Falling for Cyn

by Anne Conley

  He rolled over, away from the door, facing the window with the inspiring view, and curled up into a ball, shutting out everything he couldn’t remember.

  With memories of nothing, he had no identity.

  He had nothing.

  Damien had the impressions he had done some very bad things but couldn’t remember what they were. He only knew that he’d relished some of them. And that made him feel awful. So he stewed in his misery, thinking this was probably all he deserved. He deserved this nothingness of an existence. He was a shell of a human, and it was appropriate for him. He was a bad man.

  But he couldn’t remember why.

  Some time later, the scent of something greasy filtered through his subconscious, and he heard voices in the hallway, greetings.

  “Hiya, Cyn,” one voice said.

  A sorrowful response, “Hey, Gladys. Any change?”

  “Haven’t been in there this shift but was about to go check on him. I’ll let you have him first.”

  The odor came closer and it was tinged with something wonderful—the scent of happiness.

  Damien rolled over in the bed, meeting the doorway with his eyes, a blind hope blooming in his chest. Hope for what? So many questions…

  When the smell got to be so strong it was almost unbearable, a vision appeared in his doorway—a vision of such extraordinary beauty—Damien suddenly felt all his doubts and sadness fly out the window to join the stellar rooftop view.

  Green eyes.

  Glittering green eyes shone at him from the doorway, wide with surprise.

  “Damien!” A petite redhead flew at him from across the room and launched herself into his arms, tangling in his tubes, but neither of them cared.

  He didn’t know her, but he knew her. And that couldn’t be explained. He had no words, he could only stroke her head, hair soft under his clumsy fingers as she cried big, sloppy tears onto his hospital johnny.

  “Shhh… It’s okay. I’m okay.” Was he really? It didn’t matter, her tears were killing him. He needed to see her smile. Needed her to stop being sad.

  Her fingers flew over him, patting his chest and arms as if making sure he was really there.

  “Are you? Okay?” She looked up at him, and the grief in her eyes was giving way to something else. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. For everything.” He’d thought the tears were gone, but the returned with a vengeance and he realized he was leaking, too.

  Reaching for the box of tissues on the table next to him, he managed to get it between them. “Here.” He took one and the woman took three, sniffling and rubbing before breaking down again.

  He just held her, her tiny frame fitting so perfectly in his arms. Nurses came in, exclaiming over him, but he refused to let go of this woman. He needed her like air. He hadn’t been so sure of anything since he’d awoken.

  She was his and he wasn’t letting her go. For anything.

  When the doctor made it in, the questions started, and Damien realized the extent of his problems. It had been nearly an hour and the doctor was repeating himself, Damien’s patience wearing thin.

  “You don’t remember anything?” the doctor asked for the third time, and each time, the sadness in his woman’s eyes grew exponentially.

  “No, for the last time, I don’t remember who I am, what happened to me, or who she is.” He gripped her hand and brought it to his chest, pulling her closer. “But I know I need time with her. Can you leave us?”

  The doctor sighed, typed something on the laptop in the corner, and left them blessedly alone.

  He tugged her even closer. “I don’t remember anything, but I know you. I can’t explain it, but you’re mine.” She smiled a watery smile at him, and he didn’t know what it meant. “Right? You’re mine?” Please say yes. He couldn’t handle it if he’d read the situation wrong. He knew without a doubt that he loved this woman.

  “Yes, Damien. I’m yours.” She reached out and stroked his cheek, her dry palm a soothing balm to the chaos around them.

  “Then that’s all I need.”

  After a night of observation and solid food, he was discharged to go home. Cynthia knew where he lived, and thank God for that, because he sure as hell didn’t. As they got into her car to drive there, he had to say something that had been gnawing at him. Disturbing him.

