She'd been blunt; too blunt. Avery sat up straight, shoulders squared, his once warm eyes turning cold as they zoned in on her.

"I'm sorry," said Jessamine, reaching over to tentatively pat his arm. She worried he'd recoil, but he didn't, he allowed her to touch him; the contact produced an electric-like fizzle on her finger-pads. "I should have told you about them. Landon, Angela, the others I went on that trip with. They kind of faded from my memory, like they left my life, but... I never heard from them after I woke from my coma. And to be honest, I never cared much until now. They were... bad influences. And to have them gone... it helped me grow up."

She bit her lip and looked into her lap, staring at a few chip crumbs that had stuck to her leggings. If Landon and Angela ventured into that forest and were never found... what did that mean for Amy? And how would Avery react to that?

He'd be angry, she had no doubt. He'd finish his drink and close the bag of chips and put his shoes back on. And he'd leave, too upset that Jessamine hadn't given him this fairly important information until now.

Jessamine didn't want him to leave. He'd started off as a slimy douche with commitment issues who'd pinned her against a counter and forced her to rehash a past she didn't want to, but needed to. But from the moment she'd first seen him, she'd been eerily attracted to him, with no way to explain it. And that attraction was growing harder to resist now, with him sitting beside her, so close she could almost taste him. He was, in his own way, charming; a nerdy, boyish charm combined with a well-built and well-sculpted body—which wasn't hard to imagine, under his tight shirt and tight jeans—and eyes like tropical oceans that were impossible not to drown in.

Jessamine was drowning, and she needed him there to help her float up to the surface.

"I mean, it might be a coincidence, yeah?" She dipped the rim of her cup to her mouth, took a few sips, praying for Avery to say something. He'd gone so quiet, so stiff, she feared he might be about to explode. "For all I know, Landon and Angela are happily married somewhere; or separated and doing their own thing."

With a grunt, Avery stood up, and for an instant Jessamine couldn't breathe, couldn't move, anticipating his departure. But he turned to her, motioned for her glass, and once she handed it to him, he moseyed over to the dining room table.

He set the glasses down, and pressed his hands to the table, letting out a huff. "I told you, I don't believe in coincidences."

He refilled both their cups—Jessamine watched him struggle to open the bottle of red wine, but enjoyed the bulging of his muscles as he groaned in frustration—then returned to the couch.

Clinking their glasses, he stared at her, his expression serious. "If you haven't heard from them, I'd assume something happened to them, or they in fact disappeared, like Amy. Same forest, same house? Not coincidental." He swallowed a few swigs of his drink, and hissed as the mixed liquid trickled down his throat. "Remember when I said I spoke with your co-workers? Well, they never mentioned your friends, which I thought was weird. They all said you didn't have friends."

Jessamine snorted, louring at the crimson red liquid in her cup. "I mean, they're not wrong, but how fucked up of them to assume!" She squinted at Avery over the rim of her glass. "I do have friends, I'm not partying as much, not showing up hungover as heck. Of course, my coworkers noticed the difference."

Avery's tension seemed to ease a tad after another gulp of his drink. His body loosened up, and he fell into the couch cushions with a sigh. "Well, all the more reason to unlock those memories of yours. Who knows," he scoffed, "these guys and Amy might all be together, or captives, or something."

A woozy feeling came over Jessamine after she sipped on the red wine; as if its mixing with rosé in her belly was about to make her sick. But she breathed in, out, and the sensation evaporated, though she still felt uncomfortable with the idea of unlocking recollections that had been hidden away, likely for a reason.

"Right, and how do we do that? Unlock my memories?"

Avery's arm brushed hers as he lifted his cup to his mouth. "I'm working on that. What we need is the where."

The word where struck a chord in her, as if all her nerves had snapped to attention, all her muscles growing taut and painful. She gritted her teeth, fighting through the sensation, assuming the alcohol was the culprit. But deep down, she knew it was her body's reaction to discussing anything to do with the woods and its mystery location. It was what she'd been going through on the drive towards Louise's cabin, and when watching the video, when viewing the house. That unsettling vibe that something was inside her, crawling around and unhooking her organs like they were appliances, short-circuiting her veins, transforming her blood to lava.

No—not now, not here. I'm stronger than this.

