No Strings Attached

Chapter Three

“You’ve lost your fucking mind,” she muttered, looking away to find her shoes again. There was no way she’d be sitting around listening to this shit! “No bullshit, no hiding,” she mimicked angrily, “No, until you spin me the most epic pile of bullshit you can find - which is about the only thing I know for damn sure right now! Whether it was then or now, I don’t even fucking know anymore! I just know you’ve lost your damn mind!”

She was so distracted in her frantic, angry movements that his hand reached out to her wrist it seemed, from absolutely nowhere. Somewhere in the midst of the red hot mist that cloaked her in anger, he had risen from his nonchalant pose, and stood impossibly close – his skin brushing against hers, his fingers, no longer grasping, but brushing over her forearm as she found herself centred somehow – stable. That rage was still tangible, carbonating in her veins as it rolled through her, but she wasn’t trembling, or fearful.  

A smile played at the outer corners of his lips as he moved in front of her slowly, fingertips barely making any contact with her at all, but somehow, that touch was so much more intense than any other.

“You don’t flinch from me, Shannon,” he remarked softly, the sound almost drowned out by that barely there bass that was making its way out to them through the glass, running his fingertips gently over her cheek, and to her chin.

She felt a slight tremor rising up inside her at the feeling of his hands so close to her neck, a quivering that started just underneath the skin, but she was glued to the intensity of his dark eyes as they held hers in their grip, and slowly it retreated, smothered by the unmistakeable electricity that automatically came with his touch.

“I know you’re going to try and tell me that this is normal,” he spoke so gently that the words danced with the intensity that it took to keep his voice at such a low tone, shimmering in the air between them, the mere inches that separated them, “But when Jayden touched you, you flinched. Its back isn’t it? That fear of being too close, is that why you’re back?”

“I’m back for Tori,” she whispered, pained that he could still see right through her, even now.

“She doesn’t need you, kitten, that’s an excuse and we both know it. What brought it back? London?” His face was an impassable mask, but for the muscle that clenched in his jaw, “Don’t answer that, I can’t stand it,” he gritted, “I should’ve been there, fuck no, you shouldn’t have been there, you should have been here – where you belong!”

She really, truly hated him in that moment.

Because he looked so much like the boy that she’d loved heart and soul that she couldn’t bear the agonized expression on his beloved face. “Don’t do this, Nate, don’t torture yourself over ancient history,” she soothed softly, “We can’t go backwards, we can’t relive any of that, but don’t throw yourself at my feet because of guilt or pity, I can’t stand it. Look at us now,” she smiled softly, “We’ve evolved, we aren’t the same people anymore, and shit has happened for both of us that has damaged us and fucked us up. Maybe one day, we can look back, because it was the only beautiful thing I ever had as a child, the only truly happy times of my youth, but we’re not ready yet to do that without all of this blame and ... guilt. And I can’t taint it with that.”

For long moments, his eyes met hers, before the expression in his turned harsh, and calculating.

“You don’t believe any of that shit, Shannon,” he smiled sardonically, “You don’t believe we can ‘look back’, we’ll never be there. This isn’t some dead entity we’re talking about here, some memory about a tree-house, this is us. You really think that the way that we felt can ever disappear?”

Her jaw clenched, so much for trying to appease his guilt – trying to make him feel better – the manipulative prick would just turn it on its head anyway! “It’s a child’s love,” she spat, “I’d write the most beautiful poems for boys I liked, believing they would be my knight in shining armour, whisk me away, and I’d pour blood, sweat and tears into them, and the next day I’d throw them away – all coherent memory forgotten. It means fuck all!”

“Except I was your knight in shining armour, baby, I saved you, or did you forget? And it wasn’t fucking poetry, Shan, it was forever!”

“Forever isn’t very long when you’re seventeen years old, Nate!”

She turned to leave, recognizing the perfect parting shot for what it was, and she would’ve done, had he not strayed from his original point – had he not been so adamant that he get the chance to say what he had to say – rub her face into the weakness of her own flesh and blood.

Just the whisper of a fingertip along her spine – no pressure, no force – just a whisper, and she stood stock still.

“But not my touch, you’ll never flinch from my touch.” His voice sounded musing, thoughtless, but she recognized the intensity in it, “Why do you think that is Shannon? That you can’t stand anybody’s touch except mine. Your body faces a trauma, and rejects the feeling of flesh against it from everyone except me? You’ve never once been scared of my touch against your skin, if anything, you’re addicted to it.”

Her breath caught in her throat that he could be so fucking cruel, just to prove a point. She knew, as well as he did why, but she didn’t like the reminder. “That means nothing Nate, Jay just ... caught me by surprise is all.”

“You know exactly what it means Shannon,” his breath ruffled the soft wisps of dark hair at the crown of her head, “It means your body remembers its master. I can still chase away the demons, and that’s what you’re looking for, that’s always what you’re looking for isn’t it?”

“Fuck you!” she spat, struggling as he tried to pull her back into his body.

“That night with Sebastienne,” he grated out, holding her body against his with an almost punishing grip, “I knew exactly where you’d be, because you can’t stand the thought that I might be the only one to do that for you, can you?” Tears blurred her vision, but he pressed on, relentlessly, “So you had to go and see for yourself – see if you could maybe find someone who could.”

“I can’t stand the thought that you ever touched me at all!” she screamed out into the dark night that had descended around them, wrenching her arm out of his vice-like grip. Stepping back, with a wall of defiance crashing down over her face, she looked at him with blind fury, pure hatred in her cat like eyes, “What’s to say I haven’t found a thousand men that can make me come like you can! You think you’re so fucking special! What’s to say each and every single guy I screwed after you didn’t raise the bar for my submission, until you’re no more than a fucking Little House on the Prairie memory?”

“I swear to fucking God Shannon,” he came at her, crushing her to him, her wrists pinned behind her back so that her pert breasts were crushed into his masculine chest, his voice angry, eyes crazed, “You ever talk to me about fucking another man – you ever, and I mean ever compare what we had to some mindless fuck, I will ...”

“You’ll what?” she spat out, just seconds before his lips smashed against hers in a cruel, and ruthlessly punishing kiss.