Chapter 284: Forgotten (Part 1)
“Ok, deal! Gabriel, remember to share her with me,” the man grinned.
“Got it,” Gabriel replied indifferently.
Then, he swiftly carried Alison up the old building.
Reaching the attic on the top floor, he kicked the door shut with his foot. The room was simple and clean, containing only a bed, a table, and a wardrobe.
Alison’s hand continued to explore his body.
Her hand found his zipper again. This time, however, when she tugged it open, he didn’t stop her; a shiver ran through him instead.
He carried her toward the single bed.
Though small, it was large enough for two adults to lie side by side.
He watched her, letting her hands brush his face and lips.
Yet he was still struggling to hold back.
“Ah… Mm… Touch me. Touch me…” she moaned.
Her hand tugged at her clothes impatiently, then seized his, guiding them to her chest, her breath shallow, pleading.
“Just touch me. Touch me,” she continued.
“Alison,” he murmured hoarsely, his burning gaze fixed on her as she writhed in agony on the bed. His Adam’s apple bobbed as desire warred with restraint.
“Ah… Jack… save me…” Alison cried out instinctively, her blood boiling.
Hearing “Jack” made him jerk his hand back and stumble backward.
“What should I do, Alison?” he asked himself, utterly flustered.
“Mmm… mmm… Hot… I can’t stand it. Jack, come here, please. Touch me…” Alison’s gaze followed the retreating figure. “Jack…”
His hands began to tremble. He quickly pulled out a cigarette, trying to distract himself. But even as the smoke rose, his gaze remained fixed on Alison.
She twisted restlessly on the sheets, her body gleaming with sweat, the heat consuming her. She clearly couldn’t take it anymore.
Veins bulged on his face. After just two puffs, he stopped, flicked the cigarette into the ashtray, and resisted the urge to pull out his phone.
He turned away, commanding, “Find out what kind of sedative Pierre usually uses.”
“…”
“What? That one?” His voice cracked. He pressed his back to the door, sliding down until he sat on the cold floor, disbelief washing over him.
“…”
“There’s no antidote?” he asked quietly. His voice trembled despite himself.
“…”
“Understood.” He ended the call and hurled the phone aside, the crash echoing in the silence.
He stepped back to the bedside and gently brushed Alison’s cheek with his fingertips.
The moment his fingers touched her, Alison clasped his hand tightly.
A breathy sound escaped her lips. “Ah… mm…” She gripped his hand with desperate warmth, drawing his fingers toward her mouth, as though seeking relief from the fire consuming her.
He smiled faintly, a flicker of irony softening the tension—half dread, half tenderness.
He shifted his body and lay beside her.
She moved instinctively toward him, her arms winding around his waist, fingers trembling as they tugged at the fabric that separated them.
But the more she tried, the more impossible it became, the fabric resisting her urgency.
Watching her struggle, he exhaled, then gave a single, decisive pull—freeing them both from the barrier between restraint and surrender.
The sound of tearing fabric filled the room as he yanked his shirt open, breath unsteady, restraint slipping away.
The last thread of control snapped; desire surged through him like a breaking wave.
His breath burned against her skin. His hands found her, trembling yet certain, and his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was both fevered and fragile.
“Mmm… Jack? Is that you?” she whispered, lost in the haze, chasing the ghost of the man she loved.
“No…” The name pulled her halfway back to reality, slicing through the fog just enough to remind her it wasn’t him.
“Alison,” he breathed, voice hoarse with need. “Don’t fight it.” The words weren’t command—they were plea.
“Jack…” she murmured again, eyes fluttering closed, surrendering to the dream rather than the man.
Her breath came in shallow waves, lost between waking and dreaming, her body still caught in the spell of heat and memory.
Her hand lifted weakly, reaching for someone who wasn’t there. “Jack… don’t go,” she whispered to the shadows.
He stood abruptly, chest rising and falling, then gathered her into his arms. Without a word, he carried her to the bathroom, his jaw tight, guilt and longing warring in his eyes.
Under the muted glow, her skin bore the imprint of his restraint and surrender—the traces of a night neither of them could take back.
He stood still for a moment, staring at the faint marks his touch had left on her skin, his fingertips trembling as they traced the proof of his weakness.
The shower spilled a curtain of warmth around her, steam curling through the air like a soft veil.
She let the heat cradle her, her breath slowing as the haze wrapped her in fragile comfort.
He reached for a towel and ran it gently over her shoulders, his movements careful, reverent. Her breathing grew even—half-sleep, half-surrender.
“Jack…” The whisper slipped through the mist, fragile and pleading, and it struck him like a blade.
He rinsed the last traces of the night from her body, hoping—praying—that when she woke, she would believe it had only been a dream.
The rhythm of the water softened the room; his touch, steady and wordless, seemed to draw the chaos from her body until her face turned serene again.
By the time the water stilled, her lashes rested against her cheeks. She had fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.