CHAPTER 4:A Call After Midnight
888 Words
I didn’t sleep.
Not for lack of trying, but because the memory of Tobi’s fingers on my skin kept replaying in a loop, I couldn’t escape.
I had promised myself the ride home would be the end of it — a harmless coincidence, a moment I’d forget. But the way he drove… the silence between us… the way he kept glancing at me like he was memorizing the shape of my breath…
None of it felt harmless.
When he dropped me off, he didn’t ask to come inside.
He didn’t even ask for my number.
He simply said, “Good night, Dami,” with that low, velvety tone that made my stomach tighten.
Then he drove off.
And I hated how disappointed I felt.
Hours later, long after I’d showered and changed into shorts and a loose tank top, I sat on my bed tapping my fingers against my thigh, irritated with myself.
I wasn’t the kind of woman who waited for a man to call.
Especially not a man I barely knew.
But at exactly 12:08 AM, my phone lit up.
Unknown Number.
My pulse jumped.
I let it ring once.
Twice.
Three times.
I didn’t want to seem eager — even though my heart was already betraying me.
I answered on the fourth.
“Hello?”
For a moment, no one spoke.
Just quiet breathing — deep, controlled, and unmistakably masculine.
Then his voice slid through the line.
“Dami.”
It wasn’t a greeting.
It was a confession.
I exhaled shakily. “How did you get my number?”
“You left your file in the car.”
I cursed under my breath. He chuckled softly, as though he could see me pacing through my room.
“You’re awake,” he said.
“So are you.”
“I was thinking about you.”
My toes curled against the sheets. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t know me.”
“Yet.”
The word hit harder than it should.
His voice — lower now, almost a murmur — wrapped around me like a warm hand sliding across bare skin.
“What are you wearing?” he asked gently, teasingly.
I froze. “Tobi—”
“It’s a simple question.”
“It’s a personal question.”
“Exactly.”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry.
He wasn’t pushing.
He wasn’t aggressive.
But there was a heat in his tone, an intimacy that squeezed around my chest.
“It’s late,” I whispered.
“That doesn’t answer me.”
I sat on the bed, fingers trembling slightly as I traced patterns on my blanket.
“I’m in shorts,” I said finally, my voice barely audible.
“And a tank top.”
Silence pulsed on the line.
When he spoke, his voice was darker.
“Are you comfortable?”
I should’ve lied.
I should’ve ended the call.
But the truth slipped out:
“No.”
A slow inhale.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re making me feel things I shouldn’t.”
I expected a smug laugh.
Instead, his tone softened — dangerously.
“I’m not trying to rush you, Dami.”
My breath stuttered.
He heard the tremor.
He liked it.
“I won’t ask you for anything you don’t want to give,” he continued.
“But I can’t pretend I don’t want to hear you like this.”
His voice dropped even lower.
Velvet and fire.
A slow caress down my spine.
“You sound different at night.”
“How?” I whispered.
“Like you’re less guarded.”
A pause.
“And more… you.”
My thighs pressed together instinctively, heat blooming there.
I shouldn’t be reacting like this.
Not to a voice.
Not to a stranger.
But God — his voice did something to me.
“Tobi,” I breathed.
“Yes?”
“You shouldn’t call me like this.”
“I know.”
“You shouldn’t want this.”
“I do.”
“You barely know me.”
“I know enough,” he murmured. “Enough to want more.”
He didn’t say it like a man chasing lust.
He said it like someone who wanted to learn the shape of my darkness.
A minute passed in silence — thick, heavy, intimate.
“Are you in bed?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Are the lights on or off?”
“Off.”
Another breath from his end — rougher this time.
“I like imagining you that way.”
“Tobi…”
“You can end the call if you want to.”
His voice softened.
“But if you don’t… I’ll keep talking to you exactly like this.”
I didn’t end the call.
And he knew I wouldn’t.
His next words pushed a rush of heat straight through me.
“Good,” he whispered.
“Now tell me what’s keeping you awake.”
My eyes fluttered shut.
“You,” I said honestly.
I could hear his smile through the phone.
“I’m gl
ad I’m not the only one.”
The line between us sizzled, pulsed, tightened — a thread pulling, drawing us closer, darker.
And the storm I felt earlier?
It was nothing compared to what he awakened now.
- Writer
