Page 20 of Taken Off Camera
My head throbs, thoughts colliding. This man has seen me at my most vulnerable, has seen my apartment, and my unconscious body. Yet he wants to remain hidden.
“This washcloth is soaking wet,” I say finally. “If you want me blindfolded, at least let me use a proper one.”
“You want me to blindfold you?” he asks in surprise.
My lips curve despite everything. “If you’re going to do it, do it right. It’s in the top drawer of the nightstand.”
Silence stretches between us, then the mattress shifts as he stands. A drawer slides open, followed by the rustle of fabric as he lifts out the blindfold.
“You haven’t worn this in a long time.” He returns to the bed. “May I?”
I nod, feeling strangely safe. But when he continues to hesitate, I realize he’s waiting for verbal consent. “Yes. You may.”
His fingertips skim my hairline, gently lifting away the damp cloth. For a moment, pure darkness remains as I keep my eyelids closed, savoring the strange intimacy of the moment. Then the cool silk of my performance blindfold settles over my eyes, his fingers combing through my hair as he secures it.
His breath ghosts across my cheek. “Better?”
“Yes.” I reach up to touch the familiar fabric. “Much better.”
The blindfold confirms that this is real.GentlemanX is here, in my apartment, caring for me. A man who I’ve fantasized about, whose hands I’ve imagined on my body countless times. And now those hands are adjusting my pillows and checking my temperature.
Reality and fantasy blur into a reality I never expected, leaving me feverish in the care of a stranger I’ve known for years.
“Is the blindfold comfortable?” he asks.
“It’s fine.” I adjust the silk band to fall behind my ear. “I’m used to it.”
The mattress shifts as he straightens, his weight substantial enough to roll me toward him. My hip brushes what must be his thigh, and the contact sends an electric current through my fever-weakened body.
“The doctor left medication for you.” Plastic rattles as he shakes what sounds like a pill bottle. “Antibiotics and a fever reducer.”
“How much do I owe you for the doctor?” My fingers pick at a loose thread on my blanket. “And the medicine.”
“Nothing,” he says firmly. “Consider it covered by your private session fee.”
I snort, which turns into another cough. “Pretty sure my rates don’t cover house calls from private physicians.”
He ignores my comment. “Time for your medicine.”
Something small and round presses into my palm. A pill. Then another. I bring them to my mouth while his hand cups the back of my neck, lifting me forward. The touch sends shivers down my spine.
The rim of the glass returns to my lips. “Drink.”
I swallow the pills, hyper-aware of his fingers on my skin. They’re larger than I imagined, with a slight roughness to the pads. One thumb rests at the junction where my neck meets my shoulder, applying gentle pressure.
When I finish drinking, he lowers me back to the pillows, but his hand lingers at my neck for a moment longer.
“You should eat.” He stands, the mattress rising with his absence. “I made soup.”
“You cooked in my kitchen?” The idea of this stranger—thispatron—moving through my private space while I was unconscious hits me anew.
It should be terrifying. Itwasterrifying when I thought of Travis Thornhill doing the same. But everything is different when it comes to GentlemanX.
“Nothing fancy. Just chicken broth with rice and vegetables.” His footsteps retreat, then returnmoments later. A warm, savory scent wafts toward me. “Can you sit up?”
I try, pushing up from the mattress with arms like noodles. My muscles tremble with the effort, head spinning from the slight elevation change.
“Let me help.” Before I can protest, his arm slides behind my back, another under my knees, and he lifts me like I weigh nothing in a move that steals my breath.
