Chapter 18
Hailey
The heart monitor’s incessant beeps are a constant reminder of the three weeks in the hospital that have stretched out since Addison’s diagnosis. But the fact that the sounds are steady and strong reminds me that we’re making progress. When Christian is not with his own patients, he’s joined me at Addison’s side, holding her whenever he can as she fights the infection in her heart. We’ve both been sleeping in the parents’ chairs here in her room, which is not the easiest with all the noise and constant interruptions. I try to get away for a few hours every day, just to breathe some fresh air and take a break.
Currently, we’re seated at Addison’s bedside, listening as Dr. Martin reports on her progress after three weeks of IV treatment. She’s able to take the oral antibiotics well, so we will continue that for a while at home. She’s dozing calmly, blissfully unaware of the monumental step she’s about to take.
“Rest is paramount,” Davis says, “even if she’s not in-patient anymore.” His eyes move between Christian and me. “Therapy appointments only for now. Walks in the park are good, but any socialization can wait—no play groups, classes, going where there are lots of people you don’t know. Her body is working hard to recover, and getting sick will slow that down.”
“Please limit yourselves to a few visitors—family only,” Dr. Cordelia adds. “Keep her environment calm, familiar.”
Christian’s brow furrows slightly, but he nods, absorbing every word. He’s become a sponge for their advice, and I know he’ll do everything in his power to make sure Addison thrives.
“We’ve got this,” I assure him. Being at home again has to be better than this, for all of us.
With the discharge paperwork complete and antibiotics in hand, we pack up and leave the hospital. Addison looks so fragile as Christian places her in the back of the Range Rover and drives cautiously out of the parking lot.
The moment the front door clicks shut behind us, a sigh escapes my lips, one that feels like it carries the weight of all of our sleepless nights. Addison snuggles against my chest. “Finally,” I breathe as Christian sheds his coat and shoes.
He looks over at me, a silent conversation passing between us as he crosses the room to wrap an arm around us. “Let’s get you two settled,” he murmurs.
I nod. We shuffle toward my room, where I place Addison in the bassinet we’ve set up next to my bed. Without bothering to change out of my day-old clothes, I lie down. Sleep overtakes me before I can even pull the covers up.
Sometime later, the bed bobbles and wakes me enough to know Christian has lain down beside me, his presence a reassuring warmth at my back.
Time blurs, soft and indistinct as we sleep the day away, until Addison’s stirring pulls me back to consciousness. In the dim light filtering through the curtains, I hold a bottle to her eager mouth, watching her eyes flutter shut as she drinks. My heart swells with every gulp she takes. She’s so much stronger than she was before she went into the hospital. When she’s sated, I rock her gently back to sleep.
Her eyes close, her breaths even out, and I lay her in the bassinet. I turn to find Christian watching me.
“She’s doing so well,” I whisper, my voice low. “I can tell she’s glad to be home.”
“Thankfully,” he agrees, his voice thick with the kind of exhaustion that comes from more than just sleepless nights. “We’ve come so far.”
There’s a pause, a shared moment where the weight of everything we’ve been through—the hospital stay, the endless stress—settles between us. I can see it in his eyes. He’s just as overwhelmed as I am. But beneath the weariness is something more, a need for reassurance, for connection. A need for me.
Christian’s hand finds my waist, gentle at first, but then his fingers tighten. In his eyes, I see the same mix of exhaustion and longing I feel. It’s not just about passion. It’s about finding solace after days of feeling powerless.
He doesn’t say a word, but when he pulls me closer, I understand. This is about reclaiming a part of ourselves, something that’s been lost in the chaos of hospitals and worry. His lips brush my forehead, a tender gesture that quickly turns into something more.
“I need you,” he murmurs. His kiss is soft at first, but it deepens with every heartbeat, the warmth of his body pulling me in, anchoring me to this moment.
His kiss transports me right to where I need him. “Hard and fast,” I urge. I need to reclaim control of a world that’s been turned upside down.
“Let’s go to my room,” he suggests. “We’ll have the monitor, and I want to hear you call my name.”
