Faithless Dreams

by C. R. Jane

  “Eva,” comes Damon’s voice to the side of me, making me jump. His voice is low and tight. I turn to answer him, but the look on his face silences me. He hesitates and I find myself moving to him. His arms slide around my waist, his eyes on my face. His breath hitches as he pulls me against him. My hands trace his face then slide down his neck to grasp his shirtfront. I gasp as one of his warm hands slides underneath my coat and up my back.

  Looking up at him, I’m trying to figure out what he’s thinking, why he’s here.

  “I can’t stay away from you. I don’t know who you are, but I know that I need you, more than I’ve ever needed anything in my life.”

  I feel impatient, suddenly overcome with urgency.

  I let go of his shirt and drag him towards my dorm. Everyone looks at us as we pass by and I think I see Selena down the street, beginning to walk towards us.

  It only makes my pace quicken. I don’t breathe until we’re in my room and I’m burying my hands in his hair, pulling until his lips are on mine. I’m rewarded with the full weight of his mouth, soft and hungry on mine. He groans as my lips part, allowing his tongue to trace the inner softness of my mouth.

  My hands fist in his hair. His lips leave mine, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his hands clenching and unclenching in my hair.

  “Tell me what this is,” he whispers, his voice ragged.

  “It’s us,” I answer simply. “It’s always been us.”

  My boldness restored despite his obvious confusion and turmoil; my lips close on his. I want more. I need more.

  He smiles against my lips. His hand slides up and down my bare back underneath my coat and shirt in long, mesmerizing strokes. I lean into him, into his touch, shivering in his arms. My hands open the buttons of his shirt and I revel in the feel of his warm skin beneath my hands. My lips lightly trace his collarbone, pressing against the racing pulse in his neck. His hands tremble against my back, inflaming my desire.

  I shrug out of my coat, letting it fall. His hands rest on the front of my shirt, hesitating. I help, pulling my shirt off and quickly unbuttoning my pants until they fall to the floor. His eyes travel down the length of me, looking reverently at me like I’m an alter he wants to worship at.

  He suddenly crushes my body against him. His chest is hard against mine, his back warm and solid under my fingers.

  I tilt my face to his, wanting his lips on mine again. His mouth pulls and parts, stoking the fire of my desire. He holds one of my hands in his. I’ve always thought he has perfect hands, big and strong with long fingers, I think randomly.

  We stumble together to fall on my bed. His hands are everywhere, removing the scanty bit of lace serving as my panties before traveling up the back of my knee, my hip, my back. His lips follow. He rapidly explores every inch of me, driven by what seems like a manic hunger.

  I’m going to explode. He’s shaking with need, I can feel it, and I want all of him. His hands are on the waist of his pants, unbuttoning them and yanking them off with impatient, jerky movements before tossing them across the room. I suddenly have a moment of pause as I see him, and a burning question rises up that I need to know the answer to.

  He must see the change in me because he slows down. “What’s wrong, baby?”

  “Have you slept with her?” I ask, my voice feeling shaky and my skin feeling clammy all of a sudden.

  He pulls away, looking guilt ridden although for all he knows I’m just a hookup who’s asking him to account for his entire sexual history.

  The look on his face is enough of an answer and I let out a hitched voice. Until I think about the question I should be asking. I had always known Damon had slept with Selena before he met me...but the more pertinent question is if it happened over the last week.

  “That day that you first saw me in your penthouse, had you slept with her that morning...have you slept with her since then?” I ask, my voice sounding desperate and achy.

  His face relaxes and my heart leaps. “No, I can barely get myself to touch her,” he says. “I’ve become your prisoner, unable to think about anything else but you.”

  I slam my lips against his, the ache in my heart easing.

  There’s no control as I let my hands roam over him, loving the feel of him. His hand stroke upward from my hip to my side, tracing my skin. My eyes close, my nerves inflamed by his touch. His lips fall to my chest, his tongue and mouth making me arch into him. My hands tangle in his hair and I stifle a moan.

