“Open up, Scarlet.” The pounding grows louder, more desperate. “If you don’t, I’ll knock down the fucking door.”
Something’s wrong. Very wrong! My fingers trembling, my heart clenching, I unlock the door and swing it open. His formidable body hovers over me, so close we’re almost touching. His chiseled arms stretch across the doorframe. His head is bowed, glaring down at me, who, barefooted, barely reaches his chin. Shaking, I look up and meet his gaze. A madness, like none other, flickers in his eyes. Narrowed and piercing, two flaming arrows. I’ve never seen him like this before.
He clutches my shoulders. His grip is powerful, borderline painful. “Let me in!”
Before I can utter a word, he forces himself in, shoving me against a wall. His nails dig into my flesh. The stucco scrapes my back. He leans in closer, squeezing me more forcefully. His face is a hand-width away from mine, his mouth so close I can taste him. His breathing is heavy, thick with the scent of alcohol. His breath sears my cheeks, the heat of his body permeating every particle of my being.
“Finn, you’re drunk,” I grit out.
“I’m not fucking drunk.”
“What’s wrong?” A chill runs through me. “Is everything okay with Maddie?”
“This has nothing to do with Maddie.” Pinching his lips, he breathes in and out of his nose. His nostrils flare. “On second thought, maybe everything.”
“Please tell me what’s going on. I don’t understand.”
Pinning me against the wall, he takes me prisoner, and I have no choice but to hear him out. My pulse drums in my ears. My shoulders ache.
His eyes, darkening with rage, stay locked on me. Still caging me with his concrete body, he slips his hand into a pocket. My gaze follows him.
He pulls something out. Gold and shiny. Dangling it like bait, he holds it in front of me.
Oh my God! It’s my necklace with my lucky locket with the photo of the three of us. Taken just after Maddie was born.
“H-how did you get this?” My voice shakes.
His smoldering eyes laser into mine. “Maddie found it. Your question belongs to me.”
My throat constricts. My mouth goes dry. I can’t form words. Shock and fear have stolen my voice.
Finn’s jaw stiffens. “This belonged to my late wife.”
I swallow hard and finally, two little words form on my quivering lips.
“It’s mine.”
“What!?” he bites out. “How the hell did you get it?”
Shuddering silence. His eyes grow darker, his pupils dilating with each harsh breath. The wild expression on his face frightens me. My stomach twists and churns.
“Tell me, Scarlet. Who the fuck are you?”
“I-I’m . . . ” I can’t complete my thought. I can’t say my name. My voice is strangled. My heart pounds in my throat.
“TELL ME.”
His voice rises decibels with fury. His hipbones still pinning me, his scorching gaze fixed on me, he lifts one hand to my face and squeezes my jaw so hard I yelp.
He squeezes harder, each word a bullet. “TELL. ME.”
I whimper again. My lips pucker. The pain so great, tears leak from my eyes. His grip so forceful, I can’t look away from him. His breathing grows more ragged. His gaze more Satanic.
He leans in to me closer and I feel a powerful erection pulsing against me. Then, before it snaps, he releases my jaw. As I relax my mouth, he shoves the locket back in his pocket and his hands fall on my chest, draping my breasts.
On my next heated breath, he rips open my nightshirt. The pop, pop, pop of the buttons sends goosebumps all over. Frozen with fear, I’m unable to move as he holds me in his gaze with fierce determination, his fingers clutching the edges of the torn shirt, my panties exposed. His blazing eyes rest on my bare, heaving breasts.
Silently, his hands move back to them, squeezing them, my nipples peaking, almost squeaking with raw pleasure, so tight between his merciless fingers. My knees grow weak as he keeps tweaking and pinching them. My puckered buds, so hard, so tender, I cry out with a rough gasp. Then, he lowers his mouth to them, sucking and nipping.
TELL ME.
With the next nip of his teeth, I cry out again.
The truth is painful.
The ache so beautiful!
I’m so aroused.
So wet between my thighs.
