Page 25 of Taken Off Camera
His nose brushes my ear. “Are you comfortable?”
“Yes.” The word contains multitudes, and I almost wish that my Heat would come early as the doctor warned, just for the excuse to be even closer.
By evening, hunger drives us to the kitchen. He guides me to a chair, placing a plate before me.
“I’ve cut everything into bite-sized pieces,” he explains. “The fork is at two o’clock on your plate.”
My fingers find the utensil, but when I try to spear something, I miss multiple times.
With a frustrated sigh, I set the fork down. “This is humiliating.”
“Let me.” His chair scrapes closer, and the fork lifts to my lips, carrying a bite of roasted chicken. “Better?”
We fall into rhythm, him feeding me between bites of his own meal. The domesticity of the moment strikes me, with us sitting at my kitchen table, sharing dinner with a man whose face I’ve never seen but whose hands I could identify by touch alone.
That night, when exhaustion pulls at me, he helps me to bed as usual. But when I settle under the covers, he doesn’t retreat to the couch as he has on previous nights.
“May I?” he asks, his weight hovering at the edge of the mattress.
Understanding flows between us. “Please.”
The bed dips as he stretches out beside me, on top of the covers with me beneath them, remaining agentleman even in closeness. His arm slides under my head, cradling me against his chest.
“Is this okay?” he whispers.
“Yes.” I curl into him, ear pressed to his chest over his heart.
His fingers trace patterns on my arm, soothing circles that ease the lingering aches in my muscles. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake.”
I drift off to the rhythm of his heartbeat, more content than I can remember ever being. Safe. Protected.
Cared for.
Thescreeof GentlemanX’s bag zipping closed sets me on edge, but I hide the reaction as best I can. After three days of his presence, his guidance, his touch, and his warmth, it’s finally time for him to leave my apartment.
My Heat never came, and I can’t find any excuses good enough to make him stay.
My legs wobble beneath me as I stand by the kitchen table, my hands in the pocket of my hoodie to stop from reaching for him.
“You sure you can manage on your own?” he asks from across the room, his concern evident.
“Sure.” I force a smile. “Fever’s gone, and I can walk to the bathroom without falling over. I’ve taken up enough of your time.”
The floorboards creak under his weight as he moves around my apartment, gathering his things. I trail after him, following him into the living room.
“Careful of the coffee table,” he warns, and I adjust my path, sidestepping the obstacle.
My fingertips find the back of the couch, and I grip it for support. “When did you say the doctor wants me to follow up?”
“Next week, if your symptoms return. I left his card on your nightstand.” A soft thud follows his words. His laptop going into its case, I think.
The apartment smells different with him in it. Less stale takeout and unwashed laundry, more the contentment of us rolled up together. I’ve never shared this space with anyone other than Saint, never had someone integrate themselves into my daily routines.
“Did you remember to take your medicine?” His footsteps approach, followed by the rattle of a pill bottle.
“Yes, while you were in the shower.” My fingersdrum on the couch frame. “Will your family wonder where you’ve been the past few days?”
A pause, then he says, “I told them I was handling a security matter.”
