Page 36 of Taken Off Camera
“You shouldn’t have to eat dinner blindfolded because I’m?—”
“Because you’re what?” I interrupt, turning my face toward him. “Self-conscious? We all have insecurities, Sebastian. Mine are just easier to hide behind a screen.”
Silence stretches between us, broken only by the soft clink of his fork on his plate. When he speaks again, his words hold a note of vulnerability. “Thank you for understanding.”
I reach out, palm up. “Hand, please.”
His warm fingers find mine, entwining as if we’ve been doing this for years instead of days.
“When you’re ready to show me your face, I’ll be here,” I tell him. “Until then, I’m happy with your voice, your hands, and whatever other parts of yourself you’re comfortable sharing.”
His thumb traces circles on my wrist, sending pleasant shivers up my arm. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Probably not,” I tease, breaking the heaviness ofthe moment. “Now pass the wine before I spill it again.”
The tension dissolves into comfortable conversation as we continue eating. Sebastian tells me hilarious stories about his pregnant brother-in-law and his over-protective brother, avoiding specifics that might identify them. I share stories from my early camming days, the humorous mishaps that come with learning to perform for strangers.
His laughter fills my apartment, the sound wrapping around me.
“More wine?” Sebastian asks as our plates empty.
I shake my head, already warm from the single glass I managed not to spill. “I want to stay clear-headed tonight.”
I hear Sebastian’s breath catch, and when he speaks, it comes out as a growl. “Let me clear the dishes.”
As his chair scrapes back, I stand, gathering my plate and silverware before he can take them. “I can help. It’s my apartment, after all.”
“Micah, you don’t need to?—”
“I insist.” I keep hold of the plate, turning toward where I believe the kitchen to be. “The sink’s straight ahead, right?”
“A little more to the left,” Sebastian corrects.
I adjust my course, stepping carefully to avoid any more furniture collisions. The sound of Sebastian collecting his own dishes follows me.
Three steps forward, I pause, uncertain about the distance remaining to the kitchen counter. “How close am I?”
“About two more steps,” Sebastian answers from behind me.
I take another tentative step, then another, and my hip bumps the counter, orienting me.
Relief washes over me as I reach out, finding the sink and setting my handful down. “See? Perfectly capable.”
I turn to face where I think Sebastian stands, and my foot catches on the uneven kitchen tile that I keep meaning to fix, throwing me off balance. I stumble backward, arms windmilling, and collide with Sebastian’s solid form.
His arms wrap around my waist, steadying me, but the momentum carries us both backward. Sebastian lands in one of my kitchen chairs, pulling me down with him. I sprawl across his lap, my back pressed to his chest.
“Are you okay?” Sebastian asks, his breath a warm caress on my ear.
“Fine,” I manage, trying to ignore the newposition we’ve found ourselves in. “You’d think, after living here for so many years, I’d be able to navigate this place better while blind.”
“You’d do better if you weren’t thinking about it so much.” Sebastian’s hands settle on my waist, and I become hyperaware of his solid thighs beneath mine, his chest rising and falling quickly, and the unmistakable hardness beneath my ass.
My breath catches, and heat floods my hips as my body responds to his arousal. I shift, grinding down on him, and Sebastian’s sharp intake tells me everything I need.
His hands tighten on my waist, not pushing me away but not demanding more, either. “Micah…”
Emboldened by his reaction, I repeat the motion. “Problem?”
