My body has forgotten how. It always forgets how when I have that dream.
Jagger grips my shoulders and hauls me up, bringing me close to his face.
“Look at me!” he orders.
I open my eyes, heaving and panting. I’m going to pass out. Soon, I’m going to hit the deck.
“Do what I’m doing,” he growls, grip so tight it hurts, but he’s keeping me from falling. “Breathe in through your mouth.”
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“You can!”
I struggle to take a deep breath and only a little bit gets in, and when it does it burns, as if I have been shoved into the water without air.
“Another, come on.”
I try again, this time it gets a little further.
“Keep going.”
We repeat this for a few minutes until I’m breathing properly again and my shaking has subsided. I close my eyes and wipe my hand over my face, trying to remove the sweat beading on my skin. My hands are still shaking as the dream lingers in my mind. Only, it’s not a dream. It’s reality. A situation that will forever haunt me. Jagger grips my chin and tilts my head back, forcing me to look at him.
“What just happened?”
“Nightmare, it’s nothing,” I mumble.
“That was no nightmare. Tell me what happened.”
With trembling fingers, I jerk out of his grips. Oh, he wants to talk to me now? He’s the one who triggered all of these memories. He’s the one who ripped me from my life, and now he wants to talk, to be the hero? My entire body is shaking as I look him in the eyes.
“My life is none of your business, Jagger. I never asked for any of this so stop pretending like you care about the memories that consume my fucking brain. You’re the reason I’m here. You’re the reason I’m losing it. This—” I shove a finger into my chest “—is your fault.”
I spin on my heel and rush toward my room, slamming the door loudly when I get in. I drop to my knees and cry. My mind is consuming me, spinning around and around until I can’t breathe. I heave and shake until there is nothing left in my body. It’s only then I hear the sounds coming from outside, the slamming sounds, the glass breaking, things smashing. I wipe away my tears with the back of my hand and slowly stand.
When I get out into the living area, Jagger is standing by the window, his arms above his head and his forehead resting against the glass. His knuckles are bruised and battered and he’s heaving. There are lamps strewn about, broken glasses, and the dining table is overturned and on the ground, one of the legs broken.
Something about the way he looks right now touches a piece of my heart I wasn’t sure he’d ever get to.
I stare at him for the longest moment, unsure if I should go over or not. I want to, everything inside me screams to comfort him, but I still doubt myself. This situation, it’s toxic, and yet I can’t seem to help myself. Jagger makes me feel things I’ve never felt before, and those things terrify me. They’re not healthy, I know they’re not healthy, but I still find myself stepping forward, and, when I reach him, I place my hands on his back. He tenses but doesn’t turn.
I run my fingertips up and down, slowly, feeling him shiver lightly beneath my touch. I trace little circles and then move my hands lower and over his perfect, firm backside. He sucks in a breath but still doesn’t turn. I press myself closer to him, crushing my breasts against his back and reaching around to cup his abdomen. My fingers slip beneath his shirt and stroke over his muscles.
I’m playing with fire.
The most fucked up inferno I could ever have imagined.
I press my lips to the skin near the back of his neck, and he tenses. I slide my hands up beneath his shirt, and over his smooth, perfect skin. I close my eyes, taking in the moment, not believing he’s actually letting me touch him, and mostly, not believing how much I’m liking it. This is fucked up. I’m fucked up. He’s fucked up. He stiffens and reaches up, closing his hands over mine through his shirt, stopping me. His breathing becomes ragged and, finally, he turns.
My hands are forced to slip from his skin.
“Willow ...”
“We’re so fucked up, you and I. Aren’t we?” I murmur, stepping so close my body is pressed against his once more.
His hands go to my hips, but he doesn’t push me away. “This is wrong. I kidnapped you. You’re my captive. What you feel ... it isn’t real.”
“The funny thing about that is,” I laugh, bitterly. “I don’t fucking care anymore.”
I stare into those beautiful blue eyes and I’m lost. My feelings for this man are no doubt a result of the fact that he’s been all I’ve had for the last few months, and I know they’re likely not real, but I feel them all the same. He strokes my cheek, and, in the background, music is playing. I didn’t notice until now, it’s so faint. Jagger pushes me out into the middle of the living room and wraps his arms around me. Before I know it, we’re dancing.