Moments later, he shuts the door behind us and backs me over to his bed. “God, I’ve missed this with you.” He pulls my sweater over my head and pushes my jeans to the ground. I lie back on the bed and watch him rip his clothes off in mere seconds.
Then Christian’s mouth is on me, tender yet demanding, his tongue tracing circles around my nipple before he draws it between his teeth. A shiver races through me, a delicious tension building as he bites down gently, sending shockwaves of pleasure straight to my core.
“Christian,” I moan, arching into his touch. His fingers part me, deliberate and slow, before one slides in, a single finger that knows exactly where to go.
He groans. “You’re so wet for me. What a fucking turn on.”
The praise, the sensation of being filled, sends a surge of warmth flooding through me. He adds another finger, and then another, stretching me, pushing deeper. I gasp at the sense of fullness, the intensity growing with each movement.
“More,” I plead, my hips rising to meet his hand, desperate for the relentless pleasure only he can give. He obliges, a fourth finger joining the others, moving inside me in a rhythm that has my head spinning.
He’s good at this—too good—and I’m teetering on the edge, the coil in my stomach winding tighter. I reach for him, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as I seek something to ground me in the whirlwind. “Please,” I whisper, and he understands, his mouth returning to my nipple. This time when he bites, it’s sharper, a jolt of sweet pain that tips me over the edge. My climax crashes over me, ripples of ecstasy that leave me breathless and trembling.
“Christian,” I gasp out his name as the world narrows to just the two of us, the connection we share outstripping everything else. There’s no room for doubt or fear. There’s only this moment, this perfect release.
Before the tremors have fully subsided, Christian is rolling a condom over himself. The sight of his readiness ignites a fresh fire within me. He aligns himself with my body, and with one fluid motion, pushes inside. A shared groan fills the air. “Perfect,” he breathes. His fingers grip my hips. I’ll wear the memory of this moment on my skin. “Open for me,” Christian commands softly, pressing his fingers, slick with my arousal, to my lips. I taste myself on him as I suckle gently.
The room echoes with the slap of flesh against flesh, a testament to our urgency, our need. I’m climbing again, chasing the high he offers so skillfully. With a shift of his hips, he changes the angle, and suddenly, he’s there, stroking the bundle of nerves that sends sparks shooting through my veins. My climax looms large, and when he adds a rhythmic tap against my clit, it detonates. I scream, a raw sound of pure ecstasy, as my body shakes uncontrollably beneath him.
“Hailey,” he groans as he reaches his own peak, his voice laced with satisfaction.
In this moment, spent and satisfied, I’m candidly vulnerable. “You’ve probably ruined me for all other men,” I murmur.
“Good,” he replies, his voice husky.
Exhaustion melts into my limbs, with the warmth of Christian’s body curving around mine. He spoons in behind me, his breath ghosting over the nape of my neck, pulling me into an intimate cocoon.
“Thank you for that,” I whisper.
He chuckles, his chest vibrating against my back. “I wanted to take you into the bathroom at the hospital and fuck you there… But I couldn’t do it.”
Curiosity piqued, I roll over to face him, our noses nearly touching. His eyes are a stormy sea of blues and greens, emotions churning just beneath the surface. “What stopped you?”
“I worried it would make me a bad father,” he confesses.
I press my lips to his. “You’re a good father. You were there with Addison every day, even on days you worked. And yes, you’ll make mistakes—we all do—but it’s okay. No parent is perfect. That’s how we learn, how we grow.”
For a long moment, he simply looks at me. Then, slowly, he smiles. His lips brush the tip of my nose, a tender gesture that sends a ripple of warmth through me. “How did you get so wise?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Must be the injections you’re giving me.”
For a moment, confusion knits his brow, and I seize the chance to shift the mood. My hand finds him, still warm from our previous union, and with deliberate strokes, I coax him back to life. His confusion fades, replaced by dawning realization as his body responds to my touch.
“Ah…” He breathes out a soft laugh.
When he’s ready again, I roll the latex down his length, ensuring we’re safe before I position myself above him. I lower onto him, guiding him inside, and the connection is immediate and electrifying. The room fades away until there’s nothing but Christian and me, moving together in a rhythm as old as time.