Page 21 of Inked Desires

AReS

I speed down the icy road. The tires almost lose grip. The engine roars, but I push harder. How long has he been waiting in the cold? How long did he hold out before calling me?

With a violent screech, the car skids to a stop in front of a luxury apartment complex.

I bolt out.

In the middle of the lot, Andrew stands alone, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets against the freezing night. I rush toward him.

“Where is he?” I yell into the darkness.

“Can I stay at your place?” he asks instead of answering.

It’s not a question he even needs to ask. There’s only one answer.

“Where is he, Andrew?” I press, impatient.

He glances toward the building. Without another word, I take off running.

“Ares!” he calls after me, but I don’t stop.

Behind me, I hear his hurried footsteps.

“What floor?” I throw over my shoulder without slowing down.

His breathless voice barely reaches me. “It’s pointless!”

His frustration is clear—but I don’t give a damn. That bastard’s insane. I’m too angry to talk this out. I push through the door and race up the stairs.

“Third floor,” he finally says.

I take the steps two at a time. At the only door on the landing, I pound my fist against it.

“Open up, you piece of shit!” I shout down the hallway.

I slam my fist again and again until the door suddenly flies open. Without hesitation, I draw back and slam my fist straight into his face. A sickening crack echoes, followed by a rush of brutal satisfaction.

The asshole before me screams, clutching his nose as blood starts to pour.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” he roars.

I shove him inside, fully aware Andrew is behind me, witnessing the whole thing.

“If you touch him again, I swear to God I’ll fucking kill you,” I growl, voice like ice.

“Did you ask him what he wanted? Or is it only different when it’s you?” he spits back, provocatively.

I step toward him. He immediately backs up. I chuckle. This coward claims he fought for Jace? He probably just cleaned his toilets.

“He kissed me. That makes all the difference, you fucking prick. Try forcing him again, and I’ll break a lot more than your nose,” I warn.

He straightens, drops his bloodied hands from his face, and puffs out his chest like he’s got something to prove.

“Fine. Next time, I’ll ask first,” he says with a smug smile.

I clench my fists, struggling against the urge to crush his throat. Fuck, this guy is asking for it. Just looking at him makes me see red.

“There won’t be a next time. Andrew doesn’t live here anymore. Stay the fuck away from him.”

I turn toward the only person that matters, grab his arm, and drag him out with me, storming down the stairs. He doesn’t resist, which suits me just fine—I’m in no mood to argue.

Outside, he suddenly yanks his arm free.

“Was that really necessary?” he snaps, furious.

I turn to face him, rage still pounding in my veins, my muscles tight with fury. That bastard dared to put his hands on him. I tried to fight it, tried to downplay that fucking kiss… but that doesn’t give anyone the right to touch his mouth.

“Get in the car,” I growl.

“No! Why did you hit him?”

I look up at the sky. The stars are hidden by the city lights, but snow is falling faster now.

“Get. In. The. Car,” I repeat, enunciating each word.

Frustrated, he lets out a cry of rage, then wrenches the car door open and slides in. I get in beside him. Once I’m sure he’s buckled in, I start the engine and blast the heat. He must be freezing—his teeth are chattering.

The drive is silent. I try to cool the fire burning inside me. Maybe punching an FBI agent wasn’t the best idea… but Robert Davis deserved it. As far as I’m concerned, he’s no better than Benton. One look was enough to see Andrew didn’t want to be touched. And he did it anyway. Worse—he triggered a memory Andrew wasn’t ready to face.

I park outside the studio and get out. I wait, but he doesn’t move—locked in some internal struggle. I almost feel sorry for him. He tips his head back against the headrest, then yanks off his seatbelt and slams the door shut.

“Are you finally going to talk to me?” he demands.

“What do you want to hear?”

“Why you hit him? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

What?! He’s mad at me?

“He kissed you without your consent,” I snap back.

“I was handling it. You had no reason to step in!” he shoots back.

“No reason? You’ve been through enough. You don’t need some asshole lying to you and putting his hands on you!” I explode.

