Chapter 4 #3
I wanted to throw him off me, but my body remembered him too well, the way his hands had held me in the pit, the way his voice had shattered the silence of long, sleepless nights.
It was wrong, sick, to ache for the arms of your tormentor, but the heat in me was rising, blood roaring so loud in my ears that I missed the first words he said next.
"You're not the only one haunted," he slurred, his breath burning hot in my ear. "You think I like this? You think I want to be this fucked up every time I see you? If anything, it's worse when you're gone. I try to drown it, and it just gets stronger."
"Caiden," I whispered, my voice betraying me with its tremor. "You need to stop."
But even as I said it, my hands curled into the fabric of his shirt, not pushing him away but holding on, as if I might drown without his anchor.
His eyes were liquid fire in the dim light, pupils blown wide with desire and alcohol, focused on me with an intensity that made my knees weak.
"I can't," he murmured, his lips ghosting along my jaw, leaving a trail of heat that burned down my spine.
"I've tried. For years, I've tried to hate you, to forget you.
And then in that cage—" His voice broke, and he pressed his forehead against mine, breath ragged.
"In that darkness, you were all I had. All I wanted. "
My body betrayed me, arching slightly toward him, seeking his warmth despite the alarm bells clanging in my mind.
This was dangerous—he was dangerous—and yet the pull was undeniable, a dark current dragging me under.
"You're drunk," I said again, my voice barely audible even to myself. "You don't know what you're saying."
His laugh was bitter, almost cruel. "I know exactly what I'm saying. The alcohol just makes it easier to admit." His hand slid up to cup my face, thumb tracing my lower lip with a gentleness that contradicted the storm in his eyes.
The confession should have repulsed me, but instead it sent a forbidden thrill through my veins. His possessiveness was a drug, intoxicating and terrifying all at once.
I hated myself for responding to it, for the way my pulse quickened under his touch.
"You can't just claim me," I said, trying to sound firm despite the way my voice wavered. "I'm not some prize you get to win because we survived together."
"No," he agreed, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You're so much more than that."
His lips found mine then, not asking permission, just taking what he seemed to believe was already his. His hands tangled in my hair, holding me in place as if afraid I'd disappear if he loosened his grip.
I should have pushed him away. I should have slapped him, screamed, done anything but what I did. Which was to kiss him back with a ferocity that matched his own.
My fingers dug into his shoulders, nails biting through the fabric into his flesh. He tasted of whiskey and desperation, and I hated how familiar it felt, how right, despite everything that screamed it was wrong.
His body pressed mine against the wall, hard enough that I felt every inch of him, the heat of him burning through my clothes.
His hands were everywhere. In my hair, gripping my waist, sliding down to lift me against him.
I gasped against his mouth, the sound swallowed by his hungry kisses.
"Tell me to stop," he growled against my lips, even as his hands tightened their grip. "Tell me you don't want this."
But I couldn't form the words. My body was molten under his touch, years of suppressed desire bubbling to the surface like lava. I arched into him, a silent admission that made him groan low in his throat.
"Fuck, Amelia," he breathed, his voice ragged with need. "You're going to destroy me."
His lips trailed down my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, and I tilted my head back, giving him better access.
Each brush of his mouth sent shivers cascading through me, awakening parts I'd tried to keep dormant.
"We shouldn't," I whispered, even as my fingers tangled in his hair, holding him closer. "This is...complicated."
He laughed darkly against my skin. "Everything about us is complicated." His hand slid under my shirt, palm hot against my ribs, thumb brushing the underside of my breast. "But this, this feels simple."
And it did. In that moment, with his hands on me and his breath in my ear, the world narrowed to just us. Not our history, not our trauma, just this primal connection that had survived everything.
But reality crashed back when his lips found mine again. I turned my head, breaking the kiss, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Let go," I whispered, and hated how weak it sounded, how unconvincing even to myself.
The hand at my neck was trembling, and in the next moment he released me, stepping back as if recoiling from his own hunger.
I gasped, fresh air flooding my lungs. I wanted to scream at him, to throw something, to break the spell, but my body was still humming with the aftershock of his touch.
There was a darkness in Caiden that no therapist or bottle could drown, a wild gravity that threatened to pull me under every time he looked at me with those haunted, feral eyes. It scared the life out of me, and it made me reckless with want.
"I'll leave you alone," he mumbled, his voice barely a whisper. "But," he added, a hint of a promise playing on his lips, "don't think this is over."
He turned and stumbled towards the door, his silhouette a dark, brooding figure against the dim light. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the erratic thump-thump-thump of my own racing heart.
I heard the familiar click of the ignition, followed by the sputtering start of the car engine, and raced to the window. I saw the tires roll onto the road, their rubber meeting the asphalt with a slight squeal, before speeding away in a slight, controlled swerve.
His taillights disappeared into the inky night, their red glow fading like a ghost, leaving a haunting ache in my chest.