Chapter 31 #2
We lay together in the dark. I listen to the rhythmic sounds of his breaths. I inhale that deep, familiar smell of him. I snuggle myself into his strong, protective embrace.
I don’t mean to fall asleep, but I feel so safe for the first time in days, maybe months, and my entire nervous system stops trying to hold itself up. His presence gives me permission to fall apart, and sleep takes me like snuffing out a candle.
When I wake up, Phantom’s head is on my chest. His arms are still tight around my middle, as though he spent all night clinging to me.
I feel…oddly cherished.
I linger in bed. Phantom’s breath rises and falls in a lovely, deep way. He sleeps like a man who hasn’t slept in months. The light bleeding in through my curtains highlights the grey in his curls. I stroke his hair, loving the way it feels between my fingers.
Now, this is a new one.
Phantom has come to my apartment before. We’ve played. Fucked. But he’s never come over just to cuddle. Apparently, the breakup has rearranged his priorities.
I trail my fingers down the nape of his neck. I trace the freckles that dust his back. The curve of his bicep. The hair on his forearms. He is all man, and, in this moment, all mine. I pull that strong hand to my lips and press a kiss to his fingers, and then to his forehead.
My dom is adorable when he’s soft and sleepy.
My dom. One night of cuddles, and I’ve reverted back to thinking of him like that.
I need to get out of this bed.
Carefully, I pull myself out of his arms. I put on a comfortable nightie and a pair of slippers.
I exit the bedroom and Spud is already by the door.
Spud cranes to look around my legs, trying to see Phantom.
I close the door behind me, put on a long jacket to cover myself up, and take Spud out for his morning walk.
When I get back, I make coffee. My stomach pinches and I realize I’m hungry.
Famished, actually. It’s like all of me is waking up from hibernation.
I clatter pots and pans around. Now, I’m purposefully being loud. Still, nothing from Phantom.
He might be dead.
Feeling energized, I actually put in some effort this morning. I get out the cutting board, chop up some pitted Kalamata olives and cherry tomatoes. I break out spinach, feta cheese, and eggs. I whisk up the eggs, heat up the pan, and pour them in. Everything starts sizzling and popping.
I don’t know if it’s the smell of food or the sounds, but finally, Phantom emerges from my bedroom. He’s wearing nothing but grey briefs, his hair askew. He rubs his hand distractedly over his arm, and I can’t help but admire the thick, freckled bicep underneath.
My cunt clenches, reminding me of all the things we didn’t do last night.
“How long was I asleep?”
“Twenty years.” I wave my spatula. “They have flying cars now.”
He goes into my coat closet. I hear him unzip his black bag. He pulls out a couple items then vanishes into my bathroom. When he comes back out, he’s looking fresher, brighter, and he’s wearing sweatpants and a dark shirt.
I hear him rummaging around his bag some more, and the hiss of the zipper. I poke at the pan. He comes up behind me. Even without touching me, I can feel his presence.
“Coffee?” I offer.
“No, thank you.” He hovers over my shoulder. “Smells good.”
“Hungry?”
“Starving.”
I’m not the only one feeling resurrected this morning. The warmth of his body draws me like a moth to the flame and I find myself tilting back, just a little, just to feel his strong chest against my back.
“May I pull your hair back?” he asks.
“Yes, please.”
Those large hands gently capture my hair. The roots tug pleasantly at my scalp as he ties it back with a simple band.
“Now your arms,” he says.
“My arms?”
“Hands behind your back, Ophelia.”
I set my spatula aside and, curious, I follow orders. A soft ribbon, satin-like, curls around my wrists. He tightens it, securing them in place. I test the binds. It’s a gentle tie, but I’m not getting out anytime soon. The helpless feeling sends a thrill through me, and my heart skips.
I can’t help but grin. “How am I supposed to cook?”
His body presses against mine. His arms wind around me and he picks up the spatula.
“Tell me what to do.”
“Stir, please.”
I talk him through cooking breakfast. Phantom’s arms become my arms, and he follows orders easily.
He flips it onto the plate and it’s a perfect, beautiful frittata.
He fixes one plate and snags one fork for us to share.
Then he takes a spot at the table, looks me directly in the eyes, and pats his thigh.
“Come here.”
It’s the soft, every-day dominant gestures that send a bolt of electricity through me.
I obey easily. Yes, we’re on a break, yes, I’m still mad at him, but fuck—let me have this.
Let me be his early morning good girl. Let me steal some serotonin for a couple of hours so I can make it through the rest of my week.
I go over to him and sit in his lap. Arms still bound behind me, I have to tighten my core to sit straight up. He reaches around me, cuts off a piece of the frittata with his fork, and feeds it to me. Olive and feta burst in my mouth.
