Those fucking emerald eyes I’ve missed so much stare back at me. Malia’s face scrunches up, the broken wheels trying to turn, to muster up the memories that were stolen from her. I’d give her anything, do anything for her. I hate how helpless I feel because the one thing I can give her back is herself.
“I think I loved you,” she murmurs, her brows pinching together.
My body goes rigid at the words. I never got to hear them from her, I only knew. They’re said in the same voice, the same mouth, I wanted to hear them from. Only the person is different. It’s not lost on me that she saidloved, in the past tense.
I swallow the emotion and force out my words.
“Is your memory coming back?”
I’m hopeful, but I don’t quite understand what she meant by thinking she loved me if she has no recollections.
Malia shakes her head.
“I had one while Elio and I were in bed.”
I tense, knowing what he did to her. To think about how he lied to her to make himself some sort of hero and win her over, about how she would lie in his bed as we did together, sets my blood on fire. I grind my teeth together, and Malia’s soft hand squeezes mine, as though she somehow knows my mind is falling into the darkest places.
I let out a slow, harsh breath, and she waits for my heartbeat to slow before she continues.
“It didn’t look like here, like the mansion.” She pauses, her face scrunching as she tries to pull up the memory. “Stone and wood were everywhere; the air was musty and cold. You had me pressed against the wall and told me that you loved me. Nothing else after that.”
I knew the exact moment Malia remembered. It was the moment we returned from New York, and she started to pull away from me. Not long before she was taken.
“There were feelings that came with it,” she said, pursing her lips. “That’s why I think I loved you then.”
“You did,” I admit through a croak.
Malia’s casual use of the past tense is like a knife to the gut, and I roll my head to stare at the ceiling. I might not have ever heard her mutter them to me directly, but Malia would not have put up with the bullshit we went through without it. I might have stalled at the baby question, but there’s no doubt in my mind Malialovesme.
She pushes herself up and stares down at me, her curls cascading around her face. I reach up and tuck one side behind her ear, trying not to focus on the way she’s worrying her lip, so I don’t freak her out with my hard-ass dick.
“You can ask me anything,” I say.
“Can I try something?”
I know what she wants to try, and I know why she wants to try it. I don’t think it will be so easy to just kiss me and get her memories back. I nod anyway, feeding my masochism some self-inflicted torture for dessert.
Malia leans down and, in desperation, I meet her halfway, pulling back slightly before our lips collide. My hand lifts and I rest it on the back of her head, imploding at the taste of her lips.
I let her take the lead, holding myself back. She starts slowly, testing, getting used to the feeling of me, searching for what she’s trying to find. Whatever it is she’s hoping to find, the kiss doesn’t seem to be enough. She presses forward, slipping her tongue into my mouth, expanding her hunt and openly exploring. She moves to straddle me, and I grab her leg and flip her on her back, shifting my body on top of hers.
Malia hums in approval and I shudder from taking a hit of my own personal drug. Feeding my addiction to Malia Alya Olin, my hips press down into hers, the hardness of my cock grinding against her pussy, and she gasps.
I bite down on her lip, grinding harder, eating up her moans like fucking kibble. I tear away from her mouth and push up her sweatshirt along with the tank top she’s wearing underneath. I groan when I see she has no bra on and I dip down and suck her nipple into my mouth, biting down hard and making her cry out. I massage the pain away with my tongue then bite back down to chase the sounds of her cries and pleasure.
Malia’s hands fall to the waistline of my pants, the motion like an instant jolt to my system and I jerk back, realizing what I’m doing. I look down at her, horrified as she meets my eyes, panting, tits exposed, likely soaking wet, and fucking perfect.
She’s a goddamn dream.
And I can’t do this to her.
Malia doesn’t remember me. As much as I would love to let her use me to ease her pain, I can’t do this if she only wants to fuck me so she can remember, only to have her regret it in the morning. That would make me no better than Elio. And I won’t do that to her.
I lean back down and press a soft kiss to her forehead while she looks at me in confusion. I can’t sit here and begin to explain to her why I’m not going through with this. Not right now; I’m too raw.
When I pull away, I fall over onto my side of the bed and pull the covers up.
The perceived rejection burns straight through both of us as we fall asleep on opposite sides of the bed, facing away from each other.