She grabbed a fistful of chips and proceeded to eat them by dunking them in salsa, then shoving them into her mouth. The food would help, right? Surely all these sensations were more intense because of the booze, but some salty snacks with chunky salsa would help that booze better settle inside her.

As she bit into a chip, a bit of salsa slid to the corner of her mouth, starting to spiral down to her chin. She reached for a napkin, but Avery was faster—he used his thumb to slowly, sensually swipe the vagrant sauce from below her lip. He maintained eye-contact as he did it; then brought his thumb to his mouth and sucked on it, absorbing the juices from the salsa.

The gesture was so erotic, Jessamine's body went numb. She gawked at his thumb as if it had done more than simply graze against her skin. As if it had thumbed over her lips, dipped into her mouth, and swirled around her tongue. She imagined how it would taste—salty, saucy, possibly imbued with liquor.

Fuck.

Jessamine pulled out of her reverie of thumbs in mouths and batted her lashes as she resumed chewing her bite, repositioning herself in her spot. Her sweater's other side had fallen down her shoulder, leaving both her shoulders bare now. She sensed a slight breeze on her neck—thank goodness for the air-conditioning—and hadn't realized how badly she'd needed it, how hot her skin had gotten.

Avery watched her, taking cautious sips from his drink, head slightly cocked. "Was that too much?"

Jessamine gulped, hiccuped, then shook her head. "No, it... it was... um..."

"Disgusting? Rude? Intrusive?" Avery's eyebrows raised. "You gotta tell me if I'm overstepping any boundaries."

"It was hot." Jessamine spoke so fast, she thought he might not have heard her, might not have understood her garbled response.

But he did—he scooched a little closer to her, and their legs touched. His body combined with hers worsened her sense of dizziness; that whoosh of foggy feelings, the sensations of having had too much to drink, coupled with high emotions. Was it his proximity making her so lightheaded, or the wine? Or the remnants of the discussion about the woods, the house? Or a combination of all three?

"I didn't come here for," Avery flinched, "I mean, when you called... I wasn't planning to... you know." He made a vague gesture with his hands, trying to describe something.

His slurred words and conflicting body language, the heat of his presence, the film of liquor over his lips—they were animating some animalistic urge in her. One she couldn't explain, and wouldn't try to while inebriated. It was intoxicating; like a wave of sound blaring into her, knocking her off-balance. Her heart thumped against her rib-cage, painfully pressing into each bone, as if about to crack it.

And yet, despite the blurriness, she wasn't feeling aggressive; not in the ways she'd been towards patrons and coworkers, at least. And not how she'd felt towards Avery at times, too. No, the urge growing in her was sexual; she knew from how the junction between her thighs began to pulsate, to yearn for attention. A fiery lust bloomed in her chest, tingling her nipples, tickling her womanhood.

How could she want to smack him—for his stupid supernatural beliefs—and fuck him at the same time?

"You didn't come here to fuck me, is that what you're trying to say?" Her words were, again, blunt, more so than her usual. Not that she wasn't an upfront person, but she tended to speak without shame when tipsy.

"No," he said, rubbing a hand over his thigh while gazing at her thigh.

Her sweater had dipped so low by now that her decolleté was visible, and a drop of sweat trickled down between her breasts. Avery was suddenly fascinated by that drop—he gawked at it as it plunged deeper into Jessamine's bra, and he followed it as if it were a guiding light, and he'd be lost without it.

He snapped his gaze back up to her eyes and licked his lips with a shudder. "Shit." He scratched his forehead and moved a few inches away from her, scrubbing his face. "Shit, I think we're getting too drunk, and this might go... overboard."

"Overboard?" Jessamine's skin was overheating, and she fought the need to throw off her sweater. Not only because of the temperature—but because Avery clearly wanted to see what was underneath her clothes.

And to be fair to herself, she wanted him to, too. The tension radiating in the room, concentrating between them, was close to unbearable. The way he looked at her, devouring her with desire, how he sat so close she was nearly in his lap; it was all so much, too much, and they needed to do something about it. To make him leave wouldn't help, because she'd only crave him more.

She'd wondered earlier if she was his type, based on his escapades with Amy. Now, with how he fought to not gander at her cleavage and zone out on her lips, she realized she was. And he was hers.

