by Angie Sandro
Gasping, I pull away. I want to see him. How can I feel so strongly for a man I’ve never known except by touch, never held a conversation with?
“This is a dream,” I tell him, breathless. “When I wake up, you’ll be gone. I’ll be alone again.” But I won’t, not completely, since I can reach out and touch Anders, who forms a large, dark lump under the covers.
I force my eyes away, straining to see the man who feathers kisses down the length of my neck. I bite my lip to keep from whimpering.
I cup his face with one hand, lifting it until we’d be able to see eye to eye, if not for the darkness. “It’s like you have an aphrodisiac in your saliva. You’re addicting. I want to be near you, taste you.” I run a finger gently down his spine, stopping at the curve of his back. Lesson learned in the cemetery. I’m not pushing my luck by going farther.
“Why do I react to you this way?” I press my palm against his chest. “You don’t even have a heartbeat. I don’t think you’re real. Yet, somehow, you always manage to be there when I need you.” Just like Anders. “Why is that?”
He must be tired of all the talking, because his mouth covers mine again. He pulls my sweatshirt over my head, then slides his hand down the top of my sweat pants again. I lift my butt so the pants and my panties slide down my hips. He kisses his way down my chest, spending a lot of time on my most sensitive spots. He dabs his tongue in my navel and nips the sides of my hips until I squirm and giggle. Seemingly satisfied by my response, he heads further south.
When his tongue slips inside me, I almost come up off the bed screaming, but I suck in a deep breath instead, allowing the sensations coursing through my body to build until I gasp again as I come. My fingers clench in his hair, and I yank his head up to mine for a bruising kiss that leaves him shuddering in reaction.
I’m writhing beneath him, literally rubbing against him in anticipation. I want Ashmael deep inside me, until we become one being, connected for eternity. It’s this thought that brings me crashing back to reality.
My eyes close as he parts my legs, and I try not to get my hopes up. Whatever happens next, don’t scream.
He lifts my legs and wraps them around his waist. He has a waist.
I press up with my hips.
Yes, hallelujah—Pinocchio has man-parts.
And he’s learned how to use them.
My muscles clench around his length as he slides into me. Oh shit, I should’ve thought this through. But it’s too late now, because my body takes over. My hips lift to accommodate his thrusts, moving in unison. He draws himself in and out in smooth strokes, and I squeeze around him. The internal pressure builds, spiraling outward in concentric waves. My back arches, drawing him in deep, and I cry out, unable to hold myself silent.
My screams energize him. He pumps faster, sliding me up the silk sheet. The top of my head slams into the wooden headboard, and I’m snapped out of my euphoria with a painful jolt. White light flashes behind my eyelids. I squeeze them shut with a whimper. The pain fades, along with any residual desire. I’m fully inside my body. I doubt I’ll find release now, but I will make damn sure Ashmael never knows.
Heavy breathing comes from above. I grab Ashmael’s shoulders, holding on to keep from getting knocked unconscious. His skin feels different, rougher. Sweat runs down his chest, and his arms tremble from holding himself over me.
“Now, Ash. Now.” I clench myself around him.
With a final thrust, he yells with his release then collapses on top me.
I thought I’d lost my ability to ride the wave with him, but I was wrong. It takes a few minutes before I return to myself.
Ashmael’s cheek lays against my shoulder. Sweat plasters his short hair to his scalp. His skin’s burning to the touch, feverish. “Ash?” I brush his face. His eyelids are closed. I shake him, but his head rolls against my shoulder. Oh God, I’ve killed him. “Ashmael, wake up,” I scream, panicking. It’s not like he had a heartbeat before. Is he breathing? Air flows across his lips. I feel a rapid pulse in his neck. It’s beating too fast. He’s still buried inside me when I roll him onto his back and lean over to flip on the lamp.
I squint down at the man lying beneath me. “Anders…” His name clogs my throat. This isn’t happening. How? I rub my eyes then pinch my cheeks. I’m still asleep. “Why can’t I wake up?” I should be waking up.
Unless Ashmael’s the dream.