  “I get feelings. I guess it might be intuition. But no clear memories.” She started the car, a cheap import of some sort that made Damien long to upgrade on her behalf, even though he had no idea if he could even afford it. “Like I get the feeling we were really close, and I did something to mess it up, which is why I want to do everything right with you this time.” He gripped the fabric of the seats. “I don’t know how to explain it, and I don’t remember what I did, but it’s like I have this real need to be a good person, you know?”

  He longed for concrete memories, something to fill his empty cavernous brain. He longed to spend some quality time with this magnificent creature next to him, the woman who looked at him with love shining from her eyes.

  When she pulled up to a medium-sized house in a neighboring area, he looked at the immaculate exterior. It looked like a family home.

  As he followed her up the neat walkway to his front door, his heart pounded in his chest. This was a new start. New memories, new experiences. Hopefully, he would learn more about who he was to her, who she was to him. It was exciting and terrifying all at the same time.

  Inside his house, he looked around at the living room—supple leather furniture, rich wood tables and shelves—everything furnished immaculately and expensively.

  “It’s beautiful,” he breathed, looking at Cynthia. She was watching him intently. It took his breath away, and he acted on an impulse. “You’re beautiful, Cynthia.” He took a step toward her, hoping he wasn’t about to cross a boundary. His eyes roamed her face before landing on her lips. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you so badly.” He looked at the ground, suddenly shy, and knowing that was out of character. But he’d somehow screwed it up before and was reluctant to do anything to screw it up again.

  She licked her lips, and his groin twitched. “Then do it, Damien.” Her voice was lower, sultry, and incredibly sexy. “Go with your gut.”

  Taking another step closer, he rested his hands on her hips and slowly lowered his face to hers. When her eyes closed, he took the cue and closed his, too, wanting to feel. As their lips met, there was suddenly a certain rightness in everything. Her lips were soft and warm, filling him with the sense of belonging he’d been feeling since she first walked into his room—they belonged together. But it was more than that. He wanted to own her, to possess her, and as his lips moved against hers, he gripped her waist tighter, feeling her softness.

  She swept her tongue across his lips, and he opened with a guttural sound in the back of his throat, pulling her hips against his pelvis. When his tongue collided with hers, all he could think about was how much more he wanted.

  This had happened before. This was a memory that flashed unbidden in his mind of him and Cynthia, naked, limbs twisting together in soft sheets. He could feel her, wrapping him in an erotic ecstasy. Gripping his hair in her fists, she ground her pelvis against his erection, moaning into his mouth. He was gone.

  His bruising hands left her hips, roaming down to her backside, filling his palms with her flesh. He grabbed her hard, but she still moaned more.

  Breaking the kiss, he grinned devilishly, suddenly in an element he was comfortable with. This felt so right. “I’m not sure I can make it to the bedroom. Would you care to explore the wall behind you more? Or you could show me the couch…” Taking her mouth in another heated kiss, he suckled her bottom lip into his mouth, biting it softly before his hands lifted her by her rear and hauled her against him.

  She wrapped her legs around his lean waist and mumbled, “Couch will be fine,” into his mouth with a breathless giggle. In three long strides he deposited her on the soft leather, his mouth still devouring hers. Sinking to his knees between
her legs, Damien’s hands went under her shirt, breaking the kiss only to pull it over her head before going back to her mouth.

  Damien didn’t think he could ever get enough of kissing Cynthia, but as soon as he went to taste the warm skin behind her ear, she unraveled under him and he suddenly wanted to taste her everywhere. Lust shot through him in waves, crashing around his insides. Something dark fluttered to the surface and he pulled away from her briefly. “I want to make love to you, Cynthia, but something tells me it’s not going to be sweet.”

  Approval flashed in the smirk she threw him. “I know, Damien. Give me what you’ve got.”

  He branded her as his with his mouth while his hands toyed, squeezing her perfect breasts in his massive grip.

  She writhed under his touch. “I don’t want sweet,” she moaned as she pressed against him. He pushed her back with a roughness that excited him beyond belief, and she moaned again, her excitement ratcheting his lust into overdrive. Her body under his hands was so familiar, so welcome.