And she needed him, now.

"If I stay any longer, yeah." He peered towards the kitchen. "I have tequila left, you have half a bottle of red and the white. If I don't go now, we'll keep drinking, and I'll get," he swallowed, his gaze going straight to the hollow between her boobs, then back to her eyes, "handsy." He took a heavy breath. "Really handsy."

Jessamine pictured those hands—large but soft, confident, experienced—caressing her hips, her thighs, her back. She imagined them grabbing her ass and pulling her closer to him. She imagined them exploring the depths of her, and had to chew on her lip to not moan out at the simple thought.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and his knuckles grazed her upper cheek, sending a round of shivers down her spine. "You're so pretty, Jessamine. There's a... like a... a fragility about you, it draws me to you. And also something so strong, uncontrollable, that tugs me to you. And now with the booze..."

Jessamine, for the first time, dared to touch his face. She slid her fingertips down his cheek, circled his mouth, reveled in the softness of him. "So you're... you're feeling this, too? This..." she almost said carnal, but didn't want to sound too intense, "craving?"

Avery put his hand over her hand as it cupped his cheek. "I'm going to be blunt; sorry, I speak a lot when I'm drunk." His gaze zipped to her boobs, and he licked his lips again, shaking his head slowly. "I'm hard as a rock right now, and I've barely even touched you yet."

"Yet?" Jessamine sensed her fingers bending, tightening, so she retracted her hand to not squeeze his face too harshly. She traced a finger down his neck, instead, then stopped over his chest—firm and sculpted, as she'd imagined.

If she were sober, Jessamine might have been offended that he'd ogle her so openly, that he'd be so bold as to presume he might get to do anything but look at her. But she wasn't sober, and she was battling the lust taking over her being, and she wanted him to do more than look at her. She wanted him on her, inside her.

"If I stay..." Avery now gaped at her, a sort of pleading in his eyes—but pleading for what, Jessamine couldn't tell. To ask him to stay? To beg him to leave? Or to say nothing and sit here in their puddle of desire and ignore it as they kept drinking and eating?

No—I can't handle this heat anymore.

Jessamine angled away to dispose of her sweater, and tossed it across the room, leaving her in her not-so-sexy black bra. "Fuck this." She seized his hand and placed it on her boob, squeezing. "Stay. Please, stay."

She saw his shiver likely before he felt it. He didn't try to remove his hand, but glanced at her, hesitant to move, to indulge in the breast she'd given him access to. She nodded, encouraging him.

His palm covered her entire boob—hers weren't huge, but a decent enough size for most men and women, she'd been told. He massaged, groping it, getting a feel for it.

Jessamine's breaths slowed as she enjoyed the sensation, but wished for more.

As if reading her mind, Avery slipped a finger under the fabric of her bra, watching her for her reaction. When she didn't stop him, he continued to creep until his finger found her nipple, which he circled around, toyed with, teased.

Chills cascaded down Jessamine's arms and legs, and she felt the wetness pooling in her underwear immediately. "Fuck," she said, wondering what Avery's mouth would feel like on that nipple, his tongue twirling around it.

"Are you sure?" His voice was a whisper, a whoosh of tequila and chips tinged with longing.

As he continued to stroke her nipple, Jessamine gripped his arm, holding tight to show she was delighting in his work. "Why not? We have a rough time ahead of us with the..." He brushed over a spot that sent jolts to her extremities, and she let out the moan she'd been holding in for too long. "With the memories and hunting the forest down and shit..."

She struggled to find words, to put them together in the right order to form a coherent sentence. Avery's stroking was faster, flicking at her nipple, causing it to harden to a nearly painful point.

"Can we have..." she moaned again, "one night of something positive? Something we'll... enjoy?"

She peeped at him, at the slight flush on his face, the seriousness in his eyes. He slowed his kneading and, for the millionth time that night, licked those luscious lips of his.

"I agree," he said, his liquor breath boiling her cheeks. "But is this what you want?"

She stood up, and his arm dangled limply at his side as he examined her. She took off her leggings, letting them drop to the floor and leaving them there as she meandered away from the coffee table.

After a few steps towards her bedroom, she spun to him, standing in her underwear and bra, but feeling every inch naked and ogled by him—and she loved it. "I want you."

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