Page 29 of Taken Off Camera
My fingers curl into his shirt, anchoring him to me. “Yes. Definitely, yes.”
“I left my number on the kitchen counter.” His hands cup my face, thumbs stroking my cheeks. “For when you’re ready.”
That he’s giving me time to reconsider and back out if I want to makes me tingly all over. As if I could want anything else after what we’ve shared.
“I’m ready now,” I assure him, snuggling closer. “More than ready.”
His laugh rumbles through his chest. “You need to rest and recover first.”
My bottom lip pushes out in an exaggerated pout I know he finds charming. “Will you call me, then?”
“I’ll do better than that.” He kisses my forehead. “I’ll answer whenyoucall.”
His certainty soothes the restless inside me. This isn’t a dismissal or an ending. It’s a promise of a beginning.
“When will you come again?” The question slips out before I can consider the irony of my phrasing.
His hand moves to the blindfold, adjusting it where it slipped. “Soon. But for now, I need to go.”
One more kiss, deeper than the last, his tongue sweeping into my mouth with a possessiveness that weakens my knees. Then he steps back, his warmth receding as he puts distance between us.
“Lock the door behind me,” he instructs, shifting into that protective Alpha mode that should irritate me but only warms me more. “And call your friend, Saint. He’s worried.”
The doorknob turns, the hinges creaking softly. “Goodbye, Elliot.”
“Goodbye,” I whisper, my fingertips pressed to my lips where the imprint of his kiss still lingers.
The door closes with a soft click, followed by the receding sound of footsteps down the hallway. I stand motionless, head tilted, listening until silence reclaims my apartment. Only then do my fingers reach for the blindfold, hesitating on the band.
Part of me wants to keep it on, to preserve the magic of these days where touch and sound created a world more intimate than any I’ve known.
But curiosity wins out.
With a deep breath, I pull the blindfold away.
Light assaults my eyes, bright after days of darkness. I blink, my vision blurry and unfocused. Tears form, whether from the sudden brightness or emotion, I can’t tell.
My apartment takes shape, along with the evidence of his presence here in the second mug drying in the rack by the sink, the folded blanket on the back of the couch, and the lingering of his pheromones in the air.
It’s strange seeing these physical traces after experiencing him only through touch and sound for so long.
The notepad on the kitchen counter draws my attention, and my heart rate doubles. I move towardit, my sock-covered feet silent, and my fingers tremble as I reach for the pad.
Neat, precise handwriting fills the top sheet. A ten-digit phone number with a name written above that stops my breath.
Sebastian.
My GentlemanX gave me his name, and I can’t wait to say it to his face.
8
Sebastian’s name lights up my phone screen, and my heart performs its new morning ritual of skipping a beat, then racing to catch up.
My finger hovers over his latest text.
Sebastian
Sleep well?