Dripping with need. Unbridled desire.
Moaning, I let him continue, not knowing where this night is going. I’ve wanted this—him—for so long.
My Finn. My husband. My beautiful husband.
I want him to fuck me.
In the worst desperate way.
CHAPTER 46
A manic cocktail of adrenaline and testosterone pours through my veins. Making me lose all control. My blood, like lava, rushes from my brain to my groin, giving me an erection of epic proportions. I’m on fire. Delirious.
I can’t get enough of her.
The feel of her.
The scent of her.
The taste of her.
My mouth clamps down on her tits.
These incredible tits. So full, so supple. Their shape, their size so perfect. The nipples so pink and puckered. Just like hers.
The rosebuds hardening like rock candy, I voraciously suck and nibble them.
Her moans seep into my ears. The sweet sound so familiar. Like a hypnotic melody I’ve heard before. Time and time again.
In a frenzy, I lift her against the wall. Her legs and arms wrap around me. Like a pretzel. I want to eat all of her, taste and lick every inch of her body.
“Who are you?” I grit again, my voice raw against her neck.
“Please,” she begs. “I can’t tell you.”
“You can and you will!” I bite back.
Curled against her tight abdomen, my rock-hard cock pulses with need. Urgency. Savage desire.
A hand slides down her taut body, making its way under her needless panties. My fingertips glide over her silky mound, finding their way to her slick, tender folds. I stroke them. She moans.
“Jesus. You’re so fucking wet for me.” My thumb rubs her clit. Circling relentlessly.
With a loud groan, she tilts back her head. Her breathing grows heavy, her breaths coming out in short, sharp pants. Still fingering her clit, I lick her exposed neck, running my tongue up and down the slender shaft, leaving a trail of my glistening libido.
“Oh my God,” she mutters, shutting her eyes. Her moans grow louder. More desperate. The wet heat between her legs coats the back of my hand as her clit swells beneath my touch. I rub harder, faster. The expression on her face is one of pure tortured ecstasy. She’s so fucking turned on. Her legs squeeze my hips, her hands grip my shoulders. As if she’s hanging on for dear life. My tongue continues to work her neck, flicking that hypersensitive spot below her chin I know so well. Nerve endings like muscles have memory.
“Finn, take me,” she gasps. “Fuck me to oblivion.”
“No, Scar-let.”
“Please,” she begs.
“No. I have other intentions.”
Desperately, she pulls at the drawstring of my sweats, coaxing me to lower them. On her next harsh breath, I yank them down. Giving her what she wants. I’m commando. Breathlessly, she wraps her fingers around my erection and begs for it again. Her reckless hunger equals mine.
I glance down at her soaked panties. They’ve got to go. In a single swift move, I snap the G-string and tear them off, removing the only barrier in our way. They drop to the floor.
Panting, she puts my raging cock to her pussy. Slathering it with her juices.
Madly, I meet her hand, and shove the crown into her entrance, burying myself inside her. Without mercy.
“Oh Finn,” she cries out as I plunge deeper, inch by thick inch.
I curse under my breath. She’s so fucking hot and wet for me. On fire. The expression on her face . . . Impassioned . . . Emblazed . . . Insatiable. Contracting her muscles, she squeezes my cock. Just li
ke she did. Until I’ve taken her to the hilt. Holding her up, I grab her ass and hammer her. Ruthlessly. Our bodies melded, our harsh breaths mingling.
I thrust again and again. Fast and furious. She whimpers; she shrieks. I can’t help but tell her my mission. My true intent.
Another deep thrust and I grunt.
“I’m going to fuck the truth out of you.”
Fuck oblivion!
“Fuck you hard.”
Until you remember.
Remember me.
CHAPTER 47
Desperation takes over.
Recklessness.
Pure lust. Pure need. Pure want.
Her hips buck against mine, her fingernails ripping into my flesh. Each thrust deeper. Each one bringing us closer to the edge. To the truth. To the reality of our being.
