My eyes were a blur as I stomped down the stairs and out the kitchen door.

I faintly heard Aslo say a sardonic 'goodbye' as the door slammed behind me.

It wasn't just the accusation in Atticus' voice that hit me hard; it was the subliminal truth in what he'd said and the embarrassment of trying to take a step forward, as he'd asked, and finding it was all too little too late.

The sting of the cold night air froze the tears in place, giving me a moment of composure while I fumbled with the gate at the bottom of the metal stairs. By the time I opened my kitchen door, and saw Nightmare scoot past me, I knew I just had to hold on a few more moments. Then I could climb into bed and forget this whole fucking day.

That plan was snuffed out the second I heard a soft thud beside me, and an arm barricaded the doorway, blocking my path.

I sucked in a breath.

I could taste him on my tongue, feel the heat of him warming the space between us while his breath tickled the back of my neck.

"You drive me fucking crazy, you know that don't you?" he murmured against my ear, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.

I turned towards him, blinking away the tears.

"Do you know how weird that is for a Watcher?" he said with a baffled frown. "I'm not meant to feel frustrated, or confused, or happy or excited. I'm not meant to feel anything. But when I'm around you... I've never felt so alive." His gaze burned as he spoke, and I felt my skin glow as the heat from upstairs returned with a vengeance.

Whether he could tell the effect his words had on me or not, he continued to unravel before me. "Every time we're together, I want things I've never even cared about. Things I shouldn't want."

His hand tugged at the damp strands of his hair, like even as he spoke the words, he was punishing himself for voicing them.

"Like what?" I asked in a weak voice, stunned by the juxtaposition of the man before me and his stoic counterpart upstairs.

He glanced up at the moon peeping through the clouds, and as he did, I couldn't help but think that he was a slice of something ethereal in the mundane grey backdrop of my back yard. The surrealism of the scene emphasised by the way the moon made his eyes glitter and his skin and hair sit in stark contrast.

"I want to stand on a cliff and feel fear make my heart race in my chest" he said in a desolate tone as he dreamt aloud of the impossible.

His gaze dropped from the sky above to capture my own.

"I want to find my favourite song and turn it up so it resonates in my bones."

With an infinitesimal step, he inched closer, and with a touch so light it felt like a soft summer's breeze, he ran a fingertip gently along the sensitive skin behind my ear.

"I want to know what you taste like, right here."

I froze in rapture as his touch traced down to the contour of my jaw.

"What you sound like when I kiss you here," he murmured softly while my heart thud frantically in my chest.

His thumb brushed lightly over my lower lip, his gaze following its path. "What it would be like to feel you kiss me back."

His gaze flicked to mine. He was so close now, I could feel his breath tickle my lower lip and the skin tingled in the wake of his touch.

In that moment, I wanted to feel his hands on my skin, his lips on mine, his hair in my hands. To have all my insecurities and regrets engulfed by the heat building in the pit of my stomach and burned to ash.

I wanted to know, "What are you waiting for?"

His eyes held mine for what felt like forever, until he answered.

"For you," he said in a low whisper, barely audible in the hush that surrounded us. His lips brushed against mine as he spoke, his hand winding around my waist as another gently cupped my face, his thumb skating over the flushed apple of my cheek.

My heart thrummed in anticipation.

"I think I've always been waiting for you."

Those final words rushed from his lips as he drove us both past the kitchen's threshold, his lips covering mine as I felt the hard surface of the kitchen wall against my back. I gasped as his firm body pinned me in place.

His hands roved. One wedged in my hair, holding my lips to his, the other pressed against the small of my back, bowing my body into his as he caged around me.

Before I knew it, he had my leg around his hip, his hand clamped on my thigh, and his other in my hair.

He pulled down just enough so that my face tilted up and allowed his lips to assault my own.

So many thoughts rushed through my head at that point. He tasted like sweet peppermint, but there was also something else. Something that made my stomach tighten into a hard knot and forced me to fight against a sudden urge to wrap myself around him.