  He pulls me under him then, his fingers traveling lightly across my stomach to grasp my knee and part my legs. In one agonizingly slow movement, he becomes a part of me. His breath comes out in a guttural moan. I’m not sure I can breathe at all. The feeling of him deep inside me make me ache for more.

  He stills over me, his jaw tight as he fights for control. Something about his fragile restraint empowers me. My hand brushes over his cheek and I wrap a leg around his hip, the movement making his jaw rigid and his face redden as he blows out a deep breath. I arch beneath him, feeling my body respond and my chest tighten.

  “Baby,” his voice rasps as he begins to move with me. His movements are sporadic. I can feel his restraint as he tries to breathe through the urge to let himself go.

  I whisper against his neck, “Don’t hold back.” Please don’t stop, I think as I lift my hips. He looks at me once then lets go with a groan. His hips move powerfully again and again, his body hard and fast against me. He pushes, his breath breaking as a low groan escapes him, and his hands tightens on my hips. He stiffens, his groan strangled and his fingers holding my hips as he comes.

  I’m aching with need. He falls, coming to lie beside me, gasping. One hand is still tangled in my hair, the other now on my stomach. “I can’t believe I just did that,” he says raggedly. “I just can’t think of anything I’ve ever wanted more.”

  I manage a breathy laugh. His arms wrap around me, pulling me against him into a tight embrace. I try to relax against him, try to ignore the throb of longing between my legs. I rest my head on his chest, the pounding of his heart a rapid drumbeat in my ear.

  We lay there quietly for a few minutes, his breathing slowing. His hands pull my hair back, smoothing it over my shoulders so he can see me. He rakes a shaky hand through his outrageously mussed hair with an air of self-disgust. I roll onto my back, trying to catch my ragged breath. I shake my head, aware of the heat on my cheeks and the tingles flowing throughout my rather expectant body. My voice is soft and breathy when I say, “It’s okay.”

  He trails one finger across my chest and down my stomach, making me shiver uncontrollably. There’s little doubt that I’m still on fire. His eyes travel over my face and his breath quickens. He sits up and pulls me into his lap, kissing me thoroughly. I hold him to me hungrily. I’m trembling fiercely against him, a soft groan escaping as my need takes over. I can’t restrain the moan that rips from my throat as our bodies join together again.

  I smile against his mouth and feel his lips form an answering smile. The fire, already burning brightly, rose within me as we move together. His hands, his lips push me quickly to the edge. His breath is hot against my neck as my head falls back, giving in to pure sensation.

  I feel the tightness in my stomach explode in that moment, my ragged breathing turning into a long-broken moan. I see his eyes widen as I cry out with the force of my release. I have no time to recover. He continues to move hungrily. My body is quick to reignite under his hands, his mouth. When his body shakes with release, mine follows, and our cries fill the room.

  We fall together on my bed, both of us gasping for breath. He speaks softly moments later. “Much better.”

  I nod but can’t speak. My heart is racing, and my body is a throbbing mass of liquid warmth. I’d missed him. Every inch of me seems to pulse sweetly with fulfillment.

  He rolls over and strokes a finger softly down my skin. “I think I could love you,” he says in a fragile, unsure voice. There’s an intensity in his eyes that makes my bo
dy heat up all over again.

  “What if I told you that you do already?” I whisper back, peeking at him through my tangled hair. His hand brushes my hair away so he can see me. A huge smile covers his face.

  “I’d believe you,” he murmurs. His smile mirroring mine. As we lay there, wrapped around each other, our breathing softens.

  It’s not until that moment that I remember that it’s my birthday.

  Happy Birthday to me.

  Chapter 15

  “Fuck,” Damon says, as he looks at a text on his phone in the middle of the night.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, sitting up and leaning against him.

  “It’s my roommate. He evidently has decided to go off the rails. He just got back in town to start rehab, and I just got a text from an acquaintance that he’s currently getting trashed at a nearby bar. Fuck,” he curses again.

