Page 234 of Ominous: Part 1
Me: Me too.
Him: I didn’t even wash my sheets.
I tense, rubbing my thumb over the screen to blot out his words. When I got up this morning, I had a leak through my shorts, but I hadn’t seen anything on the bed. I thought I caught it just in time. But maybe he meant my scent.Yes, my scent.Or even just the fact I was in his bed.
I’m about to go with that assumption when another text comes in.
A photo.
My heart leaps to my throat.
It’s of him, lying on his back, a cocky smirk on his full lips, the green of his eyes visible even with his arm outstretched to show off his abs, the top of his skull and crossbones tattoo. I see the veins in his forearms, the line of his biceps, the muscles of his neck straining against his choker.
And because of how ridiculously hot he is, I almost miss the point of the photo.
When I see it, I kinda wish I had.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
With his free hand, he’s got his thumb aimed at a spot on his sheets. Unmistakably, blood. It’s the size of a quarter with a jagged border, and I know it’s mine.
I feel lightheaded as I swallow, neck growing hot with my flush.
Shit. How did I not notice?
Before I can throw my phone across the room and bury my head under my pillow, another text comes through.
Him: I hope this never washes out.
My God, I hope to hell it does.
My fingers feel shaky, and I want to get up and run to the bathroom just to put distance between myself and my phone.
Deep breaths, Eden. It’s not that serious.
It is, though. It is.My nervous brain is screaming in my ears about being so careless, but another part, the logical part, asks what the hell I could have done about it anyway? I would have just known the entire day and thought about it constantly.
It’s good I didn’t know until now.
Shit.
Before I can decide if I want to feign sleep or get this over with and respond with something vaguely witty and revealing nothing of my mortification, he texts me again.
Eli: I know you’re over there being very uncomfortable. Don’t be.
I laugh out loud. It’s a shallow sound, more for my benefit than anything else, because obviously he can’t hear me, but laughing when embarrassed seems to be a universal, human thing.
I blow out a breath, shaking my head as I roll to my back and hold my phone over my face.
Me: This is awkward.
Him: No, that’s not what you’re supposed to say, Eden. You’re supposed to say, “Yes, sir.”
Despite my lingering feelings of humiliation, I feel a bolt of something else. I squeeze my thighs together and vividly imagine me calling Eli “sir.” I don’t think I could stomach it, but it’s a nice fantasy.
Me: I never do what I’m supposed to.
Him: If I had you pinned against the wall with my hand over your mouth and my knee between your thighs, I think you might consider it.
