The wrong name

Tamara's POV

It wasn't a question. And somehow my dizzy brain couldn't file that as danger, something to be wary of.

I shook my head, my voice sounding rather scratchy. "Ashford."

Something flickered across his face. Annoyance, maybe. Or amusement. Hard to tell with the lighting and the alcohol in my system.

"I don't care," I added, because suddenly I was defensive. "I'm not on anyone's territory. I'm just sitting."

He didn't respond to that. Just stood there, massive and unmoving, his eyes scanning my face like he was reading a report he didn't particularly enjoy.

"You can't stay out here alone," he said finally.

"Watch me."

"You're drunk."

"Observant."

Something that might have been a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was gone before I could be sure.

He didn't ask what was wrong, didn't try to fix it. He didn't offer me a tissue or a hug or any of the things people usually shove at crying girls.

He just said, "Get up."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not carrying you."

I stared at him. He stared back. The silence stretched, and somewhere in the cold and the numbness and the exhaustion, I decided I didn't care anymore.

I got up.

“You should learn to be chivalrous, you know”.

“With a drunk woman from the Ashford pack. No”.

******

I didn't know why I followed him. I just did.

His room was in the Fornon dorm, it was clean, sparse, smelling like cedar and another sweet smell I couldn't recall.

A bed made with military precision. A desk with nothing on it except a laptop. No posters. No clutter. Nothing that said someone lives here.

Talk about minimalism.

He handed me a bottle of water without asking if I wanted it.

"Drink."

I drank it.

He pointed at the bed. "Sleep there."

"Where are you sleeping?"

"The floor."

No discussion or room for negotiation. He grabbed a blanket from the closet, tossed it on the ground, and lay down with his back to me like I was already forgotten.

Sheesh, did I look that bad?

I stood there for a long moment, swaying slightly, the water bottle warm in my hands.

Then I crawled onto the bed and closed my eyes.

I fell asleep faster than I had been in days.

*************

I woke up from sleep with a gasp like I was drowning.

The room was dark. The air was cold. My head pounded and my mouth tasted like I had a fever.

Lucas.

His name echoed in my skull like a bad song.

I turned over. The floor was empty. He'd moved at some point, shifted to the chair by the window, head tipped back, eyes closed. His chest rose and fell slowly.

He looked different asleep. Softer, less like he wanted to fight someone.

I didn't think.

I was still half-drunk, still drowning, still aching for something that wasn't grief. I slid off the bed, crossed the room on unsteady legs, and climbed into his lap before my brain caught up.

His eyes snapped open, fully awake in an instant.

"Tamara."

He said my name like a warning. I didn't care.

I kissed him.

For a second, he didn't move. Then his hands came up, not pushing me away. Just there, warm on my waist, like he was waiting to see what I would do.

I kissed him harder,slid my fingers into his hair. He smelled like cedar and coffee, it made my stomach flip.

"Tamara," he said again, in this low breathy voice.

"You're drunk."

"I don't care."

"You will."

"I don't care."

He looked at me for a long moment. His jaw was tight. His hands flexed on my hips.

Then he made a sound, low, frustrated and hungry and he kissed me back.

Everything after that was slow and quiet and exactly what I needed. His hands were careful. His mouth was patient. He let me set the pace, this time I was in control.

This time I was choosing him.

I kept my eyes closed. I didn't want to be in my own head. I just wanted to feel something that wasn't the sound of Lucas saying we were never together.

He flipped us over. Laid me down on the floor blanket, his hands against each side of my head as he leaned over me.

His body was warm over mine, his breath hot against my neck, and I arched into him because I needed more.

I needed to forget.

"Please," I whispered, my fingers frantically trying to take off his shirt.

He pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes were dark now, pupils blown wide, and something in his expression made my chest ache.

"Say my name," he said quietly.

I opened my mouth.

And at the worst possible moment with my hands on him and my whole body yearning for another man. I said it.

"Lucas."

He went completely still.

The heat drained from the room. His hands, which had been gripping my hips, loosened. His jaw tightened. His eyes went cold.

I felt it like I'd received a huge slap.

"No," I breathed. "I didn't….I'm sorry—"

He pulled back, sat up and ran a hand over his face.

The silence was unbearable.

"I'm sorry," I said again. My voice cracked. "I didn't mean…"

"I know what you meant."

Just as I made to speak, he turned back and grabbed me into his arms.

He kissed me roughly while I moved against him. Fingers were tangling, clothes being taken off, everything was just so fast and hazy.

“It's Garret”.

“Garret”, I rasped as he teased the entry of my pussy.

“Say it”.

“Garret”, I gasped, “Please”.

He entered into me and a loud moan escaped my lips. He went slowly at first, kissing and squeezing. My toes curled as I approached a painful yet pleasurable spasm of orgasm.

“Faster”, I begged and gasped.

He threw a leg over his shoulder. “Are you sure about that?”

My fingers digged into his shoulders.

“Yes, yes”.

“What's my name?”

“Garrett”

“I'm going to fuck you senseless that that's the only thing imprinted I'm your mind”

And he did. He quickened his pace until I was pretty sure my eyes rolled in the back of my head.

Just as I reached my peak, he leaned in with a grunt and bit my neck.

My whole world exploded.