  I’m alert immediately. Mason.

  Damon gets up and starts to get dressed quickly, and I begin to do the same.

  “What are you doing?” Damon asks, looking at me questioningly.

  “I’m coming with you?” I answer resolutely.

  “He’s in bad shape. You should just stay here,” he says in a no-nonsense tone as he finishes pulling on his shirt.

  “I’m going,” I tell him, staring at him.

  There are questions in his eyes, and a little bit of hurt as well. “Mason too, huh?” he asks.

  I nod slowly.

  He sighs and pinches his nose before turning towards the wall and yelling, banging his fist against the wall.

  When he turns around, he’s calmer.

  “Ok, let’s go,” he states. I blast him with a smile and hurriedly finish getting dressed.

  We’re quiet as he steers me towards the street where his driver, Shelton, is waiting for us. It’s 3am and there’s nothing but a few drunk stragglers walking around campus.

  We get in the car and Damon doesn’t even say hello before he’s directing Shelton to get us to the bar where Mason is. Shelton looks at me questioningly in the mirror, I’m sure wondering who I am, but I just send him a reassuring grin.

  We don’t say anything on the rest of the drive. My mind is whirling with what state we’re going to find Mason in, and with what just happened with Damon. I’m also cognizant that I didn’t answer Beckham’s texts and calls tonight while I was busy with Damon. I thought it was hard when they were all agreeing to date me at once. I hadn’t remembered how difficult it had been to get to that agreement in the first place.

  We arrive at the bar a short time later despite the fact that New York traffic never seems to slow down no matter what time it is. The bar in front of us is called “Bottom Dwellers” and its appearance matches its name. Unlike the flashy, sleek places that the guys had taken me to before, this place looks grimy and run down. The neon lights flicker through the dusty windows with images of nude women and beer. The sign for the place is missing a few letters and so it actually reads “Botom Dwelers.”

  It’s a classy place.

  “I suppose that I can’t get you to stay in the car?” asks Damon in a resigned voice.

  “Nope, sorry,” I respond back, and he rolls his eyes.

  “Stay behind me,” he mutters darkly. “Keep the car running,” he directs Shelton.

  I suppose I should feel more nervous but considering everything I’ve been through, this doesn’t seem too bad of a situation then say...being stabbed by a crazy ex-girlfriend, locked in a mystical prison, oh and left naked in a New York alley…

  We walk in and it’s hard to see at first, the air is so smoky with cigarette smoke. I guess this establishment doesn’t care about the City’s ban on smoking inside buildings.

  My shoes stick to the floor as we walk, it’s so covered in spilled alcohol and food. I cringe when I accidentally step in a puddle of liquid that looks suspiciously like urine.

  How did Mason even find this place?

  “Do you see him?” I whisper, well aware how out of place we look. There’s an assortment of clientele here, some who look like a biker gang, others that look like they’ve been out on the street all day panhandling and now are drinking the money away. There are scantily clad women all over the place who look like they have been through the wringer. Even the dim lighting doesn’t do them any favors. I watch as a few men hand some of the women money and then the women lead them to some doors at the back.

  I’m getting frustrated because I don’t see Mason when I hear a loud yell. “I’m the motherfucking king,” calls out the voice, a voice that definitely belongs to Mason. The voice is coming from the back area and I gulp, preparing myself for what I’m about to see.

  We walk into the back area that’s full of prostitutes and their clients, and I cringe. Mason is standing up on a wooden crate, holding a glass mug of beer, talking nonsensically to himself while people in the room watch with interest.

  “Fuck,” mutters Damon. “Stay here,” he orders, walking over to Mason.

  “Damooooon,” sing songs Mason, swaying precariously. “You’re here,” he slurs out. “The Commander In Chief has arrivedddddd.”

  Damon says something to him and Mason laughs. “Why would I leave? I’m here with all my friends,” he says as the group in the room cheers.