This is reality.
My heart races. I draw my legs up until they’re pressed against my chest. The throb between my legs tells the truth. I had sex with Anders, not Ashmael.
I lean forward to study his face. His cheeks are flushed. I press the back of my hand to his forehead. Heat radiates from his skin. So hot. He groans, rolling toward me. I throw myself backward and slip right off the mattress. I’m lying on my back, trying to catch my breath when Anders leans over the edge of the bed. He stares at me with wide, bloodshot eyes. A blush rises in response. I grab the blanket and cover my naked lower half.
Where did Ash throw my sweats?
“Dena?” Anders squints down at me. His eyes have a weird green glow from the lamp. Or maybe it’s the fever making them glitter. He sits up. “Did you have a nightmare?”
“Uh…no. Not a nightmare, but I guess I was dreaming.”
He nods, scrubbing his hand through his hair.
Does he not remember? I keep my eyes averted as I pull the blanket up to my neck. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It must have been pretty intense.” He reaches out a hand. “You woke up screaming.”
Yeah, you don’t know the half of it. “Uh huh, intense.”
I blush again, hesitating before letting him pull me up. I stand beside the bed, rocking from foot to foot, trying to decide whether I should tell him about what we did. Only, how? Do I apologize for taking advantage of him when it’s now obvious he’s sick?
His eyes drift shut, but his fingers tighten around my hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I’m fine, Anders,” I say before taking a deep breath. “I’m more concerned about you. How do you feel? You look like crap.” Well, not totally, since he’s wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, blue and very tight. My eyes widen on the large bulge framed like a pretty blue picture. Was he wearing those while he was inside me?
Why don’t I remember feeling them? It takes all my strength to force my eyes away and say, “I think you’re running a fever.”
Anders lays back against a pillow. “I run hot sometimes.”
You sure do. I find I’m nodding my head.
He scowls, his normal expression when confronted by Dena-logic. “Why does it feel like you’re hiding something from me?” He pulls the sheet over his lower body and pats the bed. “Talk to me?”
I perch on the edge. I refuse to let him know he’s rattled me with his insightfulness.
“I’m not going to bite, Dena.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I drawl, mouth turning down.
“Why are you acting like I’m about to jump you?”
I try to appear relaxed, but I’m ready to run for the bathroom if this confession goes sideways. Hiding is not beneath me, especially since I don’t know how he’ll react once he finds out what we did. “I’m not afraid of you, Anders. I respect you. You’ve made your position on this subject very clear. That’s the problem.”
“And you’re still angry about that? I should have known.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, it’s my job to protect you. I don’t want to compromise our situation by making it more intimate. It’s getting harder and harder for me to remain objective when it comes to you.”
“Don’t you get it, Anders? It’s hard for me, too.” The look I send him would’ve burned his chest hairs off, if he had any, and he doesn’t from what I can see. Just smooth, muscular chest. I exhale, willing myself not to get distracted. “I was perfectly fine keeping this”—I wave my arm to indicate the whole situation we found ourselves in—“platonic.
But you keep sending me mixed signals. You’re the one who pulled me on your lap and groped my behind. You’re also the one who took the towel to uncharted territory after my shower. I’ve shown amazing restraint. What’s happened isn’t all my fault,” I finish in a huff and the tied ends of the blanket unravel.
Crap, I’m naked. I grab for the blanket, but it slips between my fingers.
Anders hisses and shoots from the bed. He grabs my arms and pushes me onto the mattress and throws a sheet over me. I almost slug him.
“Where are your clothes?” He leans over me, scowling as his hand goes to my neck, and tilts my head to the light. “This hickey…I don’t remember…”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My voice shakes. I don’t think he believes me, because of course I know what he’s talking about. And now, I’m sure I shouldn’t tell him the truth.
“Did I—” Anders frowns as a faraway look enters in his eyes. “I did this, didn’t I?” He rolls off the bed and walks across the room. “When you woke up, you screamed. You were yelling at me, weren’t you? I took advantage of you in your sleep.”