I moaned into his mouth, giving his tongue an opening and he took full advantage, his tongue expertly exploring my mouth. Despite always hoping, I had never been kissed like this, not by any conquest or Mr R. This was more than some drunken, uninhibited grope or illicit, tantalising affair. It was raw, unadulterated, and ravenous. Sublime. We moved in a slow erotic dance that was all about touch and sensation, all bump and grind.

Forget Shangri La, Nirvana, or Heaven, this was paradise. The way his hips rocked deliciously against mine. The feeling of his hands in my hair, tilting my lips towards his. The skilled way his tongue met mine and made me weak at the knees. He could be the Devil incarnate and I wouldn't have cared. In this moment I would have happily signed over whatever scraps of my soul were left. Anything to keep his lips on mine and to keep this feeling of desired and adored.

I ran my hands up his chest. My fingertips prickled with satisfaction as I drove my hands into his hair. As I slowly caressed the hair on the back of his neck, I felt his fingers suddenly tighten their grip and a moan pierced the air between us.

It was intoxicating to feel the careful Watcher slowly losing control. Even more so, to be the reason for it. To feel all sense of reason and doubt get devoured by this ethereal man who couldn't get enough of me, like he had a hunger that only I could sate.

In one smooth motion, Atticus lifted me against him, moving us deftly from the kitchen to the living room, while his mouth worked its way down my neck to tease the delicate skin on my collarbone.

I vaguely registered the cushions of the sofa below my knees and opened my eyes to see Atticus beneath me. The cool glow from the large sash window spilled across us, illuminating him as he sat with me straddled over him.

Now that I could see him, I decided no man should be that pretty. No screw that, no man should look like that. Pretty didn't do him justice. Pretty was too sweet, too innocent for the man in front of me. His hair all messed up, by my hands, his lips red and pouted, due to my kisses, and his eyes...his eyes were hotter than fire. They set my skin ablaze as I watched him watching me.

"You're beautiful," he murmured. His hand ghosting up my neck to cup my face in his palm.

I wanted to bask in the warmth of his gaze but instead my head flashed with the image of Mr R. He had always called me beautiful.

My beautiful Belle... I cringed as Mr R's voice echoed through my head.

I caught the way Atticus' eyes faltered so I forced a smile and replied, "You're not too bad yourself."

I pushed the image aside and reached for the edge of Atticus' black top, reaching forward to capture his lips in mine as I slowly worked the fabric up. If anyone could ever distract me from the past, these abs... Atticus could do it.

Dutifully, he raised his arms and let me pull the top over his wide shoulders.

With him sat below me I drank in the chiselled lines of his chest. From the delicious way his neck sloped into shoulders I wanted to cling to, to the tattoo that looked almost etched into his skin. He was perfect, gorgeous, a work of art.

And what are you? Dirty, used, ruined...

Like clockwork the voices crept into my head.

Frantically, I reached for Atticus, pulling his lips to mine. He groaned beneath me as I ground myself against him, my hands buried in his hair as my tongue vied with his.

I could feel every inch of him beneath me, and I could hear his desire in the way he gasped when I let my tongue trace the thick column of his neck. Yet his hands rested gently against my hips: careful and cautious. I knew he was capable of more, of holding me against him and bending me to his will, I could feel it in his muscles. How they strained to stay under control and twitched when I moved against him. He was holding back, and as the vicious voices in my head grew louder so did my wish that he wouldn't.

I wanted him to take control of my body, anything to stop the vulnerable feeling that was creeping up my spine. Because every second that past felt like I was lashed to a raft, drifting further and further away from the shore.

I didn't know how to do this. Whatever this was.

