I drag in a shaky breath, nails digging into my palm. And slowly, I lift my head.
He holds my gaze.
And in a few seconds, he drops his eyes, staring at me. Them.
I curl my toes, burning and tingling at the same time.
He lifts my hands higher and inches closer. Before I can blink, his lips touch one.
I let out a sound, curling tight—toes, fingers, body.
He kisses the second one and murmurs, “I was a little rough… my apologies.”
I’m unable to speak. It’s not like I wasn’t warned beforehand.
He pulls me up and drops my wrists to hold my left hand while wearing his slippers. Then he bends over and brings mine to my feet. I wear them, glancing at his phone on one of the side tables. Another recording. Not accidental. Intentional. Why? What for?
“Come,” he says, gently pulling me with h
