Who cared.
A few of his prior episodes, I’d gone along with his begs and threats, giving him the lines his mind needed to believe in a fantasy. But this time, I didn’t think I could pretend to be Quell.
I couldn’t hug him as her. I might not be jealous of a girl he’d been tortured with, but I was tired and exhausted and every other word that described crippling weariness. I just wanted to eat, sleep, and figure out how to help both of us.
And that doesn’t include falling in love with a fractured man.
His arms loosened around me, pulling away so he could see my face.
I winced as he looked at me. Fear creeping back that any moment the gentleness between us would evaporate.
“Wait...” His dark eyes absorbed the night, becoming blacker and depthless. He did a double take, shaking his head as if the overlay of his dreams flickered, deleting Quell and delivering me.
My palm itched to get my knife. To protect myself.
But in a breath, his hands swooped to my cheeks, his thumbs grazing over my cheekbones as he stared harder into me. “You...”
I shivered as his eyes devoured me. His hips pressed against mine, his body heat making my blood bubble and race.
“You...” he breathed again. “I recognize you.”
My entire body locked down. I prepared to fight for my life.
Stupid, Gem. Stupid!
Pulling back, I brought up my hands to latch around his wrists—one good, one broken—and gathered the courage to shove him away from me.
Only...
His nose brushed against mine as he leaned in and bowed over me. “You came back.” His mouth brushed mine, reverent and whisper-soft. “You didn’t forget me.”
I shivered.
Who did he think I was now?
“Thank you,” he murmured against my lips. “Thank you so fucking much for making my wishes come true.”
I froze as he kissed me.
His lips crashed on mine, his hands slipping from my cheeks to my nape before cascading down my back to my hips. Pulling me into him, he gave me nowhere to run as his tongue parted my mouth and poured yet more tangled emotion down my throat.
A second kiss and it was just as explosive as the first.
Just as wrong because he kissed me under false pretenses.
And just like the first, I couldn’t stop my reaction to him.
I kissed him back.
Our tongues touched and retreated. Our heat matching. Our desire igniting.
I could no longer make sense of anything.
His feet tripped backward, pulling me with him. His hands kneaded my ass, his fingers strong and demanding. With his mouth on mine, he guided me away from the door and toward his carpet bed.
Common sense tried to make me stop him. The sane part of my mind screamed warnings and strategy, but with his tongue dancing with mine and his fingers massaging me as if he’d never felt anything as exquisite, I was lost.
The soft lumpiness of blankets appeared beneath my bare feet.
He stopped pulling me and dropped to his knees, yanking me down with him.
His lips were on mine a second later. His breath hot on my cheek, his dark taste making me drunk with each sweep of his tongue.
“Wait—” I tried to break the kiss. To breathe.
“No.” He grabbed my chin and captured my mouth again, deepening the kiss, pushing me backward until I lay beside him.
He continued corrupting me, kissing his way along my jaw before dropping to bite my neck.
I shivered.
I grew wet.
I had to put a stop to this before it was too late.
Planting a hand on his naked chest, I pushed. “Stop.”
I anticipated a fight, but he pulled away, his lips red and scruff almost as wild as his long, knotted hair. He paused, a question in his stare. A question that seemed to hurt him—hurt him enough that he wasn’t prepared to voice it. He looked as nervous as I felt.
That nervousness made me want to kiss him again. To give him some assurance that his past was over and whatever happened in the future, he would never be subjected to things outside his control again. However, something else burned my tongue, and I had to ask.
“Who...who do you think I am?” The question fell heavy and solid between us, a rock in the night.
He frowned as if I’d asked a stupid thing, then scowled deeper as if he couldn’t put a finger on an answer. Slowly, his face fell, his eyes darting to the left as if the knowledge was just out of reach.
Letting me go, he exhaled and rolled onto his back. He flinched as if his bruises and cuts from his fall only made themselves known now. Cradling his broken arm, he stared at the ceiling.
I was grateful to the scant moonlight; without it, I wouldn’t see the carousel of thoughts on his face.
For a long while, he was quiet. He stayed on his back, and I propped myself up on my elbows, watching him from my stomach. Finally, finally, he whispered, “I don’t know who you are.”