Page 69 of Living with Death
“I've been with you this whole time,” he says.
I reach for the sheet, pulling it up and over my body. I could sleep for days. The fire has made the room warm, and the candles still flicker. I inhale as he lies down beside me. I look over at him.
He smiles.
“So, where am I supposed to use the bathroom?” I ask.
He laughs. It's deep and oh-so-wonderful. “There's a bathroom down the hall. Francis may have been cringey, but he was modern for his day. I made sure it worked before bringing you.”
I laugh at his use of cringey. “You thought of everything, didn't you?”
His hand rests on his stomach, and I remember what those fingers can do. A blush spreads across my cheeks as I look toward the door. Darkness lingers there, thick and uninviting.
“I'll walk with you,” he says.
“Thank you.” I grab the sheet and wrap it around me. I slide my feet back into my boots as he puts his jeans back on, leaving the button undone. His lip lifts as he looks at me. Black silk wrapped around my body, untied boots, and messy, just fucked hair.
What a sight I am.
He looks better, shirtless, in jeans, and with thick, unruly hair.
“I always want to be the reason when you look like that,” he says.
I swallow.
He runs a hand over his jaw, biting his inner cheek.
“Mabel, I…” He sighs. “Never mind.” He clears his throat. “Come. You've got to use the restroom.”
I wanted him to finish that sentence, but I don’t question it. We walk out and go down the hall. Candles also light the bathroom, but it’s much colder and cleaner than I imagined. I do my business and walk back, seeing him leaning against the stone wall.
“All good?” he asks.
I nod.
“Are you hungry? There's food and wine.”
“Sure,” I reply with a satisfied smile.
He takes my hand. Torches light the hall. It smells of mildew. There's a steady coldness around us, causing my nipples to harden beneath the silk sheet and chills to run down my spine. This place is prominent and abandoned, but the urge to explore is strong.
We walk back into the warm room and over to the shaggy rug in front of the fire. I slide my boots off as Azrael opens the wine bottle. My watch tells me it's well after midnight, but I don't care about the time.
I want to spend every waking moment with him.
He pours us both a glass and hands one to me. I open the basket of food. “Is this what you were doing with your time away?” I ask, popping a grape into my mouth.
I see he brought chips and dip. It makes me smile as I chew. I take a sip of the wine, adjusting the sheet.
“Maybe,” he says, sitting down on the floor. He stretches his long legs out in front of him, leaning back on his hand.
“This place is amazing,” I say, looking up toward the shelves of books. Spiderwebs lurk in the corners of the curved ceiling. “I could see myself living here.”
“You'd live here?”
“Well, not like it is, but maybe with it remodeled.”
He smiles. “I think you've got your hands full with your own home.”