  Within seconds, she was naked, displayed to him, and his gaze on her body was hungry. He licked his lips and a grin stole across his features.

  “We’ve done this before, haven’t we?” he asked her, his voice a gritty, husky, tangible thing that raked across her skin.

  “Yes.” Her breathy moan was his undoing, but he managed to hold onto his control. The things he wanted with her body, but wasn’t sure if they’d discussed. What he wouldn’t do for that one memory…

  “I don’t even know where to start…” His eyes wandered over her body while one of his hands strayed to the sizeable bulge in his jeans. The gesture made Cynthia squirm, her eyes tracking his movements. His other hand reached and tugged on her nipple, hard. She arched into his touch with a groan.

  “Just do something, Damien.”

  “You’ll tell me if I hurt you?” She nodded, sucking on her bottom lip, taunting him, trying to get him to touch her, kiss her, anything but stare at her.

  “You trust me?”

  She nodded again, wiggling her hips for him, his eyes widening at the sight of her open to him, giving herself freely.

  His voice dropped an octave. “Good. Because the things I want to do to you…” He grabbed her ankles and raised them high so she was spread wide open before him. “I just want your pussy wrapped around my dick, balls-deep.” His stomach dropped, and his eyes snapped to hers while his words sank in. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe I just said that. That was crass.” The words excited him, but you didn’t just go around talking like that. Or did he?

  “It’s okay,” she reassured him. “It’s hot,” she whispered, the gleam of excitement in her eyes spurring him into action.

  Pulling both of her ankles into one enormous hand, he pulled her until her backside dangled off the edge of the couch. Then a resounding smack filled the air as a stinging pain filled his palm. A variety of emotions went through him as he realized what he’d done—fear of her reaction, repulsion at his impulse, satisfaction at the red palm print on her ass, then a hefty dose of lust when she moaned her appreciation. She squirmed for more. Fuck.

  “God, that’s fucking beautiful.” He was admiring her backside, rubbing softly with rough calloused hands. His eyes snapped to hers. “You like it?”

  “Yes,” she breathed before he did it again, giving himself over to his baser impulses. When his fingers sank inside her heat, he realized how wet she was. The awe on her face just made him want more.

  “Damien,” she groaned before he spread her legs and crawled between them, kissing her belly and breasts on his way to her mouth. Suckling a nipple between his lips, he bit down gently, grinning around it while looking at her. The feral look in her eyes, coupled with the sensations, sent another heat wave crashing through his system. Cynthia grabbed his hair with both hands, dragging his mouth up to hers, where she kissed him with abandon. He was on top, but she was totally in control.

  His arms went around her body, one of his hands sinking into the hair at her nape, yanking hard so her head fell back. He sucked on her neck and collarbone, starved for the taste of her. His hands on her were rough, possessive, yet at the same time, gentle, cherishing his possession. That’s exactly what this was. She was his now.

  When he had his fill of tasting her, Damien backed off and stripped, watching Cynthia’s heated gaze travel over him. He made short work of his clothes and scooped her into his arms. Settling on the couch with her straddling him, he surrounded himself with her essence.

  She rubbed against him deliciously as she raised herself and sheathed him inside her. He felt her walls stretch around his sizable girth until he was inside, fully encased in heaven. Her heat tantalized him, pulsing around him, and Damien swallowed hard to control the impulse to shoot his load right there. They were still as she adjusted, and the only sounds in the room were their ragged breaths.

  They rocked together, finding a rhythm, moaning and rasping to each other. When he smacked her bottom again, she twitched around him as her climax drew closer. Determination filled him as he vowed to make this good for her. It didn’t seem he needed to do much, though, as she was in total control, and he loved it.

  “Oh God, Oh God…” She started rocking faster, harder, chasing the climax. He did it again, and she went to the edge, the first stirrings of her orgasm pulsing around him. When he pulled her body closer and sank his mouth onto a breast, he bit, and the sharp pain rocketed her over the edge. He felt her bear down on him and he saw stars in his attempt to hold back his own climax. Damien gripped her hips and thrust himself up from under her, filling her and retreating, pounding into her hard while she came apart around him for what seemed like forever.

