Margins of love

CHAPTER 1: HEAT OF MEMORY Elias’s POV "Eli, are you sure about this?" Even in the dream, Micah's voice was a whisper, a warm breath across my ear. I could smell him, fragrant and subtle like the honeysuckle in my grandmother's yard. A grin tugs at my lips, but my eyes seem heavy. I gave a little, excited nod. Micah's tough, calloused hand grasped mine as the grass teased my naked legs and the sun scorched my flesh. "More than anything," I said, my voice heavy with slumber and want. His eyes probed mine, black and vast as the night sky. I felt chills down my spine as his fingertips traced the line of my jaw. My pulse was pounding like a drum as I leaned into his touch. Under the large oak tree, with the wind rattling the leaves above our heads, the world seemed far away, just the two of us. Then his tentative, gentle lips found mine. At first, it was a fascinating investigation, a mild push. My breath caught. I strengthened my grip on his hand. He then gave me a deeper kiss, a languid, sweet dance that burned my skin and robbed my lungs of breath. A secret commitment between two lads who believed they had forever was filled with warmth and promise. A swift dart of his tongue tasted like summer berries and something Micah only had. I want more. He pushed closer, his body pressing against mine, and I opened my lips, letting out a low sigh. Thump, thump, thump. Not because of the dream but rather because of the startling jolt of waking up; my heart pounded against my ribs. My eyes sprung awake, yet the dazzling brightness of the dream was a sharp contrast to the gloom of my bedroom. My covers were twisted around my legs, and my skin was greasy with perspiration. With the ghost of Micah's touch still remaining on my skin and the phantom taste of his touch on my lips, I sat up, gasping for oxygen. I felt my chest heave. From the inside out, I was really heated. My whole body hurt, a deep, restless aching that was caused by a recollection that had been too vivid and had nothing to do with sleep. With my legs dangling over the edge of the bed, I flung off the blankets. I put my palm to my chest in an attempt to stop my heart's tumultuous pounding. Ten years. That kiss was ten years ago. He went without saying a word ten years ago. Even still, he continued to haunt my dreams, causing me to feel feelings I had suppressed and no longer wanted to feel for him. I told myself, nonetheless. With tense muscles, I forced myself to stand and made my way to the window. Below, a million small stars glowed in the darkness as the city lights twinkled. I let out a deep sigh that was tinged with anger and yearning. I made an effort to dispel the dream and erase Micah's face from my thoughts, but it persisted, brilliant and obstinate. Continue knocking. A gentle knock on my door. I scowled. This late, who would be here? Or was it too early? I hadn't checked the time. "Elias? Are you conscious? A pleasant diversion was Claire's voice, which was muffled by the trees. Claire is no-nonsense and pragmatic. I would be grounded by her. I yelled back, a bit harder than I meant to, "Yeah, I'm awake." I combed through my disheveled hair. "Enter now." A glimmer of light from the corridor flooded into my dark chamber as the door cracked open. A familiar sight, Claire entered with her phone already to her ear and her blond locks a touch unkempt. My breath caught as she shifted to the side, however. He was standing behind her, glowing softly from the hall. Micah. Yes, he did seem older. I couldn't recall the creases around his eyes, but his face looked stronger and slimmer. His brown hair was thick and attractive, although it was shorter and fashioned differently. His hands were jammed into the pockets of his pants, and he was dressed in a black shirt that hung over his shoulders. Because he hadn't shaved, he seemed more gruff due to the little stubble on his jaw. More matures. He was silent as he looked at my face with the same dark, deep eyes. They had an implicit apology, a silent query, and something more I couldn't quite put my finger on. The brutal reality of him being there smashed into my fantasy, which was still quite clear. Anger, yearning, and the heat of recollection all struck me at once, stealing my capacity to speak like a tidal wave. I had a constricted throat. My stomach rumbled. This was no vague dream. This really happened. He was genuine. Claire put her phone down, ignoring the wrath that was brewing within me. Fortunately, you're an early bird. Your new editor is this one. Micah Vance. She went back to me after giving him a dazzling, businesslike grin. Since Micah was just in the region, I decided there was no need to wait. Both of you can start ahead. She made a move between us. "I'll let you handle it. Tomorrow is