He steps in close, jabbing a finger into my chest.

“I handled it! Are you going to punch every guy who comes too close?”

The thought alone sends rage surging through me. I’d burn down the world to keep him safe.

I gently cup the back of his neck and pull him in until our noses touch.

“You have no idea what I’d do for you, Andrew. I warned you. There won’t be any other men. You wanted to have me? Well, I’ve stopped fighting it. I’m yours. And you need to understand something—I will never hurt you. But if another man touches you again, I’ll reduce him to ashes right in front of you. I’m a jealous man, little bunny, and I lost my mind a long time ago.”

I’m done fighting. Every wall I put up, he tears down without effort. So why bother? Might as well bleed out completely, until there’s nothing left of me but what I can give him.

“You’re insane,” he whispers.

I close the distance between our lips, desperate for his taste. The kiss from earlier wasn’t enough. I need more of him.

“You have no idea,” I murmur before crashing my mouth onto his.

This kiss is anything but gentle. Our tongues clash, fierce and unrelenting. The scent of another man clings to him, and it drives me wild. I hold him tighter, hoping to erase the foreign taste from his skin.

But it doesn’t work. The smell clings to him like a second skin.

Reluctantly, I pull back. He blinks, dazed.

“You need a shower. I can still smell that bastard on you,” I growl.

He lowers his head and sniffs his sweatshirt.

“I don’t smell anything,” he replies after a second.

“Well, I do,” I snap, grabbing his hand.

I lead him through the studio, heading straight for the back entrance that opens into the apartment upstairs.

He doesn’t even get a chance to argue. I push him gently toward the bathroom and start tugging off his coat.

“Are you planning to undress me completely?” he chokes out.

I glance up just as my fingers curl around the hem of his sweater. Now he gets shy?

“I’ve seen every inch of your skin. No point pretending otherwise.”

His arms cross instantly over his chest, shielding his torso.

“I don’t remember that!”

A crooked smile escapes me.

“Doesn’t change the facts.”

“Give me a little privacy, will you? This is already way too much for one day,” he mutters, calmer now, but still on edge.

Shame. I wouldn’t have minded enjoying the view a little longer.

I sigh and take a step back. I won’t push. I promised him.

“All right. Take your shower. I’ll leave one of my T-shirts by the door.”

Before stepping out, I press a kiss to his forehead. Then I rummage through my closet, grab a shirt, and lay it just outside the bathroom like I said I would.

In the bedroom, I turn on the bedside lamp and leave the door ajar so he won’t bump into anything in the dark.

With a tired motion, I strip down to my boxers and slide under the sheets.

That man in the shower has managed to tear down my life and every damn principle I had in less than a week.

I’d made a decision. Sworn to keep my feelings out of this.

And what did he do?

He brought in a fucking bulldozer and leveled everything.

There’s nothing left of me.

The soft sound of bare feet on hardwood floor breaks the stillness. I look away from the ceiling.

He’s standing in the doorway, uncertain.

“Would you rather sleep in the guest room?” I sigh, catching the tension in his stance.

“I’ve never slept with another man besides Jace,” he mumbles, clearly uncomfortable.

“You’ve already slept in this bed. With me. In my arms,” I correct gently.

“Really?”

Since he lost his memory, he has these moments of wide-eyed innocence. Most of the time, he’s all sharp wit and stubborn fire. But sometimes, I catch a glimpse of the teenager he used to be.

“Yes. Come on. I don’t bite. And I promise to keep my hands to myself tonight,” I add with a small smile.

He relaxes. After a moment’s hesitation, he crosses the room and slips under the covers.

I turn onto my side. He mirrors me. In the dim light, our eyes meet.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“Thank you?” I echo.

He nods as much as the pillow allows, tucking one hand beneath his cheek.

“I needed you… and you came. I didn’t know where else to go,” he admits, voice heavy with exhaustion.

I brush my fingers through his curls.

“Don’t thank me for that. I’ll always come for you. No matter where you are. If you need me, just call.”

A shy smile spreads across his face.

