Eighteen
Greyson
J ust over twenty-four hours later, my circumstances could not be more different. The lush vineyards are a distant memory as I pace the sterile, glaringly bright emergency department, my mind racing as fast as my steps. The monitors around my patient beep in a relentless rhythm, mirroring the urgency I feel clenching in my gut as I step out of the curtain. A brittle diabetic, barely out of college and with his whole life ahead of him, is crashing before my eyes, his failing kidneys crying out for a miracle I’m desperate to provide.
“Come on, Jim,” I plead with the head of the transplant team when I find him in his office. “The kid’s slipping through our fingers. He needs a new kidney—now.”
Jim’s expression is granite hard, unmoved by the situation or my distress. “Greyson, you know the list as well as I do. There’s nothing I can do until a match comes up. ”
“But there has to be something,” I counter, not willing to accept defeat. The boy’s pale, gaunt face flashes in my mind. This isn’t just about saving a patient; it’s about salvaging a future.
“Policy is policy,” Jim retorts, his words final, cutting off any further argument.
Defeated, I watch as he ushers me out and disappears down the hall, the door swinging shut behind him with a thud. Anger and helplessness burn through me, fanning the flames of an already exhausting day.
Stripping off my scrubs in the locker room, I hurl them into the laundry bin. My energy is tight, coiled like a spring, ready to snap. I scrub my hands over my face, feeling the grit of fatigue and the weight of responsibility that never quite leaves my shoulders.
Home . The drive is a blur, my mind elsewhere. Eventually, I lock my car in the garage and trudge to the elevator, but I can’t shake the sense of emptiness waiting for me inside. Trinity remains largely absent, wrapped up all weekend with Liz, and though I’ve shared a piece of my life with them on the vineyard tour, right now, I feel like a chapter ripped out of my own story.
The door slides open on the fifth floor, and the quiet swallows me whole as I enter. The chaos of the hospital is now replaced by a silence that amplifies the ache in my chest. I’ve spent all day trying to save a life, and now, all I want is to lose myself in the presence of the one person who makes me feel whole again.
It’s not just Trinity’s touch, though I crave that more than I’d like to admit. It’s the way she sees me, not as the doctor with all the answers, but as a man trying his best to hold it all together. With Trinity, the chaos doesn’t feel so heavy. She makes me believe, for a moment at least, that I don’t have to carry it alone.
“Damn it, Trinity,” I mutter to no one. I hate that I need her so much, hate that my independence seems to falter at the thought of her warm smile, her understanding eyes. But most of all, I hate that, suddenly, I can’t seem to find equilibrium when she’s not around.
But then, there she is.
“Greyson.” She’s appeared in the center of the living room, an ethereal vision cloaked in provocative lingerie that leaves little to the imagination. “I used the code you gave me. I hope you don’t mind.” Her form is silhouetted by the soft glow of the lamplight, accentuating the contours of her body. Thigh-high stockings lead to the promise of paradise, and those black stiletto pumps—punishing, merciless—are the exclamation point to the entire ensemble.
The sight of her hits me like a surge of adrenaline. My body reacts instantly, my heart pounding in my chest and my breath catching. I stand there, stunned by the sheer force of my desire.
“Trinity,” I breathe her name like a revelation, my exhaustion momentarily forgotten.
“I wanted to make it up to you,” she says, stepping closer, the sway of her hips an intoxicating rhythm. “For being away with Liz… And also to thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”
Thank you doesn’t begin to cover the explosion of relief, desire, and affection detonating within me. The tightness in my chest begins to unfurl as I allow myself a moment to simply drink her in. “Is this what I think it is?” My voice is rough, edged with the remnants of frustration that now seems trivial in her presence.
“Your welcome home present,” she purrs. “Whatever you want,” she adds, her gaze bold, unwavering. “I’m up for anything.”
“Even after the day I’ve had?” I warn. It wasn’t just long. It was grueling, testing the very limits of my patience and skill.
“Especially after the day you’ve had.” There’s a spark in her eyes, a fierce determination. “I can’t wait, Greyson.”
Her words soothe my spirit. With Trinity here, ready and willing to shoulder some of my burden, the evening stretches out before us, promising a much-needed escape, a chance to lose ourselves in each other and forget the world outside these walls, even if just for a few hours.
“Let’s see where the night takes us.” My grin widens with the prospect of all that awaits.
“Show me.” Trinity steps forward, the click of her heels echoing on the hardwood. She reaches me and slips her hand under my shirt, her fingers finding the silver bar that pierces my nipple and twisting gently. A groan rumbles from deep in my throat, the sensation shooting straight to my groin.
This isn’t just desire. It’s a reminder that here, in this space, I’m more than my failures. I belong to her. I groan again as I feel her slick heat, so ready for me. It’s intoxicating, this raw need of hers that matches my own.
Without warning, she drops to her knees, her fingers making quick work of my belt and jeans. They pool around my ankles, and I kick them aside, my entire focus narrowed to the woman before me. Her tongue traces a slow, deliberate path from the base to the tip of my aching hardness, and it’s all I can do not to buckle at the knees.
“God, Trinity… You know exactly what I need. You make me feel so good,” I praise her.
