Lost in a Reverie 18+ Only (Book 1 of Lastor Series) ['23/'24 EDIT]

Chapter 55: Frederick

My alarm has been blaring incessantly, the noise muted by Angel's voice and mine. Sunlight was beaming through the window, but my eyes couldn't see enough of her. I wanted to burn her image into my mind, even if it meant being tortured by the memory of her when I had to continue living without her.

I gripped her hips as she rocked against me, throwing her head back and moaning unintelligible words under her breath while I ravaged her breasts, sucking hard and biting the way I knew she loved.

She lowered her head, gripping fistfuls of my hair as she looked down at me. I held her gaze, the look in her silver eyes making my skin burn. Lust. Desperation. Affection. Assuring me that all of this was as real for her as it was for me.

As we came together, I didn't care that she would break my heart again or that she would leave. All that mattered was this brief moment of solace. She was mine again and I didn't care that it would hurt like hell to let her go. She was mine. Fuck the pain.

I laid back on the bed, shifting on my side and keeping my arms wrapped around her as we caught our breaths, our lips inches apart. After a while, when our heartbeats settled and the brief euphoria had faded, the silence started becoming increasingly discomforting.

We were just looking each other, waiting for the other to make the first move or say something. I caught her gaze flicker to the door and I inherently held her tighter.

"Don't go," I practically begged. "Not yet."

She sighed, pressing her lips to my jaw. "I have a flight to catch."

"Miss it, then."

Her lips twitched. "Can't. Andy's announcing the release of her new album at her show tomorrow. I promised to be there."

"Oh, right. She's a singer," I muttered, remembering my sister begging me to take her to one of her concerts. "I like one of her new songs, the one that has a spoken word poem in the middle of a sick guitar riff."

"Ode To The Infinite."

"Yeah, that one. A bit too weird and artsy for me, but it was quite... moving to listen to. Very different from her old stuff."

She snorted. "In my defense, I wrote that piece while I was tripping on peyote and having a prolonged hallucination of myself in the afterlife."

My brows raised in surprise. "You're making music again? That's... that's amazing."

She pursed her lips, a grimace forming on her face. "No. I owed her and she made me pay by letting her use my old compositions from when I was exploring different musical styles." She shook her head, sighing. "I can't believe she attached my name to all that crap. As if I want to be credited for creating garbage."

"Didn't she win a Grammy a few months ago?"

"Yeah, but that's mostly because she's Andrea Allen."

She turned slightly, reaching for the glass of water on the bedside table. My gaze caught sight of a string of brutal yellow and purple welts on her back, crisscrossing over each other. I frowned, grasping either side of her as I leaned closer to inspect them. She flinched, dropping the glass on the floor.

"Fuck, sorry," she muttered. "I'll clean it up. Where do you put your mop?"

She was about to get up but I held her still, reaching for her chin and making her look at me.

"What happened?"

She pursed her lips, shrugging. "It was a fight."

I shook my head, easily catching the lie. "These don't look like they came from fists, Angel."