Phantom, p.25
Phantom, page 25
I cock my head, taking my time as I study the radio. It’s definitely centered, but I’m having so much fun.
Meeting his gaze after several moments, I take a slow sip of wine, butterflies unleashing in my stomach. His stare has only sharpened, and there’s no doubt that I should’ve locked him downstairs.
I’ve never done what I was supposed to, though.
Only when I swallow do I say, “It’ll do.”
One menacing step from him is all it takes for me to squeal, set my glass down on the coffee table, and run.
The sound of static stirs me out of a deep slumber.
I jerk upright, looking around the living room in confusion. The radio still appears dead, and I’m half-convinced I dreamed up the noise.
The fire is still crackling, and according to the clock on the mantel, only an hour has passed since Zade and I fell asleep on the couch, naked and spent.
He did exactly what I knew he would and thoroughly punished me. He said since I wanted to drink my wine so bad, I had to hold the sweet alcohol in my mouth while he fucked me. If I dribbled or swallowed any of it, he stopped.
Too many times, I nearly choked on it, and after my third orgasm, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. He saw it coming and placed his mouth over mine, quickly repositioning us so the wine poured from my mouth into his.
He swallowed it down while I screamed.
Still asleep, Zade shifts behind me, drawing my attention over my shoulder to his naked form scarcely hidden beneath a fleece blanket that was draped over the back of the couch.
My chest tightens from the view of him so relaxed, so vulnerable. His expression is slack, and his full lips are slightly parted as he softly breathes. Seeing him like this is a privilege I get only at night or during moments where it’s just the two of us sequestered away from the rest of the world and all its problems.
And every time, it makes my heart ache with how infinitely I love Zade Meadows.
There will always be a small part of me that resents him for it—that hates this man for burrowing beneath my skin so deeply. I lived a much simpler life when I wasn’t constantly fearing for his safety or that he’d go off on a mission and not make it home to me.
Yet there isn’t a single atom in my body that regrets it or wants for anything else. He may be a goddamn psycho, but these days, I might be considered one, too. And I’m okay with that.
Zade twitches, and I smile softly. The firelight creates the most tantalizing shadows across his form, his packed muscles riddled with ink and scars. If I wasn’t aching between my legs, I’d wake him up again. But even the smallest of movements sends a twinge straight to my core.
Phantom music begins to play from the radio, ripping my attention away. My mouth drops as an undeniable melody emits from the speakers. It’s fucking creepy, considering we hadn’t gotten the chance to plug it in yet.
I grin, an excited smile stretching across my face.
After nabbing Zade’s black T-shirt from the floor and slipping it on, I quickly approach the radio, my brain taking several seconds to recognize that Frank Sinatra is crooning from the speakers.
Cautiously, I turn the knob just the slightest and smile when the volume increases.
It’s impossible for it to be playing anything, yet I’m confident this isn’t a dream.
With a grin, I step away.
The ghosts wanted to dance, so they shall dance.
I still have the taste of the wine lingering on my tongue, and my throat feels quite raw, so I pad toward the kitchen for a glass of water, the checkered tile chilling my bare feet.
I’m too busy rubbing my eyes to notice anything at first, but just as I approach the island, my stare catches on the window directly ahead of me.
The reflection offers an unobstructed view of the living room behind me, where I can still see Zade sleeping on the couch.
However, he’s not alone.
My hand drifts over my mouth, astounded by the two figures before him, embracing one another as they twirl in front of the fire.
I gasp when I lay eyes on a woman with curled black hair and bright-red lips, smiling up at a man much taller than her. He wears a hat and a black trench coat, and he stares down at her with unequivocal love.
For a split second, I wonder if it’s my great-grandfather, but then I glimpse his face, along with the gold ring glinting on his pinky finger. I recognize him instantly from an old picture of him standing behind Angelo Salvatore.
Ronaldo.
Gigi and Ronaldo are dancing to Frank Sinatra in front of my fireplace, gazing at one another with so much love, it makes my heart ache.
It’s the first time I’ve seen them together, though admittedly, Gigi has only shown herself to me once before. I always wondered if Ronaldo was here with her. Seeing them now—knowing that he is—sends tears rushing to my eyes.
It’s been decades since their passing, yet still they remain together in the afterlife. Even death could not tear them apart, their love surpassing the inevitability of their mortality.
One day, hopefully far in the future, Zade and I will join them, and I am so excited to meet them.
About the Author
H. D. Carlton is a New York Times, USA Today, and internationally bestselling author. She lives in Oregon with her husband, two dogs, cat, and Bigfoot. When she’s not bathing in the tears of her readers, she’s watching paranormal shows and wishing she was a mermaid. Her favorite characters are of the morally gray variety, and she believes that everyone should check their sanity at the door before diving into her stories. For more information, visit www.hdcarlton.com.
H. D. Carlton, Phantom
