Sheila’s POV
I haven’t stopped thinking about him since he left. The way his hands moved over me, the low pull of his voice, the way he made my body betray me even when my head screamed to resist. Every corner of my apartment smells like him, every shadow seems to carry the memory of his weight.
My phone buzzes again. I don’t even need to look. It’s him. My chest tightens. My fingers hover over the screen. Part of me wants to ignore it, part of me needs to answer.
I tap the screen and bring it to my ear. “What is it now?”
“Just checking,” he says, voice soft but charged, like a wire humming under my skin. “You awake?”
“Yes.” My voice is shaky.
“Good.” A pause. Then, “I’m on my way.”
I freeze. My heart jumps into my throat. “Here? Now?”
“Yeah.”
The line goes dead before I can say a