Her need to come feeds my body. My need to know fuels my drive. I pump harder and faster, my balls slapping against her thighs.
Desperation chokes her voice. “Please, Finn, I need to come!”
“No, not yet,” I growl back.
“What do you want? What do I have to do?” she wails, her legs trembling.
I grind into her. “It’s simple. Call me by your name.”
“Please, Finn,” she pleads tearfully.
“Tell me who you are.”
She begins to break loose. I can feel her orgasm claiming my cock, her body shattering. The powerful contractions. I’ve been here before. I’m not going to last much longer. On the verge of imploding, without slowing down, I order her:
“Do it!” Her lips quivering, she groans, she cries. Another merciless thrust. “God fucking dammit. Call me by your name!”
My cock drives into her one more time and with a sob she falls apart. With the only word I want to hear.
“SKYE.”
Her name. She repeats it softly. Like a prayer. Tearful. Soulful. Beautiful.
“Skye.”
Skye. I only needed to hear it the first time. I explode, this time her name loud on my lips, spilling out as forcefully as my release. Total mind blow. My cock empties into her, my mouth slamming against hers as we ride out our earth-shattering orgasms. Her pussy finally quieting, I kiss the top of her head.
“My Skye.” How good it feels to say her name again. To hold her in my arms and feel her heart beat. To bask in each other’s pleasure. Feel each other’s heat.
Sobbing, she buries her head on my shoulder, her body heaving.
I hold her tightly. Not knowing my next words or move.
Tears falling in spades, she looks up and cradles my head. Strokes my hair.
“Yes, my love, it’s me.”
“How can I be sure?”
There’s only one way. She knows it. I know it.
She asks me to set her down. Shaking, she turns around and faces the wall.
“Look.” She lifts up her nightshirt.
There it is. On her right cheek. The flower tattoo that’s identical to mine.
I fall to my knees and kiss it.
Seated cross-legged on the floor of the narrow entryway, we clutch each other as if the small area rug is a raft and we’ve found each other in a shipwreck. Holding my wife in my arms, I kiss her tenderly everywhere I can. Yes, I suspected who Scarlet really was, but still nothing prepared me for the mind-blowing moment of truth. Myriad questions bombard my mind, my lips burning to ask them.
The answers begging, I slip my fingers under her chin and tilt up her head. Her deep-set eyes still glisten with tears.
“My darling Finn, can you ever forgive me?” she asks, her lips quivering.
I bristle. Forgive her for what? For disappearing for five years? For keeping up this charade? For cheating my daughter of a mother? For making me grieve? For putting our lives in danger? All of the above plus one more question that burns on my tongue as I remember that fateful night. And relive it.
“We need to talk.” My entire body tenses at the possibility of hearing things I don’t want to hear. The truth is a powerful weapon that can make you whole or tear you apart.
With a solemn expression, she nods.
A sea of secrets lies ahead. Steeling myself, I hope for the best.
CHAPTER 48
His cerulean eyes bore into me, burning a hole in my soul. An opening to tell him the truth, to let the words flow. Yet, as much as I want to get my story off my chest, I can’t get words to form on my lips. My throat is parched; my mouth is dry. My anxiety inhibits me. Where do I begin? How does one condense over four traumatic years into an engaging short story? For God’s sake, I’m a journalist. I tell—okay, told—stories for a living, but I can’t manage to communicate my own.
His searing gaze never strays from me. He circles my lips with a fingertip.
“It’s okay,” he says softly, before taking my cold hands in his. They warm me. He gives them a squeeze of encouragement. I swallow hard again, and finally courage vanquishes the constricting lump in my throat.
Taking a shaky breath, I cast my eyes down, then look up. “You know I had a terrible car accident.”
“Yes. The police told me you went over Mulholland. But they lied to me and said you died.”
“Finn, it’s true. The paramedics resuscitated me. It must have been a mistake—a miscommunication.” Hushed and stunned, he lets me continue. “Every bone in my body was shattered and every organ damaged almost beyond repair. Parts of my flesh were charred, others ripped open. I was in a coma for over a week, and then I went into cardiac arrest.”
