Chapter Forty-Three
His arms held her easily, like they belonged around her body.
Because they always have, Augustine reminded herself. I might not remember every moment I ever had with him, but I’ll always remember this one. Forever and always, I’ll always have this.
She pressed her face into his shoulder, breathing him in, that familiar scent of cinnamon, and something softer underneath, something entirely his. For a second, she let herself forget everything else. For a second, it was just this. Just him.
Still, even as she held him, a thought pushed in. He doesn’t remember you.
Not this version of him, and not the real Theo either.
And when that Theo wakes up, he won’t remember her at all.
Not the night they met. Not the way he’d looked at her across the room.
Not the way her cat ears had slipped down her head or the cinnamon buns they’d eaten on their first date.
Not the way he’d kissed her. Not the way he’d said her name.
Nothing. Those memories were gone, and the people who’d held those memories were gone with them.
The ache of it bloomed slowly and deeply in Augustine’s chest, sharp enough to make her tighten her grip on him without meaning to.
She burrowed closer into him, desperately clinging onto this version of him, wanting to tie him here to her; keep him from slipping back into wherever he’d come from.
Stay, she thought, not daring to say it aloud. Just stay.
Gently, Theo nudged his chin against her forehead, prompting her to look up.
She met his eyes without a second thought, and Theo lowered his head to hers, kissing her softly.
At first, he was gentle, his lips moving lightly against her own, but soon, his kiss deepened, and Augustine made a small noise of pleasure.
At that, Theo stopped. She saw him scan the shop, before he tugged on her hand, leading her to the old sofa in the corner.
She didn’t even pretend not to realize his intentions. She was simply grateful she’d invested in heavy curtains, which were firmly closed. He laid her down against the old cushions, and she opened her arms to encourage him towards her. He covered her with his weight, kissing her once more.
“Are you sure?” he asked her, and she nodded, already breathless.
He kissed her again, his tongue slipping into her mouth, and then his hands — his hands were suddenly everywhere, pulling her clothes from her body even as he stroked and touched her into a place next to sublime madness.
She couldn’t help her back from arching as he explored her skin, and when he suddenly stopped, sitting up and away from her, she made a noise of protest.
He stripped his shirt over his head however, and she sat up to run her hands down his chest. There was a circular patch on his upper arm, paler than the rest of him, which intrigued her, one which she hadn’t seen the night before. She touched it reverently.
“From my glucose monitor,” he told her, before he pressed his lips to hers.
She nodded, because, of course. Abruptly, he sat on the sofa next to her, before pulling her into his lap. His arms wrapped around her, and the feel of his naked skin next to her own sent fireworks shooting down her spine, a throbbing beginning to grow in her lower belly.
Her head fell back when he traced her right nipple, the bud pebbling beneath his fingertip, before he moved to the left, showering it with the same attention.
Her eyes closed, her breath coming in tight pants, when suddenly he replaced his finger with his mouth, sucking hard.
It felt incredible, and she held him to her, her fingers in his hair, while dragging her hips over his thighs, desperate for any kind of friction.
She whispered desperately in his ear, the words ‘please, please, please’ among the scattered nonsense her fevered brain provided, and he rewarded her by stroking her slit with his hand, before easing two digits inside of her.
She cried out at the wonderfully full feeling of his fingers within her. It felt like her nerves were on fire, her whole body wired just for him, and she couldn’t help herself from riding his hand, her body not entirely her own.
“God, yes,” Theo uttered, his eyes greedily running over her. She loved the idea of him watching her as she took her pleasure; loved the idea of fucking his fingers into a mind-blowing orgasm, but suddenly he stopped her, withdrawing his hand so that she whimpered at their loss.
“I want to be inside you,” he told her. “Now. Please.”
She nodded, sitting up on her knees, giving him space to unzip his trousers and hurriedly pull them down.
They were hardly past his knees when she lowered herself once more, unable to wait a second longer, sinking down upon him so that he swore violently, gripping her to him.
She closed her eyes, the aching need that had built within her to be close to him subsiding slightly at the intimate contact.
Augustine sighed, reaching down to brush his hair from his eyes, and he smiled up at her.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I know,” she whispered back. “I love you too.”
“Good.” He let his head fall back upon the sofa. “Now fuck me. Let me show you how real I am.”
* * *
Afterwards, she was exhausted, lying prone against Theo’s chest, a slight ache between her legs. Theo’s chin rested lightly against the top of her head, and for a while, he didn’t move either. He just held her.
“What do we do now?” he abruptly whispered, and Augustine closed her eyes momentarily.
Her fingers tightened slightly against him, before she pulled back just enough to look down at him. “It’s not up to me,” she said. “It’s up to you. Your choice.”
He nodded, kissing her shoulder blade. “Augustine, if I thought, even for a minute, that I could stay . . .”
He trailed off, but she understood.
“No.” She pushed down the sudden flare of pain within her. “You should go back. Back to yourself. It’s the right thing to do.”
“You were right, you know,” he told her, tracing her lower lip with his thumb. “I came to you for the truth, and we found it.” He paused. “Do you think that place I went to, when you were in the memories . . . do you think that was the coma?”
She shook her head. “No. I think that was the price of magic. It couldn’t sustain both you and my journeys into our past, so it put you somewhere safe. Somewhere it knew you couldn’t get out. That’s why it felt like a trap. Because it was one.”
“I’ll never understand magic,” he remarked, sighing.
She gave a wry half-smile. “Hey, I’m a witch, and I’ll never understand it either. But that’s half the point. Maybe we’re not meant to understand it.”
Theo pressed another kiss to her shoulder. “If only I could take you with me.”
She smiled.
“Do you think I’ll remember?” he asked her. “All this?”
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I hope so.”
“What if I do?” he asked her, looking at her intently. “What if I remember? What then?”
“I’ll be here,” she promised. “I’ll always be here. If you remember, come find me.”
“My family . . . you said they’re witch hunters. What if I come back, find you and put you in danger? I know my father, even if I don’t remember that side of him. He’ll still be watching me.” Theo swallowed. “He might learn about you. About your sisters. We’ll be back at square one.”
“No. Not square one,” she replied. “Because next time — if there is one — we’ll know not what to do.” She sighed, laying her head against his chest once more. “If you remember, if you come back, we’ll cross that bridge then. Let’s work first on getting you back.”
“My body’s in a coma,” he said slowly. “I can’t exactly walk in and — what? — tell the nurses I’ve returned?” A faint, incredulous edge crept in to his voice. “They’re not going to just let you wander into the hospital either. There’ll be security.”
Augustine nodded. She’d already thought about that. Turned it over and over again in her head until it stopped feeling impossible and started feeling like something she could do.
“I know,” she said. There was a small pause before she spoke again. “But . . . I know how to get us in. I know how to get you home.”
“Augustine. Wherever you are, that’s my home,” Theo replied instantly, and Augustine sighed.
“God, Theo,” she whispered. “Don’t say things like that when I’m trying so hard to let you go.”