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I feel his hands grasp my hips as he pulls me onto his lap so I am straddling him. He releases my mouth for my neck, kissing a spot just behind my ear. I can feel his teeth graze against my skin, and goosebumps cover my body. One of my hands reaches under his arm to grip his shoulder from behind, steadying myself. The other grabs his neck, my fingers threading through his thick hair. “Oz,” I whisper his name to the cave’s depths like a plea—a plea for more.
Our lips crash together again, and I feel him pull my waist as close to him as he can, pressing me into his body. My head is swimming, and his hands rove over my form, exploring. I can feel his arousal against me, and I grind my hips against him.
A groan escapes his lips, and his kiss deepens with a fierceness that sends fire down my skin. A large hand snakes its way up my torso, stopping at the curve of my breast. I long for his touch. I want to give all of myself to him, and I want him to take over every part of me.
His wandering hand moves upward as if he can hear the plea within me. He caresses me through my shirt, his thumb strumming against my hardened nipple. Breaking the kiss, I gasp, my head falling back.
I am on fire.
The world shifts as Oz leans me backward until I am lying on the cave floor. A hand gently works my shirt up my stomach. Feather-light traces make my skin prickle and pebble under his sure touch. Soft lips gently kiss my skin as it is exposed. When he reaches the peak of my breast and takes me into his mouth, my back arches into him.
Sensitive skin responds to every tease of his teeth and every lap of his tongue. Writhing beneath him, I want desperately to be closer. This is not yet enough. I guide his face back to mine, tracing lines down his back, lifting his shirt, and letting my hands explore his skin.
The taut muscles in his back are tense with excitement, with want. His shoulders are broad and well-formed from years of sword work before he was turned. Scars from before are barely there, whispers on his flesh. I want to explore them in the light, to kiss each one and hear the story of how it was earned. A shudder runs through him from my touch, and I am pleased to be the cause of it.
I feel him press against me, the bulge of his want evident, he rocks his hips against me—a silent promise of what will come. I want him so badly. My hand slips downward, reaching and sliding past the waistband of his boxers. Gingerly grasping his shaft, I stroke him gently, massaging the tip of his crown with my thumb. He groans at my touch.
“Fuck,” he whispers, breathing labored.
Everything freezes. His hands no longer explore me. His lips no longer press against mine. He isn’t looking at me. My breaths are heavy, and my mind fills with confusion. Oz pulls away, my hands slip from him as he sits up, his eyes still not meeting mine.
“Wren,” he says softly, sounding distant and sad. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, but I can’t.”
Oh.
Rejection hurts a hell of a lot.
Pushing myself off the cave floor, pulling my top straight, and patting my jeans. The taste of copper teases my mouth as I bite the tip of my tongue, using the pain to stuff down the intense sorrow that is building in me. I don’t want to cry right now. And if the weight on my chest is any indication, tears are not far off.
I am angry too. I want anger to win out over sadness. I want to yell. Something primal in me stirs. It likes the feeling of anger. I don’t like that it is waking up.
Thatsheis waking up.
I take a deep breath, wanting to hear him out. He rises to stand before me, still unwilling to look me in the eye. “Look at me,” I demand, speaking at a normal volume. He owes me at least that much.
The glow worms go out, and we are cast into darkness. Still, we are close enough to see each other. He finally looks me in the eye, and his are filled with pain. I refuse to pity him. “Why can’t you?”
It’s a simple enough question, though my voice is stern and accusatory. The way he touched me, he feltsomething. Whatever is holding him back had better be damn good.
“I want to. God help me, I do. But without your memories, it feels like taking advantage.” Oz raises a hand to stroke my face, but I slapped it away.
“That’s a stupid reason,” my voice is getting louder now. “And if you felt like that, why do all this? Why bring me here and hold my hand and show me yourspecial placelike it’s a fucking date?” I am seething.
His eyes widen in the dark, and his shoulders slump with defeat, but he takes it all while staring me in the eye. “You’re right.”
“I know."
“Wren, I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to lead you on. I want to pursue something with you. I just want to help you find yourself first.” He looks around the cave. “Bringing you here was a bad choice. I don’t know what I was thinking.” His face is pained, and against my better judgment I feel terrible for him, no matter how much I don’t want to.
I am still pissed though.
Just not enraged anymore.
The thing stirring inside me simmers down for now.
I don’t want things to return to what they were before.
Can I stay mad at someone trying to avoid taking advantage of the girl with amnesia? Chivalry runs deep in this man, which undoubtedly influenced his decision. As for this “date,” I guess? I suppose he may not have considered just how fucking romantic the whole “glowing secret cave that I’ve never brought anyone to before,” thing would be. He said we keep ourselves when we become vampires. Will I keep these feelings when I get back my memories?