“Of course not!” I snort. “That’s utterly ridiculous.” I put my hand up to my neck, rubbing it carefully. It’s a little sore but not too bad. “Wouldn’t you remember? Or am I so forgettable that you’d have to ask?”
“Stop angling for a compliment. You’re the least forgettable woman I’ve ever met—under normal circumstances. Look, don’t protect my feelings. You’re a terrible liar. You get this squinty look in your eyes, like you’re about to throw up.”
Indignant, I cross my arms. “Do not! I’m a wonderful liar.” Damn, I’ve gotten sidetracked. “Besides you know me well enough to know I wouldn’t spare your feelings. Half the time, I don’t think you have any.”
The look Anders gives me is full of anguish. “Please, Dena. Tell the truth.”
“I am. For some reason, you don’t believe me. You’ve never believed.” I throw up my hands. “Why should I even bother? I’ve opened up to you on more than one occasion. You’ve barely reciprocated. I know next to nothing about you, Michael Anders.”
Anders steps forward then pauses. He stares at my neck a moment then turns his back. “I told you about the ambush and what happened to me.”
“Yeah, you did.” I pick up the blanket and lay it on the bed. “What do you want me to say? So I know one thing about you instead of nothing. My mistake; sorry. I guess I’m being melodramatic.”
“God, Dena. You really don’t make sharing personal secrets easy. Just can’t stop attacking me, can you?”
“If you’re trying to tell me something—spit it out.”
Anders stalks to the bed. I scoot back until I’m pressed against the headboard. My mouth dries. I can’t speak, even if I had anything to say. I refuse to apologize after all the aggravation he’s repeatedly heaped on my head. My mouth draws down in pout, but I keep my lips zipped.
When he doesn’t get a response, he sits down. “I’ve frightened you. Good, you should be frightened. You should have run from this room screaming when I put that hickey on your neck. No, don’t deny it.” He raises a hand to halt my protests.
“After I got out of the hospital, I began having blackouts. Whole chunks of my time are gone. Sometimes I’ll find myself sitting in my car, and I’ll realize hours have passed. I have no idea what happened during those missing hours. People tell me they’ve seen me. That I’ve spoken to them. But I don’t remember it, or them. Do you know how terrifying that is?”
I shake my head, unable to say anything reassuring.
Whatever Anders sees reflected in my eyes makes him turn away. He runs a hand over his hair. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I didn’t tell you this for sympathy. I wanted you to know that I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I gasp. “You think getting the hickey hurt?”
“I mean a lot of things.”
“Are you saying you don’t remember the bathroom? The fact that we almost made…love?” My voice cracks on the word, ’cause now I understand what I feel for him goes beyond physical attraction, although I definitely desire him. As much as I’d never in a million years be the first to admit this, at some point in the chaos of killing crazed zombie super-soldiers, I fell hard for him. It just sucks, because I doubt he feels the same. Sucks, sucks…sucks.
With Ashmael, my emotions are equally complicated. The spirit filled the emptiness in my soul. I’d been so cold before him. Like my heart remained dead inside me, waiting for the spark that would restart it. Ashmael’s fire woke me up, but it’s Anders who makes my heart race. Every damn time. The two of them complete me. Complete each other. And it’s this revelation that sends a chill racing down my spine, ’cause it will shatter Anders’s world. Our world.
Oh hell…I want to squeeze my eyelids shut, but force myself to meet Anders’s beautiful green gaze. Familiar eyes that mesmerized me the first time I saw them, glowing in the darkness of the alley. And I have to ask myself, Is Ashmael looking through them now, too?
I crawl off the bed and walk to him. He allows me to take his hand. “You don’t remember touching me?” I place his hand on my breast. “I mean I’m not vain enough to think they’re the most impressive breasts in the world, but certainly they’re memorable.”
Anders snorts then draws his hand away. “I didn’t think I’d ever forget touching you, but apparently I have since I don’t remember what happened after I got into bed.”
