And that was the thrill, isn’t it? Trusting the journey.
Trustinghim.
The train stopped at the next station. Then the next. At the third stop, the doors opened and I could feel his presence even before I saw him. A familiar form entered the train. He stepped over to me and, without saying a word, took the seat next to mine.
All I could hear was the rushing of my own heartbeat. I didn’t dare look at him. It felt wrong, somehow, to meet his gaze. Like a test. I kept my eyes fixed on the floor ahead of me. I wouldn’t look at him unless he asked me to. I wouldn’t move unless he told me to move.
I found it hard to evenbreathewithout his permission.
Everywhere else in my life, I was a hellcat. With Phantom?
I craved the experience of beinghis good girl.
He wore his uniform—those dark paramedic blues. Did he just get off his shift? Couldn’t waste time going home to change? Was he thinking about me all day?
Was our interaction at the club haunting him, too?
There wasn’t a lot of space in these twin seats and, when the train jerked forward, his body pressed against mine. I felt the strength of him. The warmth of him. I wanted to curl into his lap.
He’s made me feral.
He said nothing. Instead, he fished a hand into his pocket. He pulled out a small, folded square of paper. His hand worked between us as he pushed the note into my pocket. He touched my thigh then and give me a small, gentle squeeze.
“Good girl,” he said softly. The train came to a halt. He got up and exited just before the doors closed again.
My heart wouldn’t stop pounding. For a minute, I couldn’t move, and I let the train rock me like a baby. Just beingcloseto him…I felt an aching heat trapped between my thighs.
Finally, I got myself together enough to dig into my pocket and pull out the note he’d left.
The note read, in his tight, scratchy handwriting:“Friday. 7 pm. Door code 1158. Memorize these words: Mercy, give, eyes, pray, drop. PS: Come up with a scene name.”
12
Ophelia.Then.
That Friday, I entered the club like I belonged there.
I punched in the code at the door. A tiny light flickered green on the handle and the door unlocked for me. I stepped inside and the low, thumping music and the sharp cries from upstairs already felt like home.
The blonde from before sat behind the desk. She had a graphic novel in hand, and she barely looked up when I slid my arms over the desk.
“I’m back.”
“I see that.” She smiled, but it looked forced.
“I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Princess.” She nodded to the stairs. “Phantom is waiting upstairs. You’re late.”
Yikes. Strike against me. I pulled my coat over my shoulders. “Where’s the doorman?”
“You can hang it yourself.” Princess looked back at her novel and turned the page.
Huh. So much for a welcoming committee.
I hung my coat up in the closet. As I did, a body brushed against mine, someone else hanging up his own coat.
“Welcome back, beautiful.” Carver gave me that big, wolfish smile of his.
