Page 29 of Your Only Fan
If only he’d show me his face.
“Are you hungry?” someone says by my ear.
I open my eyes and blink several times before I recognize my surroundings.
“Did you fall asleep?” Cummings swoons behind me.
“Sorry, I apologize.”
“Don’t be. I like you relaxing with me. It means you feel safe.”
It sounds strange, but I do. Despite the anonymity, I do.
Maybe it’s the fact we’ve been chatting for so long whenever he bids on my stuff.
“So? Hungry?” he asks again.
“Starving,” I say, and he dismounts me.
“Cool. You can have a shower if you want. I’ll start cooking,” he says and walks out of the room, hood still on his head.
I have no idea how he can see or how he’s going to cook with it on, but I’m certainly intrigued.
Especially after such a nice massage.
A massage that put me to sleep, no less.
Maybe it is Cummings that turns me on when I’m with him. Maybe Rivera has nothing to do with it.
There’s a little relief at the realization, whether it’s entirely true or not.
So I get up and find the bathroom.
This is definitely the weirdest date night I’ve had.
But also, the sexiest.
To hell with convention. Who said you can’t enjoy someone’s company even if you can’t look them in the eyes? That’s some ableist bullshit.
With that thought, I allow myself to relax and enjoy my time with my number one fan.
