Chapter 13
Ophelia. Then.
I opened my eyes and, for a minute, I didn’t recognize my own room.
I recognized the sheer purple curtains that hung from my window, the morning light making the color pleasantly muddy.
I knew the cozy, fluffy comforter that swallowed me whole.
I spotted the mess of half-melted candles, incense sticks, and small totems that comprised my mini-Artemis altar, side-by-side with pictures of my family all jumbled together on top of my dresser.
It was my room, but it felt all wrong. My body was here, but my mind was still at the Seekers Club.
The emotional hangover was real. I didn’t have anywhere to be in the morning—it was a dark day for the theatre, which meant I had the morning to myself.
It was suspiciously quiet in my apartment, and a quick peek outside led me to a note on the kitchen table.
Took the kids to see our parents. Be back tonight.
I was dying of thirst, so I poured myself a glass of water, downed the contents, and crawled back into bed.
Here, I took stock of my body. The delicious soreness in my ass.
The ache in my cunt, which already missed his fingers inside of it.
The buzzing on my lips, which still felt the ghost of his kiss.
Phantom. Phantom, Phantom, Phantom…
What to make of Phantom?
Phantom had moments of hot-and-cold. I could feel him holding back, even during our…what did he call it? Our play session.
But I didn’t get the impression he was uninterested.
In fact, I felt the opposite. The interest was there.
I could hear it in the way he muttered fuck under his breath when I came around his fingers.
I could taste it when he moaned into my kiss.
This man had buckets of interest for me.
I’d drown in it, happily, if he’d just release that vice-like grip on his self-control.
He had what I called big shelter dog energy. This was a man who needed a little coaxing. He was going to hide under the table until you got on your knees and soft-talked him. I’d decided that I was going to break this one out of his shell…even if I had to take a hammer to do so.
My phone buzzed. I glanced at the ID and grinned.
He texted first. Romance wasn’t dead.
Even better: he texted me at 9 am. On the dot.
How much do you wanna bet he was holding onto that drafted text, making a promise with himself not to text me before 9?
It was, honestly, kind of cute, watching this forty-something-year-old man dance around his feelings for me.
[Text: Phantom]
How are you feeling?
[Text: Ophelia]
Sore. and wonderful.
[Text: Phantom]
Are you taking Advil?
[Text: Ophelia]
I’m about to
[Text: Phantom]
Start with one. Take two if you need it.
I had a long, full-body mirror that I’d propped up against the wall so I could check myself out in the morning. My curls were wild this morning, my naked body all tangled up in the blankets (I didn’t have the energy for pajamas last night), and I got an idea.
[Text: Ophelia]
Hey you’re a doctor, right? I have a medical question
[Text: Phantom]
Go ahead.
[Text: Ophelia]
are the bruises supposed to look like this?
I pulled down my panties, posed for the mirror, and snapped a picture of the impressive bruises he’d left on my ass last night. I made sure to tilt myself to the mirror so he could get just the slightest glimpse of pussy between my thighs.
Yes, I knew I was being a tease. But was it such a crime to want a little attention from the aloof older man?
I sent the picture. There was a long silence from him, and then his resolve snapped like a twig. He sent over my favorite words in the English language:
[Text: Phantom]
Come over.
[Text: Phantom]
Immediately.