Lost in a Moment (Trials of Fear Book 4)

by Nicky James

  “Fire something up,” I said, digging into my food.

  We spent a couple of hours junking out on a few of our favorite movies. Ringo appeared at one point and perched himself on the stand beside the TV, glaring at us. It was unnerving. Beck never seemed to notice.

  When Pulp Fiction came to an end, Beck craned his neck and checked the time. I’d been happily relaxed beside him, non-pulsed by all the things that had terrorized my mind earlier until that simple action surfaced a wave of anxiety. I went from serene and composed to agitated with the simple flick of Beck’s gaze as it landed on the antique clock.

  My skin came alive, and I too shifted my gaze, noting how many hours we’d spent sitting and watching nonsense movies. Nearly four. Four hours sitting and staring at a picture box of mind-numbing bullshit. A burst of discomfort made me sit forward, and Beck frowned.

  “It’s ten. The Discovery Channel has been airing Oddities this past month. Do you mind?” He pointed at the TV with the remote and quirked a brow.

  Fighting the urge to get up and move around, do something meaningful that didn’t constitute wasting time, I snapped my head in a sharp nod and clenched my fists into tight balls. Four fucking hours? “Sure.”

  My panic must have been displayed all over my face. Beck’s frown deepened, and when my eyes flitted to the clock again against my will, he followed my gaze. Eyes narrowed, he looked back at me with questions brewing.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah!” I snapped, not intending to sound so bitter and harsh. “Just… didn’t realize how late it was getting.”

  “Got somewhere to be?”

  “No… I just… no.”

  How did I explain the weird sensation of panic that overtook me? The cold dread that coated my being every time I noticed the minutes ticking by. Or heard them. The desperation and overwhelming urge to run and do… something. Even when I didn’t know what it was I should be doing. The room felt like it was shrinking and growing darker. The clock’s incessant ticking drowned out the voices on the TV.

  With effort, I shoved the panic away and rested back. “Put your show on. I haven’t seen it in ages.”

  It was Beck’s all-time favorite program. It had been a sad day when it had gone off the air.

  Beck studied me a minute longer before resting beside me, our shoulders leaned against one another due to the limited space on the settee. He flipped the channels until he found the right one, then he lost himself in the program.

  My sudden awareness of the time left me unable to concentrate. My head buzzed and constant pulses of adrenaline dumped into my bloodstream. It took everything in me not to flee.

  The clock’s ticking taunted me, and my insides jerked like live wires, sparking and jumping about. Sweat beaded on my forehead.

  I checked the clock.

  I checked the clock.

  I checked the clock.

  Tick, tick, tick…

  My heart jackhammered so fiercely I became convinced I was going to die of a heart attack right there at the young age of thirty.

  Tick, tick, tick…

  Like a car’s turning indicator that was announcing a burnt-out signal light, the ticks happened one on top of the other.

  Beck remained oblivious, too focused on the episode he’d probably seen a million times.

  Fighting for stability, I squeezed my eyes closed and gritted my teeth. I needed to divert my thoughts before I went mad.

  Using Beck’s close proximity as a distraction, I inhaled deep, even breaths and focused entirely on him. I noted every place we touched, his smell, his commentary, and even the steady rhythm of his breathing so much calmer than my own. Anything to eliminate the sweeping anxiety and that noisy fucking clock.

  Tick, tick, tick…

  No!

  Beck. Stay in the present. Stay with Beck. Don’t listen to it.

  His stupid Victorian settee gave me every excuse to be close to him. The thing was as small as it was uncomfortable. I laid my head back and shamefully thought of the fantasy life we could never have. It was easy to imagine because I’d been doing it since we were teenagers. Thankfully…thankfully… those thoughts canceled out the other, more terrorizing ones, and before long, I drifted to sleep against his shoulder.

  “Gray? Gray, come on, let’s go to bed.”