a big day. You two, don't stay up too late. Claire gave me one more nod and a knowing wink that chilled my veins, then turned to go, shutting the door behind her. Quiet. Heavy. Dense. Loaded. In the silent chamber, the door's gentle click seemed like a gunshot. All that was left to light us was the faint glow from the window. Micah was still, like a statue. I felt myself trembling as my eyes met his. A combination of feelings, acute and agonizing, twisted within me. Anger, raw and intense, clashed with a desperate, yearning need. Ten years. Ten years of wondering, attempting to move on, and starting again. And now here he was, just standing. "Micah," I said in a scarcely discernible whisper. It was not so much a declaration as a plea. A query. You're here, but why? Why now? He remained still, yet there was a spark of something unreadable in the depths of his eyes as they became deeper. I was drawn to his physique by the gentle movement of his chest rising and falling as he took a deep breath. To the body I recalled. The body I had caressed seconds before in my nightmares. My fantasy Micah had been docile and obedient. Micah was difficult. Hardened by distance, time, and whatever he had been doing for the last decade. The same eyes, however. Identical lips. The same guy who had captured my heart and disappeared. "Elias." Though harsher than I recalled, his voice was still a deep growl. After all this time, hearing my name on his lips shook me and made every nerve-ending tingle. Unspoken words, past wounds, and an unmistakable, visceral tug filled the electrified air between us. Fresh in my memory, my dream seemed like a prophecy. There were his lips, the ones I had just tasted while I was asleep. So near. I moved ahead a step. Then another. The cool floor is quiet under my bare feet. He didn't retreat. He never took his eyes off of mine. We got closer till I was just in front of him and could feel the heat emanating from his body. Near enough to smell him. This time, Micah was muskier, deeper, and clearly adult—not honeysuckle. Unbidden, my hand extended. The hesitant contact of my fingertips against his arm was like an electric jolt. He flexed his muscles under my fingers. He didn't recoil or turn away. He just let me touch him as he stood there. Allowing me to sense him. "Why?" Raw and urgent, the word ripped from my throat. "What made you go?" He clenched his jaw. His eyes glowed with agony for a moment, then hardened. "I... I couldn't remain." He didn't say anything else. I was unable to remain. My inner fury was stoked by the evasive, disappointing response. All those years. That anguish, all of it. For a single, contemptuous penalty. Anger flashed, piercing and burning. I squeezed my palm, still on his arm. "You couldn't remain? All you have to say is that? With a tremble of rage, I raised my voice. "You simply left." As if I had no significance. As if we were inconsequential! A glimmer of something I couldn't quite identify appeared in his eyes. Are you annoyed? Disobedience? Or maybe pain that mirrored mine. He remarked in a quiet voice with caution, "It wasn't like that, Elias." "Wasn't that the case?" I laughed bitterly and ridiculed. I raised my free hand and pressed it against his chest. I wanted to harm him. I wanted him to experience even a little portion of my emotions. What was it like then, Micah? Tell me! Tell me what it was like to just vanish from the person who loved you the most. He stopped my push by grabbing my wrist. His hold was warm, solid, and completely enthralling. My breath caught once again. Even while the fury was still seething, it started to battle a new type of heat that had been developing ever since he entered this room and since my dream. My flesh throbbed with the remembrance of his kisses, still so fresh. His keen, black eyes scanned mine, not hard this time, but with a raw, desperate want that reflected mine. A thrill went through me when his thumb, almost inadvertently, touched the delicate flesh of my inner wrist. "Elias," he said, his voice raspy with unspoken words. He very slightly drew me in, but it was enough. We were almost touching. He was radiating heat, and I could feel his strong chest pressing into my hand, which was still stuck between us. The rage was melting away and becoming something else—something ravenous and menacing. I looked from his eyes to his mouth. Those mouths. In my dream, they were the ones that had recently been on my. The ones who had promised eternal life. The ones that were no more. I said, "Kiss me," without giving it any conscious consideration. There was no request. It was a request. It was an urgent cry from my emotions, from my body, from everything that had been dormant for a decade. His eyes darkened after a brief moment of widening. I