  “OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod!” Damien’s masculine, guttural moan mingled with her cries, and he shuddered as he let loose his own release. Bright lights exploded in his vision as her insides clamped down again.

  Gasping for breath, they sat together on his couch, trying to regain some semblance of focus.

  Finally, he chuckled to himself. “I’m having a strong sense of déjà vu, here, but I really don’t think you want to be calling out to God while we’re doing all this.” His hands gripped her rear again, and he lifted her, still joined to her. “Although, I think I can manage seeing the bedroom now.” She clutched his shoulders and wrapped her legs around him as he carried her through the house to the master bedroom.

  He blindly carried them to the only furnished bedroom in the house and laid her on the bed. Climbing next to her, he finally managed to speak. “I really like the idea of this blank slate thing I’ve got going here. I’m looking forward to creating new memories to make up for what I’ve lost.” She snuggled into the crook of his neck, and he relished the tingling feelings of numbness across his body snuggled up next to her soft warmth. “I love you, Cynthia, and I’m glad we’ve found each other.” His powerful hands stroked her back. “I can’t remember anything, but I know now you belong to me, and I’m going to spend the rest of my days protecting you and cherishing you.”

  Her words echoed his. “I love you, too, Damien.” Her voice echoed loudly in the sparsely furnished room. “And you’re mine as much as I’m yours. I think we belong together.”

  Two years later

  The angels sat around the picnic table, their women next to them, everyone picking absently at their food. Like last year, it was a quiet affair, as one of them was missing. It wasn’t like he’d ever been invited, but he’d always been a part of their consciousness. Now he was only a memory, and none of them knew how to deal with that. They all felt a little guilty for their part in things.

  And it didn’t help that the man in question was a hundred yards down the beach with his wife and child, obliviously building a sandcastle, looking like a normal family. They all avoided looking at him because every time they did, his woman shot daggers at them with her glare. He may not remember, but she sure did.

  “I hate to say this, but I actually miss his meddling,” Gabe told his p
late, where the yellow mustard swirled into the baked beans from his picking.

  Uri looked up at him. “Me, too, even though I never really liked him, he was still a part of us, and it’s weird he’s not now, you know?” Heather, who sat next to him, reached over and patted his thigh.

  “He didn’t really endear himself to people all that much. You guys shouldn’t feel guilty for your natural reactions.” Her voice was soft, so as not to offend, but her own memories of Damien weren’t all that great. And she knew the other women at the table had worse experiences with Damien than she did. She received nods of agreement from Grace, Hope, and Faith.

  Ironically, Michael seemed to be most affected by Damien’s absence. He hadn’t said a word to anyone in the days leading up to the annual picnic, choosing instead to glower at inanimate objects. No one really knew if it was his lack of adversary, or guilt over killing him, or worry about his immortal soul that bothered him the most, but Faith suspected it was the former. They’d fought each other since the dawn of time, and now that Damien was no longer with them, he seemed to be floating along without a purpose.

  Faith knew this was something they would probably struggle with for a while, and she’d have to be there for him through it.

  “I feel awful for what I did to Cynthia. I went against everything I have inside me.” Rafe cleared his throat to wipe out the lump that had risen. He knew tears were coming, but he’d shed all he was going to in front of others; he wasn’t about to break down now. Grace had been with him when he’d broken down with her. He was worried about his afterlife, having spent so long healing people, then turning those powers against Cynthia and killing her instead. That had pissed The Boss off, and he was worried he’d be damned for it.

  A splashing sound captivated everyone’s attention, and they all turned toward the lake, where a man was swimming to shore with a snorkel.

  Michael made a guttural noise in his throat, but Gabe chuckled to himself as he reached for Hope’s hand. They all knew who this was.