Hands roam up my thighs, a gentle caress that sends goosebumps across my skin and heat to pool between my legs. The touch is both familiar and strange, a whisper of a memory buried under layers of sand. Fingertips, course with callouses dig into my flesh, eliciting a whimper from me and they slowly, torturously so, slide their hands over my thighs, stopping only when they reach my inner leg where they then push my knees apart, exposing me and the wetness that has formed beneath my panties.
But it’s dark and I cannot see, only feel and it feels so fucking good. They touch me like they know my body, like I am an instrument they have spent hours of their life perfecting and all I want is for them to dip their hand under my panties and releasethe ache knotting me up from the inside.
A whimper escapes me as the tips of their fingers edge closer to the center of me, my heart notching up in speed with anticipation. I know my climax will be quick, I’m so worked up, so tightly strung that a mere swipe will send me off the edge in seconds.
Suddenly, a shrill, loud beeping sounds and I jerk upright, pain careening through my body at the movement.
Lights blind me and pain steals my breath, and it takes me a moment to realize it was all a dream.
The alarm is my heart monitor, the lights the neon white strips in my hospital room.
And the nurses rushing in, panic tightening their features are reacting all because I was having a damn sex dream that made my heart go into overdrive.
That’s embarrassing.
It’s been a week since I woke up here, laying in a hospital bed with a cast on my arm, several broken fingers, broken ribs and bruises covering half of my body. And apparently no memory of the past few months.
It’s frustrating, it feels as if time is right there, but I can’t get to it. I am missing pieces that are so hidden I don’t know how to find them. Sebastian is helping the best he can, filling in the blanks my memory is not serving me but even with the stories and the information, it doesn’t hit. I have a house I don’t rememberclosing on, starred in a music video I don’t remember filming with an award-winning musician.
Hope, my niece has grown, Olivia has a bump. The only thing that hasn’t changed I suppose is Dean and Killian. They’re still the same quiet brothers they’ve always been, except Killian seems more closed off now. I’ve always noticed Killian, he’s hard not to notice and something feels different about him now. There’s a string tugging me toward him and when he’s in the room, questions burn on the end of my tongue, but I don’t know what they are or what I want to ask him but the pull, it’s undeniable. And I can’t fucking figure out why.
The nurses work to settle me even after I tell them it’s all okay and it was just a dream. I’m hoping they’ll discharge me soon, maybe if I am home I might remember more but being stuck here, staring at the same, dreary four walls day in and day out while the world continues to spin beyond the windows is not helping.
I feel fucking crazy.
Eventually the nurses leave me after squeezing my good arm with the blood pressure cuff and adjust my meds, leaving me to settle back into the uncomfortable bed as they turn the lights off.
I want to go home even though I have no idea what home looks like. Willow says it’s gorgeous, that I’ve managed to make it perfect in the weeks I’ve had the keys, I even have a dance studio, but I don’t remember it.
I don’t remember anything. Like why I was driving that night, why I was out at three in the morning in the pouring rain or the moment some guy plowed into me at a red light. And even though I’ve been filled in on what’s happened, there’s so much missing.
I feel unfulfilled and empty.
And I fucking hate it.
It’s hard to get comfortable but I somehow manage it, falling back to sleep what feels like hours later and this time, it’s dreamless.
I’m staring down into a full coffee mug when the door to my room opens. Killian Archer struts in, his suit pressed pristinely, his dark eyes seeing all and in his hand is two coffees in a holder. Despite his immaculate outfit, his face is tired, his hair disheveled. Dark shadows line the undersides of his eyes, and he just looksworn.He’s still gorgeous of course, not sure anything could take that away from him.
Entirely off limits but the crush I’ve never gotten over, not even my lack of memory can take it away.
“Please tell me one of those is for me,” I plead, “This coffee tastes like trash.”
There’s a flicker of a smile on his stern mouth, “One is for you.”
I practically moan when he passes me one over, immediately taking it from him and allowing myself asip. Fuck that’s good and exactly how I like my coffee.
Killian folds himself down into the chair beside me, cradling his own coffee cup.
“How did you guess my coffee order?” I lean on my pillows and take another sip.
Dark eyes scan my face, “I’ve always known your order, Savannah.”
The way he says my name sends a chill down my spine, “Have you?”
“Yes,” He answers sternly.
He’s such a fierce man, strong, controlling, his authority leaves no gaps for questions. He demands, you answer.
