A breath stutters into his lungs. He turns in my arms, wrapping his around me, mirroring my position. He buries his face against me and says desperately, “I love you too.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Elias
Andre’s warm, solid body is curled around mine from behind. His arm has me locked in. I know he’s awake because his thumb is idly stroking my stomach. I don’t think he’s slept the whole time we’ve lain here. I haven’t either, but it feels good to rest with him. It’s given me time to start coming out of the strange headspace I’ve been in.
It feels like emerging from a dream. And yet, this is a different reality than the one I lived in before that dream. A better one.
But when I put my hand over Andre’s, I feel the bandage, and I remember that not everything is better in this new reality.
A phone starts ringing. It’s coming from the bathroom. It must be Andre’s phone. He grumbles and draws free of me, getting up from the bed.
Daylight is streaming in through the windows, showing all the beautiful lines of his body as he walks around the foot of the bed. But then, as he crosses the room to the bathroom, I see his back. I see his ass.
My breath catches, and I wish it was catching because of the beautiful structure of his body, the muscled curve of his ass, but it’s not. Jesus Christ, who did that to him?
He vanishes into the bathroom.
“Yeah,” he says in a low, rough voice as he answers the phone. Then, “We’re at The Axis. Piero Valenci paid me a visit. No, I didn’t let him see Elias. He doesn’t know that Elias is here.” There’s a pause then, “No, Elias isn’t working for him.” Then, “What the fuck do you think I’m gonna do with him, Noah? I’mgonna keep him safe.” Andre lets out a frustrated breath and says, “Sorry.” Then, “No, I don’t need anything. Yeah. Okay.”
Andre falls silent. The call seems to be over. I hear cloth rustling, and a moment later Andre emerges wearing gray boxer briefs and carrying his phone. His jaw is tight and his eyes are hard, but they soften as he looks at me. I sit up.
“I need to feed you,” he says. “You must be fucking starving.”
“Not really.”
His eyes harden again. “Then you’ve gone past feeling it.”
He walks out of the bedroom. I hear him walk into the kitchen. I hear the refrigerator door.
I get out of bed and go into the closet. Distantly, I hear Andre talking on the phone, but I can’t make out any of the words.
Dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, I go out to the kitchen. Andre has the electric kettle heating and he’s spooning coffee into the press pot.
“The Uppercut is making us steak and eggs, but it’ll take a bit,” he tells me. He grabs my favorite mug from the cupboard.
I sit on one of the stools at the counter. “You know where all my things are.”
“I already told you there are cameras in here.”
Andre fills a glass at the sink and brings it to me. His intensely blue eyes study me. He’s trying to figure out how much it bothers me. I’m trying to figure that out too.
Part of me is thrilled to know how much attention he’s actually been paying to me all along. But another part of me is trying to remember every embarrassing thing that I’ve done when I thought I was alone.
“I love watching you,” he says. “I’m not going to stop.”
“Is there a camera in the bathroom?”
“No.”
Another, nastier suspicion forms. I ask, “Are you tracking me online?”
“Some.”
“I don’t like that.”
“I don’t care.”
