Page 38 of Forget Me Twice

Sinking. Floating. Heavy. Light. Warm. Safe.

Free.

Free from the crushing thoughts crowding my skull. Free from the responsibilities of my position.

Just.Free.

After a minute, or maybe a month, or perhaps a year, I become vaguely aware of a gentle, baritone voice in my ear.

“Baby. Baby, I’m here,” Rhett coos, smoothing lank, sweat-tangled hair back from my damp forehead. “I’ve got you, baby. You did so well.”

I groan as I attempt to roll off my stomach, knowing full well I will feel every aching atom of my body once the bliss seeps away.

“Jesus, fuck,” I croak. “Bringing your A-game, Orbison.”

I hope he can hear the smile in my hoarse voice. My skin is covered in fiery abrasions, and no doubt I’ll be walking suspiciously for the next few days, but the inside of my head is a fuckingnirvanaright now.

Rhett chuckles, all male smugness, as per his default setting. He’s still stroking my head gently. “What the lady wants, the lady gets.”

Suddenly, his strong hands are lifting me up out of the ruins of our frenzied rutting as if I weigh nothing. I cling to his massive biceps, my mind slipping back offline as it luxuriates in its quiet, shimmery post-O haze.

From far, far away, I hear, “Come on, let’s get you back to our place and clean you up.”

* * *

When I ease backto reality, it’s with a sudden hiss of pain. Rhett looks up from where he’s knelt beside me, dabbing antiseptic on my shredded knees.

He chuckles softly and says with a panty-melting grin, “Welcome back, sweet thing.”

I slow blink, and then squint, the lighting seeming so harsh after fighting against such absolute darkness. I have no concept of any time passing—not since he picked me up to carry me from the warehouse.

It’s a rare blessing for me to achieve the euphoria of subspace. It has taken Rhett and Imonthsof moving the boundaries on our sexual experiments and some extreme forms of play to finally get me there.

Now, if only I could recreate the feeling with a lot less tetanus and a little more Egyptian cotton.

I push up onto my elbows with a grunt and see that I’m laid out on Rhett’s bed in the Rox City apartment that houses the rest of our Crew. A glance down confirms that I’m wearing nothing but one of his huge shirts. I can see that my thighs and one of my knees have been cleaned, treated and dressed.

Christ, am I going to be sore tomorrow. I can already feel the deep aches and stings of the cuts and bruises forming across multiple parts of my body. The twinge between my legs only brings a smile to my face though.

So does the relative peace and quiet inside my skull.

I pat my hair, finding it wet.

“Did you shower me already?”

Rhett bounces his eyebrows. “You were positively filthy, Ms. Winters. And you were under for a while.”

He drops his gaze back to my battered legs, giving me a small lift of one shoulder. His smile is a little less cocksure. But he knows better than anyone how hard I struggle with intimacy and feelings.

It’s kind of difficult to properly invest yourself in functional relationships when you’re nothing but a walking, talking Tin Man without a real heart.

I clear my throat. “Thanks.” My voice still sounds a little husky. “Definitely in my top five abandoned warehouse railings. I think I can taste colors now.”

Rhett’s smirk is still there, but now it seems a little strained. “Anything for you, baby, you know that.”

I swallow thickly and squeeze my eyes shut. There’s a dull ache somewhere in my chest. If I knew any better, I’d say it might feel something like…regret.

But almost as soon as it’s there, it’s gone. Seeping back through the cracks and hollows of my empty ribcage.

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