Page 22 of Taken Off Camera
“You collapsed at ten forty-two last night. It’s now…” A pause as he checks the time. “It’s now four seventeen in the evening.”
“And you’ve been here the whole time?” The thought of him watching over me for so long makes me ache with the desire for more.
“Yes.” Simple, without elaboration.
The soup sits warm in my stomach. “What about your job?”
“I’ve been working remotely.” Fabric rustles as he shrugs. “My laptop is on your kitchen table.”
The image forms in my mind of GentlemanX sitting at my small thrift store table, surrounded by my unwashed dishes and takeout containers, typing on what’s probably a sleek, expensive laptop.
“The doctor said you’ve been pushing yourself toohard.” His voice tightens. “Your body was already struggling before the flu hit. He mentioned signs of extended sleep deprivation and poor nutrition. Too much ramen, perhaps?”
Heat rises to my cheeks. “Medical privacy is a thing, you know.”
“He was concerned.” The spoon touches my lips again. “As was I.”
I accept the bite, using the moment to gather my thoughts. “What else did he say?”
“That your Heat might be approaching earlier than expected. Stress and illness can trigger it prematurely.”
My stomach clenches. “Did you tell him I’m on suppressants?”
“Yes. He said they might be less effective right now, with your immune system compromised.”
The implications hang between us. An early Heat, while I’m still recovering from illness. Without functional suppressants. With an Alpha in my apartment.
“I should go,” he says, reading my silence correctly. “Once you’re stable.”
“No.” The word bursts from me before I can consider it. “I mean, I’ll need help. If what he says is true.”
The spoon pauses halfway to my mouth. “You don’t know me, Elliot.”
“We talk every week, sometimes multiple times.” I reach out, finding his wrist again. “And you’ve been here all night without taking advantage.”
His pulse jumps beneath my fingers. “That’s a low bar.”
“In my experience?” I squeeze his wrist gently. “It’s practically a miracle.”
The bowl lifts from my lap, followed by a soft thud as he sets it aside. His hand turns, capturing mine, thumb tracing patterns on my palm that send shivers up my arm.
“One more day,” he concedes. “To make sure the fever doesn’t return.”
Relief washes through me. “Okay.”
I should tell him to call Saint and not monopolize his time like this, but I’ve been fantasizing about GentlemanX for so long that I refuse to give up this chance to be with my favorite patron in person.
It only took me almost dying and consent to being blindfolded to do it.
6
Time blurs into a series of sensations behind the blindfold. A cool cloth on my forehead. Strong hands guiding me through my own apartment. GentlemanX’s deep rumble reading aloud from my dog-eared copy ofFairy Tales.
I slip in and out of sleep, recovering in darkness while trusting a man who refuses to show me his face.
“Your fever’s rising again.” His cool palm rests on my burning forehead.
The mattress shifts as he stands. Water runs in the bathroom, then the soft fall of his footsteps returns.
