“Micah?”
I realize she’s watching me, warily, as if not sure whether I might bite.
Truth is, I don’t know either. I need a few moments to get my head straight, get my shit together. To talk myself out of falling back into the memory and howling like a wounded animal. Images crowd the edges of my vision, fragments of nightmare and memories, leering faces, taunting voices.
I have to get out.
But she’s leaning over me, her small face concerned, her hand on my chest, over my pounding heart.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice low, soothing.
I can’t reply, can’t move. I can barely breathe, because I need to punch something or someone, and she’s too close, right in the danger zone. My fists clench at my sides as I try to keep from bolting upright, as I try to control every twitching muscle. A tremor goes through me.
The living room is cast in pale light and shadow. It’s still day-time outside. Later afternoon. Looks like I didn’t sleep for very long.
She bends over me, her eyes filling my world. She’s so sweet—just like the night she saved my life, and I need to tell her that. Let her know who I really am, before we do more than get each other off.
But not now, not when my mind is still spinning and a dark hole of depression is waiting to swallow me. Dammit. I sit up and swing my legs off the sofa. She grips my arm, but I shrug it off and rise unsteadily to my feet. I stagger across the living room, bumping into the coffee table, and make my way to the bathroom.
The door bangs shut behind me, and I kick at it. Turning, I slam my fist into the tiled wall. The tile cracks.
Fuck. I brace my hands on the sink and bow my head, letting out a shaky breath. And another. I’m okay. It’s okay. I repeat the words to myself until my breathing slows.
But it’s not enough. So I step into the shower and turn on the hot water. Turning my face into the spray, I let it wash away the dream and the remembered fear. I run my hands through my hair, tugging, the tiny pinpricks of pain grounding me to the present.
And goddammit, it’s still not enough. I want to smash my fist into things, break something, hear the crash and feel the damage.
The muscles in my back and legs are coiled tight like springs. Bracing myself against the shower wall with one hand, I reach up and rub the back of my neck.
I jerk when hands slip around my hips. I raise my head just as a body molds to me—soft, slender, feminine.
“Ev?”
“Shh.” She strokes her hands down my thighs, shifts against me. I can feel her nipples brush my back, and a hot flare of arousal goes through me like a blade.
My dick hardens as she slides her hands up my sides, over my ribs, her warm mouth pressing light kisses to the inked snake on my spine. My hand curls into a fist where it’s braced against the wall and my head dips.
Oh fuck. This isn’t good. I’m about to lose control, and she’s pressed so tightly against me...
“Ev... Have you got any idea what you’re doing to me?” It’s a warning. Run little rabbit, run. “You should stop.”
She hums and keeps kissing my back, her hands stroking my stomach, coming dangerously close to my hard cock.
Fuck, fuck. Every muscle in my body trembles. Normally, I try to be gentle, to hold back. But now I feel like I’m hanging over the void, ready to fall.
“Ev...” I say, my voice so strangled I barely recognize it. “I need some time.”
“I’ve got you,” she whispers and I groan, because I’m about to take out my despair on her, and she’s the last person I wanna hurt.
“You don’t understand.” Shit, how can I explain without spooking her?
The fact my dick is so hard it hurts isn’t helping. Her small hands wander to the front of my legs, not quite touching where I need her to touch. My balls feel hot and heavy, and sparks of pleasure skitter up my spine when her fingertips skim the base of my cock.
“You had a nightmare. Pretty bad one.” I can feel her breath on my wet back and shiver. “Tell me about it.”
“Can’t.” Not now, dammit. “Gimme a minute.” Please.
“You called for me in your sleep.”