“I promise not to take advantage of your hospitality. Tomorrow morning, I’ll start looking for an apartment,” he murmurs, already half-asleep.

“You’re staying here,” I reply without hesitation.

But he doesn’t hear me.

A smile tugs at my lips despite everything. He looks so young and fragile when he sleeps.

I stay awake a while longer, watching his curls spill across my pillow.

If only we could stay like this.

Safe.

At peace.

Cut off from the world.

I wake up after far too little sleep. I reach out gently with one hand.

Nothing.

Just a half-empty bed.

I frown and open my eyes reluctantly. Andrew’s gone. Fuck. I should probably start thinking about chaining him to me so he’ll stop vanishing like that.

Annoyed, I toss back the covers and get up. My body doesn’t seem to understand that I’m awake yet—every movement is sluggish, hesitant. I shuffle down the hallway. The bathroom door is open: no sign of him. Not in the living room either.

It’s in the kitchen that I finally find him.

He’s sitting on a chair, wearing my oversized T-shirt, one leg tucked against his chest and hidden beneath the fabric. That shirt? He can keep it. He’s stretched it out so much it might as well be a damn tent.

Nose buried in a newspaper, he sips his coffee at the same time. The image hits me hard. I could stare at him like this for hours.

“Morning,” I call to get his attention.

He jumps, sloshing a bit of coffee onto the front of his makeshift tent. He straightens up immediately and glares at me.

“Why do you get off on scaring me like that?”

“I just said good morning. Not my fault you’re so unobservant,” I point out.

Pouting, he folds his arms across his chest.

“I didn’t hear you coming,” he mutters in self-defense.

I walk over, lean down, and press a kiss to the top of his head, inhaling his scent deep into my lungs.

“Yeah, I noticed. What are you doing?” I ask, grabbing myself a mug.

“Looking for an apartment,” he says as he goes back to reading.

I settle into the chair beside him, grab the paper and crumple it, tossing it clean into the sink.

“What the hell are you doing?!” he snaps.

“You’re not going anywhere,” I repeat firmly.

His eyebrows shoot up, and his fingers move to his forehead, rubbing small circles—clear sign of frustration.

“You want me to go back to Robert or something?”

I take a long breath. He’s trying to provoke me. And he’s damn good at it.

“Don’t say his name again. You’re staying here.”

“I barely even know you,” he protests.

“And how long had you known Robert before moving in with him?” I hiss, my patience fraying fast.

He drops his gaze to the table.

Bingo.

He didn’t know him any better, and yet he made that decision without hesitation.

Stung, he presses his lips together and doesn’t reply with his usual fire. I sigh. Great. I’ve fucked it up again.

“Look, Benton’s still out there. I don’t want you alone in some apartment. If the idea of sharing a bed with me bothers you, take the guest room.”

The words burn my throat. I don’t want him sleeping anywhere but in my arms. If I could, I’d chain him to me just so he could never leave again.

“It’s not that,” he whispers.

I take his hand and press a kiss to each of his fingers.

“What’s wrong, little bunny?”

He sighs and finally lifts his eyes to meet mine. They’re full of emotion. He’s fighting himself.

“I don’t want to be dependent on a man ever again. That memory, even if it was small… it scared the hell out of me,” he confesses.

I close my eyes for a second and squeeze his hand gently, letting him know I understand. Then I look at him again.

“Take the guest room. Call it a roommate situation. If it helps, you can even pay rent from your salary.”

The tension in his eyes eases slightly. Under my fingers, his pulse begins to slow. Then, finally, he offers me a small smile.

And that smile means everything to me.

“Okay, roommate. I can live with that,” he says at last.

“I’m not just your roommate,” I growl, grabbing the back of his head.

“Roommate with benefits?” he teases, eyes twinkling with mischief.

The little shit is mocking me.

I press my nose to his. His gaze drops to my lips. I stay like that, keeping him close but out of reach—letting him ache for it.

“Lover?” he tries again.

“Call me whatever you want. As long as you’re mine,” I murmur before capturing his mouth in a slow, consuming kiss.