15

                                    

                                          
☆
T A T I A
15 | love, Casteel
I didn't mean to blow up on Reece the way I did. The guilt lying heavy in my chest is proof of that.
But his actions towards Hanson disturbed me. It reminded me of the very man I have escaped from.
The scribbling sound of the pencil on paper is the only noise in the silent room. The lights are out except for the lamp on my nightstand which glows with a warm shade. The portrait I have been aiming to draw since morning is nowhere near finished—it is still only a half-done sketch of a masculine face which looks nothing like the subject I am going for.
Lips pressed firmly in determination, I turn the sketchbook around, scanning my drawing minutely.
I have been drawing him all day. That's how Hanson found me on the couch this afternoon. He had come to take Shiver for his walk when peered over me and stole a glance. He was fascinated and by the time I realized that he had seen my secret, he was already walking around the couch to ask me to join him for a walk.
It was nice getting out of the penthouse. As lavish as this place is, a gilded cage is still a cage.
Now, dressed in my loose T-shirt, a pair of white shorts, and comfy socks that I borrowed (okay, stole would be a better word) from Reece's collection in the laundry, I find myself hooked to my sketch, trying to complete the picture of the man.
It is while I am tracing the nip of the pencil through a familiar jawline in the drawing that there is a rapid knock on the door. I turn the sketchbook over, sliding it under my pillow as I get down from the bed.
I walk to the door with agitated steps, knowing who it is behind the wood. The thought of facing him after our tense encounter has my heart beating in my throat.
I open the door, his presence stealing my breath away instantly.
He stands there in a pale grey T-shirt, his biceps expanding underneath the cotton, and black trousers. His jaw is set as his blue pupils lock with mine. His dark hair is wet from the shower, the scent of a lemony body wash lingering on his body. It wafts off him in fresh waves and fills my lungs.
It is stupid of me to be embarrassed to face him now. I wasn't like this last night when he was eating me out on his bathroom vanity.
The memory pushes more blood to my cheeks.
"Hey," he greets softly.
"Hey."
"Can I come in?"
"I guess you can. It's your house."
I trace a pattern on the floor with a sock-covered toe, the tensed edge to my voice sharp as it settles between us. Reece doesn't say anything for a few seconds but when he does, he sounds not happy with my tart response.
"Tatia..." He nearly growls my name, causing me to snap my gaze at his. He exhales slowly, "Can I come in?"
At that moment, several unspoken words are spoken between us. I remember what I said to him back in the hallway.
I forget I don't have a home anymore
His asking for permission to enter my room is a small but significant gesture. It creates an unbecoming smile on my lips, my pulsing heartbeats jumping further at his thoughtfulness.
"Yeah. Please..." I pull open the door, giving his large body space to walk into my room.
My room. I might not have a home but I do have a room.