could hardly hear the deep growl that rumbled in his chest, but I could feel it vibrating through him as my fingers pushed against him. After releasing my wrist, he cupped my face in his palms and traced the contour of my cheekbones with his thumbs. I appreciated his forceful, almost bruising touch. I required it. Then his lips found mine. The kiss wasn't tentative as in the dream. It was enraged, ravenous, and desperate. A conflict between desire and pain, fury and yearning. My lips were crushed by his hot, demanding lips. He stuck his tongue in my mouth, searching, tasting, and tearing. With a deep, guttural grunt, I arched into him, my body reacting with a ferocity I was unaware I had. As if I could absorb him and reintegrate him into myself, my hands sprang upward, tangled in his short hair, and drew him in. He experienced desire and sorrow, of all the moments discovered and all the years wasted. I gave him an equally passionate kiss in return, my fangs grazing his lips as a primordial want took precedence over all other considerations. I gripped his hair tighter, drawing him closer to me and into the kiss. He pulled my body tight against his as his hands moved from my face down my neck, across my shoulders, and finally landed firmly on my waist. I felt sparks fly through me as my bare legs brushed against his pants' rough fabric. His erection's hard ridge was pushing into my hip, a clear indication of the intense need that burned between us. I let out a little whimper, but it was overpowered by the intensity of the kiss. Instinctively, my hips thrust forward in search of more pressure and contact. He replied by thrusting his hips into mine and letting out a loud, guttural cry of sheer ecstasy. I felt lightning shocks of pure feeling from the friction. He barely broke the kiss, his forehead lying on mine as he gasped for oxygen. Our breaths mixed in the darkness as our chests heaved. He looked into my eyes, still black with want. "Micah," I said in a weak, unpolished voice. He remained silent. He just gave me another kiss, this time gentler but just as eager. A moist, lustful touch of his tongue, a languid, sensuous sliding of his lips on mine. It was a combination of a question, a promise, and a last-ditch appeal. Still in his hair, my hands pushed him in, seeking more. His fingers hooked into the waistband of my sleep shorts as he moved his hands lower, down my back. He grunted as he easily lifted me and wrapped my legs over his waist. The heat between us increased as I gasped and clung to him, my naked flesh against his clothing. Until the back of my knees struck the edge of the bed, he stepped backward while maintaining eye contact and holding my lips. I landed gently on top of his body as he threw us onto the mattress. He was genuine, firm, and friendly. So authentic. Now, his hands were all over me, following the contours of my back, holding onto my hips, and drawing me tightly into his hardening c**k. In the face of such tremendous longing, the fabric of our clothing acted as a thin barrier that was readily disregarded. I pushed his head back so I could see his face better, my fingers still entangled in his hair. His lips were red and swollen from our kisses, and his eyes were half-lidded and black with want. He seemed completely gorgeous, needy, and crazy. "Micah," I moaned breathily once again. "I despise you." A brief shade of anguish flashed over his features, but it was soon replaced by something else—something ravenous and possessive. He moved under me and raised his hips in a nonverbal greeting. He sounded lustful as he said, "No, you don't." He was correct. I didn't. Not really. Not right now. Not when he was hot, hard, and genuine underneath me. In a single, smooth motion, he flipped us around and pinned me to the mattress. His weight was thrilling, reassuring, and heavy. His dark, unblinking eyes gazed down at me. His hands were possessive, one following the contour of my jaw, the other holding my hip. With a low growl that sent shivers down my spine, he said, "Tell me what you want, Elias." My breath caught. Normally so protected, my thinking felt vulnerable and open. But he was the only thing on my mind. I could only sense him. I gasped and pushed my hips forward, automatically seeking the warmth that had been lacking for so long—the press of his body. "You." "I desire you." He smiled a dark, contented grin. His lips hovered just over me as he leaned down. With his breath hot on my cheeks, he said, "Good." "Because I'm not going anywhere else." Then he kissed me again, deeply and completely, promising to fill the void with the indisputable fire of remembrance and erase 10 years of stillness. His hand moved under my sleep shorts, following the contour of my hip before lowering down slowly.