Page 93 of Taste of Blood
But is that what I want?
Do I want to forget, or do I want to remember?
To remember what it’s like to be owned by the only man I’ve ever loved.
To be lost in his arms.
To be buried balls deep in his ass.
“Is there something wrong?” Armand asks.
Damn it.
I should be able to do this. I did it for ten years, taking my pleasure wherever I could find it.
Though was it really pleasure, or was it just surviving? Going through the motions? Finding a willing port–any port–in the darkness that was my life?
Can I accept a substitute when the real thing is within my grasp?
“Fuck,” I mutter, shaking my head. “I can’t do this.”
I sit up and pull my pants back up. Armand watches me, his expression blank. I expected some drama, at least a little pushback on my actions, but he offers neither. Instead, he sits back on his haunches and studies me for several minutes before speaking.
“He’s important to you.”
That surprises me. “Who?”
“The man who was in your apartment. The Code 3.”
“How did you know?”
He smiles then. “Come on, Asher. I saw the way you cared for him. There’s history there.”
I sigh. “There may be history, but I’m not sure there’s a future.”
“But you want one, right?”
“As ill-advised as that is, yes.”
He shrugs. “The heart wants what the heart wants. It doesn’t ask us for permission.”
“I never took you for a philosopher,” I grin.
“I’m more than just a pretty face. Besides, I’ve had my own experience with wanting what I can’t have. It changes you.”
“Not always for the better.”
“That depends on whether or not you get it.”
“Did you?”
He sits back and drapes his arms around his bent knees. “Ah, now that’s a loaded question.”
“We have the room,” I reply.
He offers a sad smile. “I was so very young and he was…beautiful. And so, so wrong for me. But who listens to reason when you’re in love? Or lust, who can tell?”
“I take it, it didn’t end well?”