I was suddenly all too aware of the moonlight streaming through the window. Whereas moments ago I have loved the way it lit his body, I now wished I could shrink back into the shadows instead. What must I look like to him? Bedraggled from a day's work, with this morning's mascara smudged below my eyes, and my vest top clinging to the rolls on my stomach. I didn't have the perfect body like him. I wasn't otherworldly. I was just human.

Less than human. Just less...

Before he could see the panic in my eyes, I slid from his lap and knelt in the shadows at his feet. I felt a shot of courage, given by the way the darkness helped to hide me from view. My hands crept up his thighs. The thick muscles tensed under my touch.

"Hey, slow down. Let me see you," he murmured as he leant towards me, tucking my chin to kiss me deeply.

"I'm right here," I said between kisses, my hands inching further and further to his black waistband.

His hand caught mine, halting them in their path.

"Anna, wait I...."

"Isn't this what you want?" I purred. "Isn't this what you've dreamed of? Don't you want to know what it feels like?"

I wondered if he could hear how my voice had changed. It was one I had used a hundred times of more. A husky murmur that always drove my one-night stands wild. And in turn I got to bathe in their adoration. I could control it, and use it, and watch them come undone under my control. That rush was better than anything else they could make me feel, no matter how skilled they were.

Atticus didn't answer, instead he gripped my hands in his and pulled me to lie beneath him on the sofa, my hands pinned above my head.

This was familiar territory. I could work with this. This was safe.

With painfully slow movements, he leant down to brush his lips against mine. I strained to deepen the kiss, but he hovered just out of reach, his eyes glittering as he watched me below him.

His eyes caught mine, and I squirmed beneath their gaze. Whatever delicious heat was in them before had been replaced by something equally warm but too gentle.

I couldn't take it.

You don't deserve it.

I looked away, but no sooner than I had, he gently brushed my hair from my face and turned my face back to his.

"I've wanted to do this from the moment I saw you smile," he said lowly against my lips. "I've waited this long, I can wait a little while longer."

He placed a light kiss on my lips before releasing me and retreating to the end of the sofa. His arms spreading wide across the back of the sofa and his chest taunting me with its proximity.

"What exactly do you think is going to happen?" I chided as I tried to recover from the change of pace.

"Something... irrevocable," he said in a velvety voice; dark eyes smouldering as they fixated on my lower lip. Despite the voices in my head, I felt my body flush, my skin tingling at the thought of his touch.

"Do you think you're about to get lucky, Mr Crowe?"

A lopsided smug smile crept on his face.

"I can hear your heart racing from across the room. I can feel the way your skin flushes at my touch." His eyes scanned down my neck, skating over my chest as it heaved with heavy breaths.

I rose my eyebrow as he eyes met mine and his lopsided smile broke into a devilish grin.

I flipped my hair over my shoulder and met him with a challenging look of my own. Clawing back my confidence in the wake of rejection.

"I suppose, the end of 2000 and something years of celibacy deserves a bit more fanfare than a quickie on old, stained sheets."

"Who said anything about it being quick," he teased.

I smirked, slowly crawling across the sofa towards him. "2000 and something years of celibacy."

He watched me with an amused smile as I walked my fingers up his chest. "I'm a Watcher, Anna. We know a thing or two about taking our time."

"Then show me," I whispered against his lips, running my tongue lightly along his lower lip, loving the way I saw his fists clench in restraint out the corner of my eye.

He grinned as he shook his head. I would have applauded him for his self-control, if I wasn't disappointed that I'd been denied my chance of quietening the voices with a night of lust and desire.

With a huff I sat back on my heels. "Fine."

I glanced at the man sprawled across my sofa and settled for the next best thing. "There's no harm in staying the night, is there?"

"You overestimate my self-control," he chuckled while he pulled on his t-shirt. "But I'll see you tomorrow?" he asked, as if there was still a chance I'd say no.

"Sure," I said with a grin.

He leant to kiss me one last time and then he was gone. And it was just me, in the dark, dreaming of a boy with beautiful eyes and fuck-me hair, while I hid from the memories he churned up.