“Jesus,” my husband murmurs as the haunting sound of the flatline hums in my head. I shudder.
“My love, I know what it’s like to experience death. I did. I saw the white light they all talk about. But somehow, I willed myself to live. In the light, I saw you and my baby girl, and I knew it couldn’t be my time. I had too much to live for.”
A faint smile flickers on Finn’s face. It’s all I need to persevere.
“I spent almost a year in a hospital convalescing, drifting in and out of consciousness, often hallucinating so I’m told. Undergoing one operation after another to fix my plethora of life-threatening injuries. From skin grafts and bone grafts to metal plates and pins. I was heavily sedated and don’t have a clear recollection of those endless months.”
Finn’s unblinking eyes search mine. “But why didn’t anyone tell me you were alive?”
“Initially, I didn’t understand why. In my moments of lucidity, I cried out for you. Pleaded to see you and my baby. But my desperate pleas were only met by more sedatives to calm me down. Dull all my senses. And make me numb.”
“That doesn’t explain shit,” interrupts Finn, a surge of anger in his voice before it softens. “I would have been there for you. Never left your side.”
“I know, baby, I know.” I press my forehead against his. We stay like this for several loving moments until I pull away and go on.
“Every minute I was awake and conscious, I wanted to bolt out of the hospital. Escape. Find a way home to be with you and Maddie. But it was impossible. I was bed-bound, completely debilitated and crippled by my egregious injuries. Every limb in a cast. My jaw and nose broken, my cheekbones shattered, my skull fractured, my teeth cracked. Fed intravenously. A breathing tube up my nose. My mangled face swathed in bandages.”
Finn stares at me with intensity, the artist in him trying to picture my unfathomable state. If only I could blur the horrific memories. Erase them forever.
“But slowly, day by day, I got better. Grew stronger. And recovered enough to talk to the police, who wanted to know the events of that fateful night.”
“Detective Billings?” asks Finn.
I nod. “How did you know?”
“After you ‘died,’ he came by to talk to me.” He lets go of me to make air quotes, and then cups his hands on my shoulders. “What did you tell him?”
My eyes lower, my voice falters. “Nothing.”
“Look at me, Skye.” Finn’s voice is soft but commanding.
Slowly, I lift my head and meet his questioning eyes. His thick brows are knitted in almost a straight line.
“What do you mean . . . nothing?” He punctuates my last word.
Tears again form behind my eyes. Though I hesitate, his unyielding gaze extrapolates the truth out of me. Forces me to respond.
“I had . . . have no recollection.”
Finn arches his brows, his eyes widening. “What?”
“My doctors told me because of my head injury, I was suffering from PTSD. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”
A stunned Finn stays silent.
“Retrograde amnesia. I don’t know how the accident occurred. I’ve blanked it out. Even the events leading up to it.”
“You seriously can’t remember anything?”
I shake my head. “No. Not a thing.”
While Finn ingests my words, I caress his cheek. “My love, maybe you can help me remember.”
He inhales a deep breath. On the exhale, with his penchant for details, my artist husband starts to tell me everything about that week. That day. That night.
I listen intently, with few interruptions. Filled with remorse, my heart sinks to my stomach while guilt ascends like a high-speed elevator.
It was one of the best days of Finn’s life. A turning point. He’d, at last, gotten an agent who appreciated his talent. Yes, Kayla, but nonetheless, someone who could turn his life around. Ecstatic, he wanted to celebrate with me. Especially since it was also coincidentally my birthday. He made reservations at our favorite restaurant. Even bought me something special to wear. A sexy red dress. But his plans went south . . . with our then nanny quitting on us and me having other plans. To break a major story.
“Did I tell you anything about the story?” I ask, hoping for a breakthrough.
“Nothing except that it was personal. Then you left in a hurry.”
My eyes blink several times, trying to remember. The futile attempt makes my head pound.
“What was I wearing?”
Remember Me Page 21
