Page 67 of Phantom
“Ah! I broke your bed!”
“Just the canopy and curtains. They can always be fixed.” He bends down to kiss me again and laughs against my lips. “Besides, there’s not much higher achievement for a man than breaking his bed while making a woman come in his arms.”
I giggle and swat at him. He deftly dodges it and stands up to remove the thick pile of curtains and one beam that’d landed across his back, careful not to bump me in the process.
“Are you okay?”
“I’ve been through worse,” he murmurs. “It won’t even bruise.”
My eyes narrow as I watch his back muscles move underneath his dress shirt, as if I could see a possible bruise forming right beneath the fabric. But I get mesmerized by the ink swimming underneath the thin cotton shirt.
Cool air skates across my bare chest, breaking me from my reverie and giving me a cold chill. I sit up and gather my dress together, suddenly taking note that he’s completely clothed while I’m vulnerably naked. Insecurity warms my cheeks as I try to cover myself with scraps of satin, and I know my pale skin must be beet red right now.
“What’re you doing?” I hear him ask, but I don’t look at him until one of his hands suddenly captures my wrist. I look up to see him holding clothes in the other. “Did you think I wouldn’t take care of you? Lift up your arms.”
He releases my wrist and I raise my arms like he asked, letting the satin dress scraps flutter down my skin. Ever so gently, he slides the white T-shirt down my arms and over my head. Whiskey, sugar, and leather envelop me, and I take a deep inhale as the cotton drifts past my nose.
When I’ve settled into the undershirt, I meet his warm gaze and smile shyly. A possessive glint in his sparkling eye catches me, reminding me of the look he gave me when other men allegedly dared to glance at me in Masque.
The truth is, he was right. There was no way I could look at anyone else when his fingertips were caressing my lower back all night. Why would I want anyone else’s eyes or hands on me when I can’t get enough of Sol’s?
“I won’t have my pretty little muse be shy in my bed. You’ll either be confident and bare, or looking at me just like this in my shirt. Understood?”
I nod slowly and a grin spreads across my lips at the possession clouding his expression. The thick length in his pants seems to get even harder.
“What about you?” I ask tentatively, not entirely sure how to broach the subject. I glance at the steel tenting his suit, but when I look back to his face, a mischievous smile greets me.
“After you sang for the crowd, I just wanted to hear you sing for me. And what a gorgeous song it was.” He steps closer and traces his finger down my throat before whispering in my ear. “I want no one else to take pleasure in hearing the sweet music I draw from you at night.”
I swallow underneath his fingertips and nod, not sure what else to do in response. His tongue licks the shell of my ear as he says something else, making my skin tingle.
“Promise?”
I have no idea what he just said, but I’m quickly realizing I’ll agree to anything while Sol Bordeaux touches me.
“I-I promise.”
“Good.” He pulls away. “Now get ready for bed, Scarlett. I know you have a routine and you need to get a good night’s sleep.”
The reminder is the first one I’ve had about my bipolar disorder and my nose scrunches as I take stock of my body and mind.
There are no jitters. No nerves. My brain isn’t racing a million miles a second. Other than wanting Sol to get right back into bed with me—which I think is totally normal considering the smoldering man in front of me—I have no desire to do anything else reckless. And if this man has only encouraged me, protected me, and given me the best night of my life so far… is wanting to sleep with him really reckless at all? It feels delightfully inevitable.
“What’re you thinking about so hard?”
“I feel…fine,” I finally answer. “I feelgood, but not euphoria ‘high in a manic state’ good. My happiness just feels like… happiness.”
“Sometimes that’s all happiness needs to be.” His smile softens and he caresses my cheek. “You can see madness in the eyes, you know. And there’s absolutely nothing but sated relaxation in your silver moons.” I give in to his touch and am one caress away from purring like a kitten when he stops. “Now, go get ready for bed. If I have anything to do with it, I’ll keep you this way.”
Sol leaves me be as I shower in his gorgeous black marble bathroom and get ready for bed. Once I finish my nightly routine with all the products Sol apparently had one of his beauty-conscious shadows fetch from my dorm, I go back to his bedroom.
He’s sitting up against the black wood headboard, waiting for me in another loose black long-sleeve T-shirt and silk pants. The underground home is quite chilly, so I’m a little jealous of his pajamas, but I have no doubt I’ll be just fine underneath the covers.
I walk slowly to his bed, wondering when he’ll look up from his phone. But he continues to stare at it like it’s offended him, and a frown mars his face. Then I notice that his hair is slightly damp, and I frown, too.
“Where did you get ready for bed?”
“In the bathroom, down the hall,” he mutters and types furiously on his phone.
