A Night To Remember

25. cinnamon and coffee

Azrael Carmen

People talked about the beauty of creating memories. How they would mark your existence on the timeline and place where we suffered through before fading into dead stars. I hated my memories.

Mine was nothing if not a double edged sword. It stabbed right through my chest and carved out the very casket of my bones. I had spent a better half of my life trying to grow harder than ice just to make sure those blades would never bleed another drop of my blood. But, I never succeeded. They were still out for me, taunting and haunting at the back of my mind.

The cruel realization hit me then when a nosey nurse pointed out the white scars under my feet and my fake boyfriend's twin brother had blatantly said they matched his wife's. I had hastily thanked him for his time, slipping the secrets back inside my heels and taking off for an irritating bastard with the most comforting hug. I might as well be invincible in his arms.

Except right now he was death himself sent to torture me straight into hell.

Elliot slammed me to the ground. My back hit the hard surface with a loud thud. A curse slipped past my lips as he grabbed both my wrists and held it in an impossible grip. He straddled my hips, pinning me down like a predatory attacker. His face hovered barely an inch from mine. The temperature dropped while heavy silence fell between us. It was so quiet I heard the pound of my blood thrumming in my ears.

I tensed under him. He was all solid muscles and warm skin. His body as impressive as the last time I let him on top of me. Although I would rather die twenty seven thousand deaths before I admitted that out loud. The exhaustion from the aggressive workout was fogging my judgement.

Our eyes clashed. We stared at each other. Seconds passed. A minute. Hours. Eternity. I studied the structure of his face and tried to identify the exact shade of his eyes, mentally criticizing the ugliness and getting swept away in the grey.

"Strike the soft spots of the body that are at the base of any effective reaction." He instructed. "Find my weakness."

Sweat trickled from his nose, dripping on the slope of my throat. I jerked my chin up to glare at him and felt it rolled down my neck to the valley of my chest. He watched me, inching closer. "Defend yourself. I can eat you alive right here, Jane. Sink my teeth into your pulse and tear your throat out, watching you bleed to death slowly."

His threats tasted sickening sweet on my lips. I gritted my teeth, glaring. "Fuck you."

"Now or later, baby?" He asked, a lazy grin tugged at his mouth.

I ignored the burn that suddenly sizzled all over me. My whole body shuddered with disgust. Then, I went completely limp under his hold. He cocked an eyebrow at me. I glared back as I trapped one of his legs between mine and thrusted my hips up, positioning my knee and kicking it up where the sun definitely never shined as fucking hard as I could.

He barely flinched at my attack. Elliot shifted his body smoothly to the side, dodging my assault with an impressive speed. A strangle gasp whooshed out of me as sharp pain shot up my whole leg. Fucker had a hard body.

"I could've killed you seven times over by now." He mocked in a dry tone.

My eyes narrowed on his smug face. I was going to kill him. I jerked my leg out and hiked it up his hip. The bare skin on my thigh flushed against his naked torso. I watched his chest heaved as I ran my heel cladded foot up and down his back.

I had been a little taken back when he first suggested I learned how to fight in heels because he said and I quoted I was always wearing the death traps. And, right now he should be rethinking his life because I wanted his fucking blood. I thought as I dug the pointy end into his skin.