Page 27 of Be Mine

Noah was a man of few words, but I didn’t mind because what he didn’t say with his mouth, he said with other parts of his body. We’ve been at it for hours. I have no idea where he gets his stamina from, but the sun is starting to peek out, the sky painted in crimson and bold orange. I’m sore everywhere, I don’t know that my body has ever been twisted and contorted like that before, but I can’t complain cause right now I’m completely sated.

We lay in his bed in comfortable silence, my head on his chest as I listen to the steady thrum of his heart. His fingers caress mindless circles across my back, the dip of my hip, the curve of my ass.

My own fingers tiptoe down his chest and past his navel to run through the soft tufts of his happy trail above the sheets.

After ruining me on the couch, Noah cut the zip ties around my wrists and ankles and carried me to the bathroom where he bathed me in a hot tub full of scented bubble bath. Sitting between his legs in a tub way too small for a man his size, he shampooed and conditioned my hair, then thoroughly washed my body.

After towel-drying me, he led me to bed and fed me to raise my blood sugar—his words, not mine, before fucking meslowly, dragging out my pleasure for as long as I could endure. His mouth never left mine, even as I cried out his name when I came, again.

“So…besides chopping up bodies and listening to old music, what are your hobbies?”

“I like computers.”

“Is that how you know so much about me? You hack into my phone or something?”

“I’ll never tell…”

“What’s your favorite movie?” I prop up on my elbow to look at him. His glasses are abandoned on the nightstand, nothing obstructing my view of those blue eyes. His hair is mussed from my fingers pulling on the strands. That stony fortress he hides behind has all but crumbled, at least for now. God, he’s devastating. His lips tip, telling me all I need to know. “Oh my God. Is it some classic?”

“Maybe…”

I suppress a giggle. Where did this man come from? It’s like he time-traveled from the 1950s with his styled hair and leather coat. Like a darker, more sinister version of James Dean.

“I like some classics, too, especially Universal Monsters.Dracula. Frankenstein. The Wolf Man.”

“I know.”

“Of course you do.” I roll my eyes at him and stick out my tongue. He pokes my side in retaliation, making me spin away from him in a fit of giggles, taking the sheets along with me. He instantly pulls me back, rolling me so I’m lying on top of him.

This feels so light, so carefree. It’s a fleeting moment—the reality of our situation exists just beyond these four walls. He can’t keep me here forever.

Folding my hands on his chest I rest my chin there, content to watch him watching me. Will this be it between us? I don’t know what happens after today. If we don’t show upat the police department and give them statements, we will be suspects. If they don’t suspect Noah already.

Noah’s index finger brushes my cheek, sweeping wisps of hair off my brow, pushing them behind my ear. “You’re thinking too much.”

“Mmm,” I hum.

“What are you thinking about?” His eyes search mine, imploring me.

“Where does this go after today?”

“What do you mean?”

“After we speak to the police, and if you’re not arrested for murder…” He scoffs, but I’m not so convinced that’s not where this will lead. But even if it doesn’t, even if we walk out of that station free, he can’t hold me here against my will to play house. I have a life. A job and bills to pay.

“You should open your gift.” He rises to a sitting position, taking me along with him so I’m straddling his hips, the sheets pooling all around us.

“I’m afraid to. If it’s a finger or an eyeball…”

“No body parts. Well, not really.”

“Noah, it's not funny.”

He reaches over to the table beside his bed and retrieves his glasses, sliding them onto his face. Then he pulls out a drawer and grabs the black box, placing it on my lap.

“Open it,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist. My hands shake as I tug on the red bow, freeing the box. I hesitate a moment before lifting the lid. Reaching for the small red card that sits on top, I peer up at Noah briefly, who reminds me of a mother on Christmas morning, watching her children open gifts. I bite my lip to hide my smile as I open the card and read the note:

Time moves swift, a thief unseen,

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