  Damon kicks the box and Mason begins to fall over, unable to keep his balance in his altered state. Damon catches him...and showing strength that a human wouldn’t possess, he throws him over his shoulder like Mason weighs nothing. The room goes silent. We leave with the weight of their stares on our backs.

  We pass the bar and Damon throws a few hundreds on the stained countertops. “I’m sure that will cover everything,” he says, not giving the gaping bartender a second look as we leave the building.

  Damon throws Mason into the back of the car before helping me inside. I can literally feel the fury emanating off of him. I put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We’ll fix him,” I tell him, reassuringly.

  He nods stiffly, not looking thrilled over my use of the term “We.”

  I scoot close to Mason, unable to stop myself from brushing his hair off his face. His skin has a waxy sheen to it and his breathing sounds labored. There’s faint bruising around his eye like he got into a fight recently. I stifle a sob at how bad he looks.

  “No more touching. No one but her,” he mutters nonsensically.

  My heart clenches and I grab his hand, brushing a kiss against his skin. I hear Damon inhale next to me, but I just ignore it. Mason’s been all by himself for the past week. He needs me.

  “No, no... please,” he moans out, the cry almost sounding sexual.

  I freeze, wondering if...he wouldn’t remember that would he? His time at Aiden’s castle...as the palace plaything.

  “I hate you,” he says, his voice still sounding oddly sexual. I look over at Damon, who looks very uncomfortable.

  “I’ve never seen him like this,” he says, looking sick.

  Mason’s cries escalate all the way to the penthouse. Shelton pulls around to the back entrance since we don’t want anyone to get a picture of Mason right now.

  Damon once again throws Mason over his shoulder and we hurry inside. We ride the elevator up, listening painfully to the sounds of Mason’s anguish. I feel sick, thinking that I’m positive now that Mason’s reliving terrible memories from that time.

  To my surprise, Beckham is waiting outside the door, pacing back and forth anxiously. He looks relieved to see Damon carrying Mason until Damon moves to the side to unlock the door, revealing me.

  “Eva?” he asks, looking at me surprised when he sees us.

  “We’ll deal with it later,” barks Damon, opening the door. We trail after him inside, I can feel Beckham burning questions into the back of my head.

  Damon doesn’t let go of Mason until we get to Mason’s shower. Damon turns on the water to cold and then practically drops Mason onto the shower floor.

  I sputter out a protest before running to help. Damon throws out
his arm to stop me from getting closer. “He needs to wake up. You’re not doing him any favors by babying him. He goes through these stages, although this is the worst that I’ve seen.”

  My eyes widen in astonishment. This was the first time that I had heard about Mason having issues like this. Mason sits up sputtering, his eyes wide like he’s seen a ghost.

  After letting the water run for a few more minutes, Damon turns the water off and then he and Beckham help Mason stumble to his room. I avert my eyes as they help him change.

  Finally, they lay him on the bed, both staring at him worriedly.

  “Make it stop,” Mason calls out, his eyes wide and frenzied.

  I run to his side before Damon or Beckham can stop me.

  “Shhh, it’s okay,” I say softly, stroking his cheek. He closes his eyes with a groan.

  “I don’t want to remember,” he says in a pained voice.

  I’m clueless about what to do until Isabelle’s advice rings through my head. What connected me to Mason that was different than the others?

  I almost laugh at how long it takes me to think of it, because when it hits me, it seems so obvious.

  Music.

  I’m very aware of Damon and Beckham’s eyes on me as I begin to hum, finally starting to sing when I’m sure that my voice can stay steady.

  You've got this new head filled up with smoke

  And I've got my veins all tangled close

  To those jukebox bars you frequent

  The safest place to hide

  A long night spent with your most obvious weakness; you start shaking at the thought

  You are everything I want

  'Cause you are everything I'm not….

  Mason’s eyes flash open, staring straight at me like he’s been lost forever, and I’ve just found him.

  His look is everything to me. Because he sees me, he actually sees me.

  “Eva,” Mason whispers, before his eyes close again.