  My body was rattled, but I fought the pull trying to drag me from slumber. I didn’t want to wake up yet. Tangled in a place between reality and dreamland, Beck’s voice warmed me. The meaning behind his words was far filthier in my mind then they were in real life, and I smiled. Yearning for that connection, I held tightly to sleep, working desperately to fall under its spell once again. Only in my dreams could I have what I wanted.

  Beck would have none of it. He shook my shoulder again, and his rumbly laugh did things to my insides—things I would normally have made great effort to hide. My dick took notice too, but I was barely awake enough to be concerned. Instead, I nuzzled against his shirt, wedged my face in the crook of his neck and breathed him in.

  “You’re sniffing me. That’s weird, Gray. Wake the fuck up and go to bed.”

  The cloudy haze of sleep slowly dissipated. More alert, I peeled my eyes open and took note of my surroundings. The TV was dark. My best friend was working at dislodging me from his side.

  Pulling away from Beck, I yawned and rattled my head, pretending I had no idea why I was so close.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

  “It’s after eleven. Go use the bathroom and get into bed. I’m right behind you. Just gonna feed the Beatles and shut down the house.”

  I didn’t argue. Finding my balance with crutches was tricky in my tired state, and Beck had to hold my arm until I was more awake to move alone through the apartment.

  Once I’d finished in the bathroom, I stripped out of my clothes and put on my pajama bottoms. I could hear Beck moving through the apartment, talking to his animals and cleaning up our dinner dishes. George squawked and went on a tangent saying goodnight to himself.

  Squawk! “Goodnight, George.” Squawk! “Goodnight, George.”

  Lying on my side, facing the window, I tried to piece together what it was I’d been dreaming about on the couch—if I’d been dreaming. A warming sensation of having been wrapped in Beck’s arms was almost too real to dismiss.

  Unable to surface the memory, my mind drifted to earlier and my discovery in Beck’s night table. From there, I recalled my fantasy image of Beck, our naked bodies twisted together in passion. When my dick responded, I shoved those thoughts away, reprimanding myself for their inappropriateness, especially since Beck would be lying beside me any minute.

  Sleep eluded me. In the living room, I’d been unable to keep my eyes open. Now that I was in bed, my body was wide awake. Alert and antsy.

  Beck crawled in behind me, and flicked off the light, plunging the room into darkness. My body went rigid—a new normal I was beginning to dislike. Those other demons swam to the surface.

  Darkness and time. My two nemeses.

  Beck was still. I peered over my shoulder, but he’d moved as far away from me as possible. His body hung precariously off the edge of the bed on his side.

  “Nite,” I muttered.

  “Goodnight.”

  I resumed staring out the window, listening to the house alive around me. The shadows were denser than usual tonight, and my heart raced if I focused on them too readily. Clouds must have been covering the moon. Or there was no moon. Whatever the reason, it was dark enough I squirmed. Dark enough I felt vulnerable and trapped.

  Beads of sweat erupted over my skin as threads of memories surfaced from when I’d been under the house.

  It’s not that dark, I told myself.

  I could see shapes. It wasn’t so absolute that the room was invisible. But my head didn’t like it. My mind protested. My pulse ramped up, fueling my concern. Where there was darkness, there was no sense of time. When time no longer existed, my trip into madness was un
stoppable.

  The clock ticked and chimed the hour, and like a knife being plunged into an already infected wound, I curled in on myself with the pain of it.

  Tick, tick, tick…

  The traffic on the street below was minimal, but every car that drove by sounded loud in my ears. The hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. The bubbling fish tank. The darkness surrounding me.

  Tick, tick, tick…

  Blowing out a breath, working hard on swimming back to the surface, I strained to hear Beck. His breathing had changed. He was asleep.

  Like every night when sleep took him, his body relaxed, and he stretched out, taking up the majority of the bed. Rolling to his back, his thigh came to rest against me under the covers, and I allowed a few precious moments of peace to wash over me as I imagined it was on purpose. His simple unconscious touch wiped away the panic and gave me a different focus. A temporary reprieve.

  The clock chimed again, and I gritted my teeth.

