Over the Edge

Ch.37-Learning to Live Again

Stop?

The word had never even come to mind.

Cool air sliced between his lips and my skin. The desperation within me cried out at the loss of contact. I could feel him, though. His hair tickled my chin, and his heat surrounded me.

"I wish," he began gruffly, "that you could remember how this feels."

I swallowed hard. "What?"

"This stupid chemistry we have between us," he said. "I wish you could remember how completely undeniable it is."

I said nothing, because I wished I could remember, too.

"You feel so good," he whispered, breath puffing over my collarbone. His hand snuck beneath my top. "So fucking good.

"Rhys," I whispered. I pressed my hands flat against his stomach, feeling the tight muscles clench beneath my touch. I pulled a groan from his lips as he greedily tugged down the sleeve of my shirt. I heard a tearing sound, small and insignificant in the back of my mind. His mouth laid claim to my shoulder. My hand moved from his stomach to his chest, where the other one joined it. I trailed the tips of my fingers along the planes of his torso, the firm lines of his physique, oddly hard and sculpted for a boy of his age.

I was losing myself fast, and I didn't exactly want to stop.

But then, like a slap in the face, I heard that voice shouting out inside of me. Stop, it scolded. What are you doing? Getting it on with a boy you barely remember in a room unfamiliar to you?

It had a point.

And yet pulling away, distancing myself from the sensations racing through me, it didn't seem worth it.

But that lagging doubt leaked in, made me think clearly. What if he wasn't who he said he was? What if he was taking advantage of me, a girl without a memory? I wouldn't be able to take that. Even if his soft smiles and careful touches said differently . . .

There was just no way of knowing.

"Rhys," I stated more firmly, and the urgency in my voice had him pulling back to look at me. I nearly faltered, the words running back down my throat at the darkness of his eyes, but I forced them back up. "Stop . . . please," I practically gasped. He did so, hand moving back to grip the sheets on either side of me. But he didn't move.

I wanted to believe that the ruggedly handsome face looking down at me was not of malicious intent. Wanted to so freaking badly. But I couldn't know for sure.

"Will you be honest if I ask you a question?"

The achingly tender brush of his fingers against my face, so soft I barely felt it, was almost enough to do away with any doubts I might have had. "Of course."

"Am I-were we--" I took a moment to collect my thoughts. "Was I special to you?"

It ended up coming out as a whisper, fearful and hesitant, not entirely sure I wanted to know the answer.

"Yes," he whispered. "You still are."

"How do I know you're not . . . You know . . ."

"Trying to get in an amnesiac girl's pants?" he offered. I blushed crimson.

"It sounds terrible when you put it like that."

"You're right, it does." He ducked his head, pressing his nose against mine. The action was strange, but oddly soothing. "There's nothing I can do to prove it to you. I can't snap my fingers and will months of memories back into you."