She looks up at me through thick lashes, and I see the smolder of her intent before she takes me deep into her mouth. The sensation is overwhelming—hot, wet, constricting—and I thread my fingers through her hair, guiding her rhythm.
“Swallow,” I command as I hit the back of her throat. There’s a brief moment of resistance before she complies, but then I’m lost in the pleasure of it. Damn, she feels incredible. “Perfect,” I rasp, the affirmation torn from my lips as the pressure builds, coiling in my belly. “Just perfect.”
I wrench myself from the warm haven of Trinity’s mouth, my restraint teetering on the edge of oblivion. She looks up at me, her eyes glinting with a mischievous light.
“Greyson,” she chides with feigned innocence, “I’ve been so naughty, shutting you out while Liz was in town.”
Her words, her tone, the calculated tilt of her head, all strike a chord within me, one that resonates with the need for control I’ve lost amidst the chaos of the emergency department.
“Maybe you should discipline me,” she suggests.
I nod. “Yes, maybe I should.” I stride over to one of the kitchen chairs and take a seat, my posture rigid. “Lie across my lap, Trinity.”
She complies, her body a fluid motion of curves as she drapes herself over my thighs. I raise my hand and bring it down with a measured force on her bare cheek. The sound echoes sharply off the walls, and she groans.
“Again,” she breathes, and I oblige, alternating the spanks between her cheeks, each slap punctuating the silence in the room.
With a growl, I slide three fingers into her, and she shudders beneath my touch, wet and ready. The realization that she’s this aroused, this responsive to my discipline floods me with a possessive satisfaction.
“Go to the bedroom,” I instruct firmly, withdrawing my hand. “Get on all fours, facing the lake. And don’t you dare touch yourself.”
She rises, her movements languid, and as she turns to go, I land another slap on her ass, a stinging reminder of my words. “Remember, no touching.”
Before following her, I move to my collection of wines and select a bottle. No glasses needed tonight. Tonight is about indulgence, raw and unrefined, just like the wine from our vineyard—robust, earthy, and full of life’s complexities.
Cradling the bottle, I follow her to the bedroom, anticipation coiling in my core. This is what I need—a night of hedonistic release after a day of impotence in the face of mortality. With Trinity, I reclaim a piece of myself.
I push the bedroom door open, a predator’s grin curling my lips as I survey the scene before me. Trinity is on the bed, her body undulating in silent plea, each writhe and twist sending a sharp thrill through my veins. Her voice, thick with desire, breaks the charged silence.
“Greyson, please,” she begs, her eyes shimmering with unspent lust. “Can’t I just—”
“Shh…” I chuckle, setting the bottle down and looming over her. “I have other plans for you.”
Her gaze follows my every move as I retrieve nipple clamps and a vibrator from the bedside table. I gently push the tip of the vibrator into her, and the moment it springs to life on the highest setting, her moan fills the air. The sound stokes the fire within me.
“Greyson…” She arches, pushing against the invading vibration, but I’m well versed in her body’s betrayals. Without attention to her clit, she’s stranded on the precipice, desperate for release.
“Patience,” I breathe, teasing her breast, feeling her heartbeat race under my fingertips. Her pleas escalate into fervent begging as I affix one clamp to her nipple, her back arching at the sharp bite of pleasure-pain.
“More,” she gasps, and I oblige, attaching the second clamp, reveling in the perfect mess of need she’s become under my hands.
“Please, I need…” Her words dissolve into a whimper as I withdraw the vibrator and position myself behind her. My entrance is swift, uncompromising, and when I brush the vibrator past her clit in a fleeting caress, her climax tears through her, loud and shattering.
The sight, the sound, the clenching warmth around me—it all sends me careening over the edge right after her, our breaths mingling in the aftermath of our release.
With the remnants of desire ebbing slowly, I pull her close, savoring the shared heat of our bodies. Tonight, we’ve transcended the ordinary, and though the dawn will bring its own challenges, in this moment, we are nothing but two souls entwined in the pursuit of pleasure.
Exhaustion and satisfaction intertwine within me, lingering and full. I pull her closer, our sweat-slicked skin sticking slightly as we settle into the comfort of the sheets.
“Trinity,” I murmur, my voice hoarse from earlier exertions, “I don’t want to waste a single night without you. I want us to make every moment count.”
She lifts her head, eyes gleaming with that tender affection that always manages to unravel me. “I’d love that,” she says.
But a few minutes later, her fingers trace idle patterns on my chest, and I can tell she’s tiptoeing around something—curiosity, concern, maybe both.
“What happened at work today?” she finally asks. “You seemed so far away when you came out of the elevator.”
The memories of the day flood back—the sharp scent of antiseptic, the relentless beeping of monitors, the weight of decisions in my hands. “It was tough,” I admit. “More difficult patients than usual. It felt like nothing I did really made a difference.” I sigh. “At the hospital, I’m supposed to have control, to save lives and fix what’s broken. I’m good at my job, but sometimes, I can’t control everything, and I hate that.”
Trinity leans in, pressing her lips to my forehead in a kiss so gentle it feels like a balm to all the day’s abrasions. “Tomorrow will be a better day,” she whispers, her voice steady and sure.
And in this moment, I allow myself to believe her.