  The hours ticked by faster and faster.

  Sleep refused to come.

  Beck thrashed, as usual. His limbs smacked into me, his breathing remained deep, his softly muttered words were a balm on my infected mind. So I listened to him.

  Tick, tick, tick…

  I clenched my jaw and stared out the window, doing my best to stay calm and not let the chaos consume me.

  Beck muttered and rolled again. This time, his hand landed on my hip which I’d learned wasn’t unusual. More times than not, he wound up against me at some point during the night. When he awoke, he fled like I had the plague.

  I was about to turn over so I could watch him sleep when he shifted closer again and his front aligned with my back. We were pressed together much tighter than ever before. It wouldn’t have been alarming, except this time, his dick was hard, and he’d wedged it against my ass.

  The hand that was on my hip slid around me. His fingers spanned over my bare chest, brushing a nipple, and he buried his face in my neck as he yanked me closer.

  Again, he muttered nonsense.

  Part of me knew I should roll over and encourage him back to his side of the bed, but a much, much larger, greedier part of me soaked up our connection. Even though it was fake. Even if he was probably convinced I was some woman. It was my wildest fantasies come to life. How could I deny it?

  The clock and its damn ticking washed into the background. The darkness no longer concerned me. Beck’s body was wrapped around mine, and his fucking hard-on was pressed to my ass.

  My heart knocked with anticipation, envisioning a whole different life where Beck was doing this on purpose. Where he wanted me as much as I wanted him.

  In a flash, my impulses took over, and I pressed my ass back against him, grinding on his dick. It only happened once before my good senses kicked back in, warning me not to.

  But that was all it took.

  Beck’s hand tightened around me, nails digging into my chest, and for a second, I thought he woke up. Then his hips moved as he thrust forward, his rigid dick sliding deliciously along my pajama-covered crack. A tiny groan left his lips before more wordless gibberish followed. They may not have made sense, but their sentiment spoke of arousal and need.

  He clung to me and humped forward, again and again, grinding my ass in the most beautiful way. My eyes widened, and I held my breath, rocking with him, unable to stop myself. I was hard in an instant, throbbing and needing desperately to touch myself, but I didn’t dare. Beck had no idea what he was doing, and if he had a clue, he would freak the fuck out.

  His breath came out in pants against my shoulder. Grunting, thrusting, and mumbling incoherently. Beck’s arm around me trembled. His entire body vibrated. His breathing staggered. He was so hard, and by the sounds he made, so close to spilling.

  Fuck! What did I do?

  My body tingled in response. The front of my pajama pants were damp from where I leaked. My balls were tight, and I knew if I touched myself, I’d burst in a second. His movements fumbled, and he dug his forehead against my shoulder blade, the hot moist air of his breath ghosting my skin.

  Not thinking, I reached behind me and clasped hold of his thigh, pulling him against me and encouraging him to keep going. I was going to hell, but I didn’t care.

  Beck thrust with my help. Again. Once more. Two more fumbling ruts then he went completely still… and it wasn’t because he’d come.

  I froze, my hand on his thigh, fingers dug into Beck’s bare skin just below his underwear, my dick throbbing and leaking in my pants.

  Beck’s breathing had changed.

  He was awake.

  Chapter Nine

  Beckett

  I froze, suddenly wide awake. Processing the situation took all of thirty seconds. The body in my arms was male, not female. The chest where my hand laid was solid and breast-less. My dick pulsed—ten seconds from blowing its load—and was jammed up against Gray’s ass. His hand was on my thigh, and if my foggy brain was telling me the truth, I vaguely remembered it drawing me into action, encouraging whatever the hell I’d been doing.

  As the pieces fell into place, I went rigid and held my breath. A wash of terror cloaked any sense of reasoning.

  “Jesus fucking Christ!”

  I shoved away from Gray and barreled off the bed so fast I got tangled in the sheets and nearly fell. In the dark, I fumbled around the room until I found my discarded jeans from earlier and pulled them on. Scrambling blindly in the dark, I retrieved my glasses from the bedside table and shoved them on my face before shooting out the door like my ass was on fire.

