Page 27 of Taken Off Camera
“Scared away?” My brow furrows beneath the blindfold. “Why?”
His exhale carries the weight of years. “My face isn’t what most people consider attractive. There was an accident years ago.”
“You think I’ll be repulsed.” The realization is both heartbreaking and somehow a relief.
“People usually are.” The admission comes with no self-pity, only resignation.
My lips curve upward. “Good thing I’m not most people.”
“You say that now,” he says roughly, “but you haven’t seen me yet.”
“I don’t need to see.” My hand finds his chest, his heart hammering beneath my palm. “I know the way you care, the way you took timeout of your busy schedule to look after me. You’re kind.”
His fingers brush my cheek in a feather-light caress. “Kindness doesn’t erase scars.”
“Then let me keep the blindfold,” I offer. “For as long as you need. I don’t care about your appearance.”
His breath catches, and he pulls me close enough for his warm exhale to ghost across my lips. “You mean that?”
The vulnerability in his question cracks something open inside me. “Yes. I mean it.”
Relief floods through me, and I lean into him, my body seeking his warmth. My hands find his, bringing them to my lips where I kiss his knuckles.
“I mean it,” I repeat, my lips moving over his skin. “The blindfold can stay. Whatever you need to be comfortable.”
His breath hitches, the sound loud in the quiet apartment. “You would do that?”
“Yes.” I kiss each finger, learning the topography of his hands with my mouth. “I want to be with you, however you’ll allow.”
His fingers tremble within my hold. “Why?”
The question hangs between us, weighted with insecurity and hope.
I consider my answer, knowing it matters morethan any line I’ve ever delivered on camera. “Because when I hear your voice, I’m safe. Because you’ve seen me at my worst and stayed. Because you fed me soup and read me stories when I couldn’t even sit up.”
His forehead touches mine, our breaths mingling in the narrow space between us. “May I kiss you, Elliot?”
“Please.” The word emerges on an eager breath.
The first touch of his lips to mine land feather soft, tentative, as if testing whether I’ll pull away. When I don’t, his hand cups the back of my neck, drawing me closer. His lips are softer than I expected, a contrast to the firmness of his fingers over my skin.
I sigh into his mouth, my hands finding his shoulders to steady myself. Despite the days of recovery, my legs remain unsteady, though now for a different reason.
The kiss deepens, and he traces the seam of my lips, seeking entry. I grant it without hesitation, his tongue filling my senses with hints of coffee and mint. Without sight, the slight stubble on his chin abrading my skin, the heat radiating from his body, and the subtle scent of my soap warmed by his body are all amplified.
My body responds with embarrassing speed, blood rushing south until I’m half-hard in mysweatpants. I press closer, seeking more contact, and his answering hardness nudges my hip.
“You want me, too,” I murmur into his mouth, relief and desire tangling in my chest.
I had wondered, more than once when he rejected a private performance, if GentlemanX didn’t feel arousal in the same way others do. If maybe the reason he hides his face extended to more of his body.
His hands slide down my back to settle at my waist. “More than you know.”
The confession sends heat spiraling through me. I rock my hips forward, and his sharp intake of breath gratifies me. My fingers find the hem of his shirt, slipping beneath to touch warm, bare skin. The firm muscles of his abdomen jump under my exploration.
“Let me take care of you,” I whisper, trailing kisses along his jaw. “Please.”
His grip tightens on my waist. “You’re still recovering.”
