The next few minutes pass by in a blur. Alex rubs his hand up and down my back, whispering soothing words. It’s going to be okay. You’re alright. Just breathe.
Just breathe.
It’s hard to breathe through the crushing ache in my lungs, my bones, everywhere. But after he gets me to the sofa and sits me down, I lower my head to my lap and take deep inhales and exhales, my heart starts to beat steady again and oxygen returns to my lungs.
I sit up with my arm wrapped around my stomach, blinking as the blood rushes from my head. “What happened?”
Alex is kneeling on the floor in front of me with his hand still on my back, eyeing me over with concern. “I think you were having a panic attack.”
I shake my head and scratch the spot of skin on the back of my neck where the prickle is going wild, the area a little tender. “It felt like I was being smothered.”
He moves his hand from my back to my leg. “Panic attacks can feel like that…” he trails off considering something. “But what I’m wondering is what happened to cause the panic attack? Is it because Laylen’s still missing?” His expression slightly hardens. “Because I promise we’ll find him. You’re mom and Aislin could have found them already too and just haven’t made it back yet.”
Sparks dance recklessly across my skin, reminding me of everything we are and never can be. “Find Laylen? Is he missing…” It dawns on me. I went back into the point in time where Laylen ran off, but I was never captured by Nicholas.
“Gemma, what’s wrong? You look like you’re going to be sick?” Alex skims over my body, assessing every part of me, making the sparks more intense and the consequences of them even heavier. “And why are your clothes wet?” His eyes drift to my hand still clutching the crystal ball, our fingers brushing and sending a surge up my body. He takes it from me and rotates it in his hand. “Where did you get this?”
Without even thinking, I extend my hand out and place it on Alex’s arm. The electricity surges with contact. I stare at the window over his shoulder, the sunlight blinding but refreshing in the best way possible. “I can’t believe it worked.”
Alex gets to his feet then sits down beside me with a concerned look on his face. “Gemma, I don’t know what’s going on but I’d really appreciate it if you’d explain it to me.” He’s trying to be patient with me instead of his normal, bossy self, probably because recent information about his father and what he did to all of us, including Alex himself, is affecting him.
“Something happened to me,” I tell him. “But I’m not sure if you’re going to believe it or not.”
His brow arches. “I’m not really sure there is anything I wouldn’t believe at this point.”
He has a point. So many crazy things have happened over the last week or two that it makes anything seem possible, but still, everyone has been telling us how changing visions is impossible and I just reset time. I need to explain everything to him and I mean everything, not just about resetting time, but what led up to the point that it had to happen, which means telling him about Stephen and my possession and the worst part—how we’re not supposed to be together. How we can kill one another if we fall in love. But before I divulge this to him, before I give him up, I want him one last time. The prickle hasn’t announced my love for him, or anyone else for that matter, yet and I’m not sure if it ever will, but what I do know is that Alex will more than likely put a stop to all the touching, kissing, cutting off the human contact I’ve been deprived off for years and I want it one more time before it’s gone.
So before either of us can say anything I lean forward and press my lips to his. I try to shut down the overwhelming heat, the passionate sparks, the scorching hot desire that tidal waves through me as I slip my tongue into his mouth.
He kisses me back without any hesitation, as if he has no control over the situation or anything else, and honestly, I don’t think either of us does. We’re prisoners to our lust, want, need, a million different things that feel like they own me all the damn time and I’m giving in.
“I surrender,” I say against his lips, not really too him.
But he pulls back, eyes glossy, filled with desire, an addict wanting his next taste, just how I feel at the moment. “Huh?” He cups my cheek. “Gemma, please tell me what’s wrong.”
I want to tell him, but not yet. The greedy addict in me wants just one more moment before I give it all up. “I surrender,” I say again, like it’s supposed to mean something, and the flash of hunger in his eyes makes me think that it might means something to him.
Suddenly he’s colliding his lips against mine and everything that matters doesn’t. Nothing else exists.
Nothing.
Out tongues tangle together, hands wandering all over each other’s bodies. I forget how to breathe like I did seconds ago, but it doesn’t matter. Let me stop breathing, because that’s how it’s going to be in a few minutes. As the excruciating pain of reality bares down on me, I suddenly get to my feet. Alex starts to protest, but I grab his arm and pull him to his feet. Then before I can stop myself, I move to tug his shirt off his head, but somehow in the intensity of the moment, I manage to rip the fabric in half, as if I’ve gotten stronger somehow. Alex looks down at his chest, shocked, and I feel the same way. But the shock fizzles as I take in the sight of his flawless muscles and fiery sun tattoo blazing on his skin—his Keeper’s mark—and instead I trace my fingers along it, noting how fast he’s breathing.
His gaze lingers on my hands, then drift to my face. Something in his eyes causes heat to coil deep inside me and course through my veins like a powerful drug. He wants me as much as I want him and it nearly sends me through the roof. I’m about to smash my lips against his, unable to control myself, but he stops me, reaching for me. And like I did with him, he tears my shirt from my body, but with purpose unlike me. Then with one swift movement, he has my bra undone and moments later we melt together like liquid steel.
I slip my fingers through his hair and tug on the roots, causing him to moan and start backing us up somewhere. Clothes come off on our way down the hallway, pants, boxers, panties, most of which gets torn to shreds. My nails scratch at his skin, claw at his back, as he bites at my lips, my neck, groaning over and over again, leaving teeth marks on my body that leave a wonderful ache along my skin. The twisted part of me hopes they’ll leave scars, that way I can at least have a reminder of this when I’m full of emptiness again.