My heart’s breaking. After all the lies told to me, I now understand why sometimes a white lie is necessary. People tell them to protect someone they love from being in more pain. I heard the fear in Anders’s voice as he shared his story. How can I tell him my suspicions about Ashmael? I doubt he’ll believe me anyway. I barely believe it myself, even though the truth resonates deep in my soul.
I force out a careless chuckle. “Oh, you remember everything you are supposed to remember. I’ll tell you again. You did not give me the hickey. I’m embarrassed to admit that I had an extremely erotic fantasy last night while you were in the shower. I may have gotten a bit carried away in pleasuring myself, since you didn’t seem to be in the mood.”
Anders blushes, eyes wide. I’m not sure if he believes the most ridiculous lie ever told or not, but I’m pretty sure the only thing revealed on my face is the memory of the shower fantasy, and if lying gets rid of the guilt stamped across his face, then I’m cool with keeping our first experience a secret.
The dulcet tones of Shakira singing, “Hips don’t Lie,”—strangely appropriate if “hips” was changed to “lips”—fills the air.
“Hey,” I cry. “That’s my cell phone. I didn’t know it was in the bag.” I dive for the duffle bag, digging through the clothing like a mad woman before holding it up in triumph. Unfortunately, it goes to voicemail before I can answer it.
I twist on my knees to find Anders crouching next to me. He reaches for the phone. I push aside his hand. “Hey, Mister Grabby, it’s mine.”
“Dena, now’s not the time to play games. Who’s calling?”
“Maybe it’s my mysterious boyfriend. Not everyone can resist my charms for the greater good.”
“Now you’re being childish.” He snatches the phone from my hand and looks at the caller ID. “It’s Susan Jones? Isn’t she the nurse that works at the hospital?”
“Yes, better let me call her back. You’re not one of her favorite people.”
“We have to be careful about who we contact. We don’t want to put other people at risk. The men who are after you are ruthless. They don’t mind taking hostages to insure your cooperation.”
“Duh, Anders.” I grab the phone out of his hand and listen to the voicemail. The news Susan relays is surprising in a really fantastic way. My face must light up like a child’s on Christmas morning.
“What? What did she say?” Anders asks. He’s gotten dressed while I listened to the message. The flexing of his taut buttocks as he pulled on his jeans distracted me f
rom fully paying attention to the message, but the gist was that Dr. Estrada finally showed up at the hospital. He also asked for me. I don’t tell Anders the last part. As soon as he hears that Estrada’s back, he runs for the door.
I jump up. “Hey, hold on. I’m coming with you.”
“No. You’re staying here where it’s safe. I’ll come back for you.”
“Like hell I am.” I push him from the door. It’s harder than it should be given my extra strength. “The call was for me. If I hadn’t said anything, you wouldn’t have known. I’ve as much of a right to be there as you do.”
“If Victor kidnapped Gabriella, this is most likely a trap. You being there is a liability. I can’t protect you and interview Estrada at the same time.”
“I never asked to be protected, Anders.”
“It’s my job.”
“No, we’re partners.” I grab onto his arms.
He shakes me off. “My last partner died. I won’t lose someone I care about again.”
My heart warms at his words. He cares…I shake my head. I won’t be distracted. He’s only saying what he thinks he should to get me to obey like a little automaton. “You’re not responsible for what happens to me. I make my own choices. So did Jimmy. What happened to him isn’t your fault. So stop blaming yourself.”
He’s not listening. “I’ll come back.”
Fine, I’ll flip it around and play the protection card since it means so much to him. “Don’t leave me here alone. What if Victor finds me? Can’t I stay with you? Please.”
He stares at me, eyes squinting in suspicion over my sudden reversal. I shove the very real terror Victor inspires into my eyes. No joke. Thinking about him finding me again sends a chill down my spine.
Anders sighs and steps away from the door. “If you start crying, I’m out of here.”
“Let me get dressed.” I grab the duffle bag and dart into the bathroom. I don’t bother with brushing my hair. It curls in a wild halo around my head. My breath doesn’t smell much better since Anders forgot my toothbrush. I’m out of the bathroom in less than five minutes, but Anders is gone.