m not yours,” I whispered.
His hand slid to my throat, not choking, just holding, like an anchor, the weight of his need pressing the air from my lungs. “You can’t even say it without shaking,” he said, not cruelly, but with a kind of wonder. “You want to be, though. Don’t you?”
I stared past his shoulder, every nerve alive with a violent, traitorous yearning.
I remembered the days in the cage, the way his presence had been both my torment and my shield. We’d survived together, feral and raw, and the memory lived in my bones.
I remembered the way his body had shielded mine from the cold, the way his breathing steadied mine when I thought I wouldn’t last another minute.
The hours where we existed in a fevered, shared consciousness, closer than I ever wanted anyone to be. The way I’d hated him, admired him, felt affection for him, and feared what I would become if I gave myself over to either urge.
His hand stayed at my throat, thumb pressing lightly on the pulse. My skin shivered against his touch. “You’re not in your right mind,” I said, voice strangled. “You’re drunk, and you’re—”
“I’m sober enough,” he whispered, and there was something honest in the way his eyes found mine, something unguarded that made my stomach plummet. “Nothing makes me forget anymore, not even this.”
He leaned closer, and I felt the heat of him, the way his breath shook against my cheek.
“Say it,” he rasped, the demand curling in my ear.
I was trembling so hard I thought my bones might rattle apart. “I’m not yours,” I tried again, steadier.
A lie. My body was betraying me.
“You’re a shit liar,” he whispered, and I hated that he was right. “You want someone to show you you’re alive. That you’re real. Even if you hate them for it.”
I was. My legs were water, my skin alive with a million stinging nerves. I tried to jerk away, but his grip, while gentle, was absolute.
My throat tightened. Not from his hand, but from the memory of all the times he’d made me feel like prey.
It wasn’t quite fear, not exactly; it was electric and sickening, wickedly sweet.
His hold was a question, his lips so close to mine that I could taste the confession on his breath.
I should have been disgusted, repulsed by the way he asserted his need, but my body betrayed me. My pulse leapt to meet the heat of his hand, every hair on my arms rising in expectation.
I should have screamed, shoved him away, called Shane or anyone to drag him back to his cavern of self-loathing.
Instead, I hung in that weird liminal space, equal parts rabbit and wolf, the memory of the cage burning bright behind my eyes.
He pressed his mouth to the corner of my jaw.
I exhaled, my lips parting, and the tiniest sound escaped. A whimper that humiliated me, because I knew he heard it, and worse, he wanted to.
He smiled against my skin, his words a low vibration. “See? You don’t even know what you want, do you?”
I did. I wanted him to leave. I wanted him to stay. I wanted him to rip the memory of Blake out of my head, tear my shame to pieces, and devour whatever was left until nothing hurt anymore.
"You're drunk," I whispered, more to myself than to him. "And you're acting like a lunatic."
He exhaled a laugh, not humor, but pain, the kind that rattled out through cracked teeth. "Yeah? Maybe. Maybe this is just who I am, and maybe you like it more than you want to admit."
He pressed closer, crushing the frail distance between us, and for a cruel second, I let my cheek rest against his shoulder, my head swimming, the world tilting and alive with the scent of him and the threat of disaster at every edge.