  So. Fucking. Wrong.

  Tearing my hands through my tangled curls, I blew out great gusts of air as I tried to calm my racing heart. What the ever-loving-fuck had I been doing?

  Spinning in circles, unsure where to put myself, I paced around clutter and spat curses into the dark living room. Waves of images blasted into my mind. Pictures of things that weren’t clear but I knew were true. Like I’d somehow retained snippets of memories from when I was mostly asleep. The smell of Gray’s skin, the solidness of his body, the crease his ass crack provided for my dick.

  “Fuuuck!”

  This was his fault! All. His. Fault.

  When I’d come home earlier, I’d been too quiet. I’d walked in on something I really didn’t need to see. Hearing my best friend yanking one out in my goddamn bed was too much to process, so I’d backed out of the apartment and stood on the landing for a solid few minutes in shock. When I’d re-entered, I’d ensured I slammed the door and tossed my keys down with excessive force so there was no mistaking my presence.

  It didn’t matter, Gray’s soft moans coming from my bedroom had imprinted themselves on my mind.

  All evening, I’d struggled to erase them. Obviously, it hadn’t worked. Going to bed with those thoughts in my head, and the severe lack of sex I’d been having since he’d moved into my house, had clearly fucked me right up.

  What was worse, was waking up and knowing my best friend was actively participating in whatever was going on. He hadn’t been sleeping, that was for sure.

  I dropped on the couch and covered my face with my hands, scrubbing angrily while hoping to eradicate the memory.

  “Fuck,” I mumbled. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

  “Would you relax. You were sleeping. I’m not a fucking idiot. I know it didn’t mean anything.”

  Raising my head, I squinted into the dark room and caught Gray’s eyes where he leaned heavily against the far wall by the hallway, his crutches under his arms. Anger flooded my pores, and I jumped off the couch, glaring daggers.

  “But you were wide awake, weren’t you? And don’t fucking lie to me, Gray!”

  He stood stalk still, eyes trained forward. At least he had the decency to look ashamed. “Yeah, I was awake.”

  “And were you or were you not encouraging it? Because I’m pretty sure I woke up with your hand on my thigh and some recollection of you rutting back against me!”

  There wa
s a flash of guilt that came and went before he cut his eyes to the clock behind me. It was too dark to make out the time, that much I knew. His forehead creased and there was a fleeting second where I thought he winced.

  “Look, can we turn the lights on? The dark is—”

  “No! Answer the fucking question.”

  The pale street light shining through the window was barely enough light for me to make out the firm set of his mouth. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, and the shadowed stubble on his cheeks was denser than he usually wore.

  “Yes. All right, yes, I did. I’m sorry. I know it was wrong but—”

  “But what?”

  “Would you let me finish?”

  He pushed off the wall and crossed the room on his crutches to the side table and the lamp. Flicking it on, he glanced at the clock then back at me.

  “Can I sit or am I to be interrogated standing up? Because my leg is aching.”

  I blew out a frustrated breath and waved a hand at the settee, backing away so he had room to sit down. I refused to join him. The situation was making me antsy, and I needed to pace.

  Once he was settled, my impatience returned.

  “Talk,” I growled.

  Gray followed my frantic pacing with his gaze. “It was wrong.”

  “Yeah, we covered that. Fucking right it was wrong. Why the hell would you do that?”

  I spun and faced him, my anger so thick I could spit. Then it hit me. Flinching, I stared into nothingness as a recent conversation surfaced.

  “Oh my God, she was right.” Focusing back on Gray, I shook my head in disbelief. “She was fucking right, wasn’t she?”

  “Who? About what?”

  “Maria. She said…” The air thickened as I threaded fingers through my hair again. “She said you’ve probably been… That you…” I waved a hand, wishing someone else would fill in the words I couldn’t say, but Gray sat there rigid, a look of defeat on his face that told me all I needed to know. “It’s true, isn’t it?”