Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
When her body finally gives out, trembling and sore and spent, I carry her to my bed. She’s half asleep already, head resting on my shoulder, fingers curled into my chest like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go.
I lay her carefully on the sheets and pull the blanket over her. She doesn’t wake. She only shifts slightly, reaching blindly for me. I sit beside her and take her hand, brushing my thumb over her knuckles.
Her breathing steadies and her face softens. She looks peaceful, and I know I should leave her be, but I don’t. Instead, I lie down beside her and let her curl against me. Her hand rests over my heart. Her cheek presses to my shoulder. I listen to her breathing until mine matches it, until the edges of the world blur and everything inside me quiets.
For the first time in years, I fall asleep beside someone. It’s just more evidence that this woman is driving me out of my mind.
When I wake up, sunlight spills across the bed. I can’t tell what time it is, but it feels later than I usually wake up. My body is both exhausted and wired. I roll over and reach for her, wanting to experience her perfect body one more time, but the space beside me is empty.
Her scent lingers on the pillow. Her warmth still clings faintly to the sheets. But she’s gone. The robe is folded neatly at the foot of the bed.
I get up slowly, stretching and trying to put some life back into my body after the marathon of last night. I vainly hope that I’ll find her in the kitchen, brewing a cup of coffee or chewing on a bagel, but she’s truly gone.
She did, at least, leave a note for me on the front door, like she wanted to make sure I didn’t miss it:
Thank you for last night. If you ever want to do this again, here’s my number.
Below the words is a hastily scrawled number. It all reeks of regret and forced politeness. I can’t shake the disappointed feeling that starts in the pit of my stomach. It’s ridiculous, but she’s already gotten under my skin, and I don’t even know her name.
I scrub my hands over my face and go find my phone. I pick it up and press the contact for Vlad, my head of security. The line only rings once.
“What’s up, boss?” Vlad answers.
“I need you to keep tabs on someone,” I say. My voice is flat and controlled, but heat lingers beneath it. I can only hope he doesn’t hear it. “I don’t have a name, but I have a phone number. She has dark hair and brown eyes. If you check my security feed, you’ll see her leaving my penthouse this morning.”
There’s a short pause on the other end.
“Do you want her followed?”
“Yes,” I say. “Get as much information on her as you can.”
“Do you want a protection detail for her?”
“For now, just surveillance,” I confirm. “Unless there is a need, then make contact.”
“I’ll get it taken care of,” he says.
I end the call and go back into my bedroom, staring at the empty space beside me, my jaw tight.
How can I already be this far gone over someone when I don’t even know her name? This isn’t me, and if I were smart, I’d shut the door on this and move on with my life.
But I can still feel her body clenching around me, still taste her breath in my mouth, still hear the soft, broken sounds she made when she shattered beneath me. I can still feel her head on my chest as she slept.
She’s already gotten under my skin, and I don’t think there’s any coming back from it.
6
MOLLY
As the weeks go by, I finally come to terms with the fact that Samuil isn’t going to call me. It’s disappointing, but it’s nothing I’m not used to. I put myself back together and pick up the pieces, just like I always have.
Somehow, my world starts to return to normal, but there’s still this lingering sense that everything is different now. I keep telling myself to stop being ridiculous. These things happen. Sometimes you just meet incredible strangers, have the best sex of your life, and never hear from them again.
Then I wonder if it was all just a fever dream. I tell myself that I’m fine, that everything is fine. My life is back to normal, no different than it was before I met Samuil. I go into work every morning an hour before school starts. I teach classes all day long, keep an eye on my most troubled students, and stay late when I have to. It’s all completely mundane.
Nobody knows any different. Kelly, my friend and mentor, says I seem different in a way she can’t even define, but I tell her it’s just the change in the weather and nothing else.