Page 27 of Serpentine
“Makes sense. Shit, if everyone had a space like this, had the intimate inner knowledge of what they need and when they need it, the world might not be such a shit place.”
I turn around, her words hitting me dead center for the second time today.
Who is this woman?
For someone who seems to be the same age as me, she’s got a depth to her I want to fucking dive into. Which is scary for me because I’ve never felt this way before.
“Can I?” she asks, standing before the bookcase with her hand hovering over a spine.
I smirk at her. She’s asking permission and remembering that I had said not to touch a thing. But books are made to be touched, shared, and read, and I overlooked this when I gave the blanket rule.
But she hadn’t. It means something to me she hadn’t.
“Go ahead,” I tell her, returning to my computer. “There’s a lamp on the bedside table. It’s what I use when I’m reading.”
“Will it bother you?” she asks me, and I close my eyes as something in my chest heats that I don’t care to look too far into right now.
“No. Go ahead.”
I know she’s seen the spanking bench. There are many floggers and toys on shelves and wall hooks. But she hasn’t said a word, and for that, I’m grateful because there’s no fucking way I can think past imagining her on the bench to get this shit done for Miles. Not a chance in hell.
The lamp clicks on, and silence overtakes me again as she reads while I work.
Every so often, I look over at her. She’s consumed in the book in her hands, absently chewing her hair while she reads. I wonder if she realizes she’s doing it.
Sharing my space with such an air of comfortability isn’t something I’ve ever thought would happen. Or even could happen.
Slowly, I’m wondering how I’ll feel once she’s gone. Logically, I know she’ll return to the life she’s accustomed to the first chance she gets.
But for once, I hope that I’m wrong.
Hope is a big thing for me. It goes against everything in my brain. I let it grow inside me like a beacon of change.
TEN
AELLA
It feels like I took the book off Braxton’s shelf a while ago, but as I flip the page, I’m ingrained in it. I can’t put it down, even when I know I should get up and get something to eat because my stomach keeps grumbling.
Outlander isn’t something I expect to see on a man’s bookshelf, but that’s my idealism judging him prematurely, and I don’t want to do that. Reading isn’t something I usually have time for. I work for charities for the Montague Foundations, and they take up so much space in my life that sometimes I need to remind myself to do things for myself.
Being here has me feeling free. Even though I know I’m a captive.
I registered something weird between Miles and Braxton this morning. I don’t know what’s going on there, but I assume it concerns the minor quirks I’ve noticed about Brax.
He’s clicking away on the keyboard, wholly engrossed in the work before him, and even though neither of us has spoken in hours, I’m so comfortable I could fall asleep again. I never had this type of comfort with Carter. Or anyone, if I think about it.
I return to Claire and Jamie’s story, which has an air of whimsy—enough to transport me to another world.
Before I know it, Brax is standing beside the bed, looking down at me with his dark eyes. A blooming heat rushes through my body. Open-faced, I set the book on the bed so I don’t lose my spot.
“I think we should get something to eat, don’t you?” he asks.
The innuendo in the statement isn’t lost on me, and I smirk.
He grins and drops to his knees beside the bed. “Not that kind of eat, Bambi. Don’t be a dirty little girl when I’m trying to care for you.”
I laugh and turn on my side.