“Good?” he asks.
“Delicious.”
He takes a bite for himself. “Damn. That is good.” Another bite for Phantom. I wait my turn. I love watching him enjoy the food I made for him.
“Where’s your roommate?” he asks.
“She’s at Dorian’s.”
“And how’s that going?”
He divvies up bites, feeding the both of us as we engage in easy, early-morning talk. I could do this every morning.
“They’re in love. It’s sickening. He’s over here like…all the time.”
“Sounds like a crowded house.”
“It is and it isn’t. He’s…basically a cat. He just sits in the corner and reads. I hardly know he’s there half the time.” I press my lips together and confess the things I won’t say out loud to Dove. “But…there are sometimes I miss just having Dove to myself, you know?”
“Sacred girl time.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m sure she’d understand if you told her.”
“I’m sure she would, too. But I’m so happy seeing her happy…I’ve gotta let her float on her cupcake love cloud for a moment.”
I wiggle myself into his lap. I can feel him starting to get hard underneath me.
“Ophelia. Stop moving.” It’s both a command and a plea.
“I’m trying. It’s just so hard to get comfortable.”
“And it’s going to get harder if you keep moving around. Settle. Eat.”
We talk a little, eat a little, and I pretend like I don’t understand the effect I have on him when I shift my hips this way and that. Finally, when we’ve left nothing but crumbs, Phantom puts his hand on my hip to gently guide me off of him.
“I can clean—”
“Stay,” he says, a sharp command that my body has no problem obeying. “I’ve got this.”
I sit back down.
“May I have my hands back?” I remember my manners. “For my coffee. Please, Sir.”
“Yes.” He undoes the bind, freeing my wrists. Then he makes swift work of wrapping the black little ribbon around a single wrist, tying it into a knot.
Claimed, but not contained. I love it.
I get to enjoy my coffee while Phantom picks up the plate, takes it to the sink, and starts washing the dishes.
The table vibrates, and I see he’s left his phone on the table. “You got a text,” I tell him.
“Can you check it? Code is 1158.”
That feels insane to hear.
Brody used to lose his mind if I so much as even touched his phone.
I pick up Phantom’s phone and see…me.
On his phone is a picture of me. I look blissed out. A huge, happy smile on my face.
“I’m still your lock screen?” I ask.
“You’re my north star.”
He says it casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. My chest goes tight. I clear my throat.
“Princess wants to know if you can do a party supplies run at Village.”
“Tell her to send me the list.”
I send the text.
She texts back:
[Text: Princess]
Ophelia?
Dear God, how does she know? Her sixth sense is absolutely creepy.
I set the phone down. “I don’t know how, but Princess knows you’re here.”
He chuckles. “I’m sure I’ll hear all about it later.”
I watch his back as he washes my dishes, then cleans the counter. This feels normal…too normal. I hold my coffee, sip it, and consider my next words.
“So…last night. Are we going to talk about it?”
He hears the gravity in my voice. I watch as the motions of Phantom’s arm slow down, and then stop completely. He puts the towel down and turns to face me. He’s serious, now.
“I miss you. Every day without you…it kills me.”
“Who’s fault is that?”
He surprises me by admitting, “Mine. I broke your trust. I’m sorry. Brody…he didn’t deserve you. That part, I’m not sorry about. But I should’ve handled it better.”
“You think? I spent my 35th birthday crying on my bathroom floor. Dorian held my hair. Dove had to carry me to bed.”
He winces. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. You should be.”
“If you give me a second chance, I’ll make this a safe space again. For both of us.”
I narrow my eyes at him. He seems earnest. But I’ve fallen for earnest before. I’m not so easily played anymore.
“What did you miss about me?”
“I miss the sound of your laughter in my house. I miss coming home to find you playing Charades in the aftercare room—”
“One time! Okay, maybe twice.”
“You brought color to my very…black and white world. I miss seeing the world through your eyes.” He rests against the counter.
He holds his arms, absently rubbing his bicep.
A small, protective gesture. He’s uncomfortable being vulnerable, but he’s pushing through it.
“I miss the way you pour all of yourself into every one of our sessions. I miss having your undivided attention when we’re in a scene.
Nothing makes me feel more powerful. More worthy.
I miss the music of your screams. The shudder in your breath. The way your body surrenders.”
He pauses. “I miss that look in your eyes.”
“What look?”
“You know the one. The way you look at me like nothing exists outside of our scene. God, it lights me up.”
The heat in his eyes consumes me. He hasn’t even touched me and my skin feels like it’s on fire.