Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Annika
There are lingering bursts of light sparkling behind my eyes as I try to catch my breath. My heart pounds against my ribcage and in my ears and in my throat. As if it has multiplied under Dr. Cross’s expert ministrations.
I open my eyes, and the ceiling feels like it’s tilting. Not in a dizzying way, but in a slow, dreamy sway. As if the entire world is shifting and reshaping itself to better suit this new me.
The recessed lighting catches the subtle gold accents along the walls, making everything look just a little too decadent. Even the whisper of the Egyptian cotton feels too much on my sensitized skin.
And then there’s Dr. Cross, holding me as if I’m precious. His grip is firm around me, as if he knows to anchor me here, but his whispers against my temple are gentle mutterings. His scent—already familiar—fills my lungs. It’s almost as if he understands me better than I do myself, and that’s something I don’t want to examine too closely.
I didn’t feel the tears until they were already slipping hot and silent down my temples.
It’s all these feelings flowing through me—terrifying, overwhelming, and wonderful—that make it all so different. So adult, even.
I foolishly assumed that pleasure is supposed to feel like an electric shock, something brief and blinding. Something that’s given to you by someone in flashy snatches for one moment. But this hits differently.
This is a slow burn, an unspooling, like a thousand tiny cracks finally breaking open at once. This is a building of mutual pleasure, the sum more than the individual parts.
I never tasted pleasure like this before.
With Rebecca, I was only nineteen and bamboozled by her beauty and her brains.
I hero-worshipped her more than I liked her. Being wanted by her had been a power trip, a sick sort of validation that I could belong to all those brilliant, beautiful people. That I could be part of my sister’s world, even if it was on the fringes.
In those first few months, I hated myself for using Rebecca like that. And I tried so hard to be some sparkling, witty unicorn because I was afraid I would lose her if I was myself.
Until I realized she was a controlling, uptight bitch who wanted to keep me a dirty little secret for as long as possible. The low point had come when she pushed me away and laughed about “my silly little stalker-y crush” on her when Asha found us together in her room. Sad as it was, I realized I didn’t want to be someone’s fun side quest.
And because I’m a confused, needy, bi-disaster who needs others to validate my existence, I swung to the other extreme by attaching myself to Rahul.
Who, now I can see, is the exact opposite of Rebecca.
He’s soft, and really, a lost teddy bear of a man who made me feel better about myself, the lies I told, and the choices I made. Because his, in comparison, were worse.
And now, there’s Dr. Cross.
I know, without a doubt, that my life is going to be bifurcated by this night. The Annika I was before I followed Dr. Cross to this hotel suite and the Annika I am now. As scary as it sounds, he has changed already me, and I think for the better.
The bed shifts, and I feel him move, sheets sliding against bare skin. My breath hitches in my chest, waiting for him to say something. Instead, I hear the soft thud of his bare feet on the carpet.
Is he getting sick of my emo, angst-fest?
Not that I blame him.
It was mind-blowing for me, but very possible that one little orgasm didn’t change his entire outlook on life.
But then he returns. Without a word, he presses a warm washcloth between my thighs. Thorough but gentle, as if I’m to be handled with care.
Moments later, I hear the faint sound of something being unwrapped, the muted clink of glass. “Sit up, sweetheart.”
Because it’s easier to follow his command than think for myself, I do.
He’s holding a bowl of vanilla ice cream and a handful of strawberries from the room service tray. And two bottles of water.
I grab one and eagerly chug it down, spilling some against my neck and chest. My overheated skin thanks me for it.
Dr. Cross settles back onto the bed and passes me a berry, the red gleaming in the dim light.
I take a slow bite, the burst of tartness on my tongue tugging me back to this plane. He scoops a bite of ice cream onto a spoon and offers it. I let him press it to my lips, and the cold hits me, sharp and bright against the lingering heat of my body.
We continue like this for what feels like an eternity. He doesn’t ask me why I cried or tell me it’s okay. Instead, he sits there with me in companionable silence, feeding me until my belly is full.
And my heart, the foolish, greedy organ, wants more.
More of his kisses, more of his fingers touching new spots and teaching me about them, more of his grunts as he comes, more of his teasing and laughter and him.
I want all his nights.
I want him… forever . And why not?
I’ve been thrust into this new, alien world where the laws of physics are different. Up is down, laughter and kisses are in free supply, and this gorgeous, thoughtful man wants me.
“Do you need anything else?”
I shake my head, choking down on the silly, sentimental words that grow like weeds in my throat.
No, Ani, don’t open the door. Don’t wonder what it would be like to share your life with him.
No.
“Can we turn off the lights?” I say without looking at him. “The day’s finally catching up with me.”
“Of course.” His tone turns wary. “If you want to be alone, Annika, tell me.”
I grab his arm so fast that his hand almost hits me in the face. “No. You’re mine tonight.” The words betray so much I haven’t even processed. I sift my fingers over the soft hair on his arms. This freedom to touch him however I want and whenever, I’m going to miss this so much. “Unless you’ve had enough of the sobbing mess I’ve turned into and—”
“Shut up, Ani.”
“Yes, sir.” The giggle that follows is squeaky.
Within moments, darkness cloaks us. Dr. Cross pulls the duvet up as I turn to face away from him, still holding his arm hostage.
He spoons me, tucking my head under his chin. I prop my folded legs between his and burrow into the cave he makes for me with his body. The warmth from his bare chest is delicious.
I feel wanted, protected, precious even. A highly addictive feeling for one as deprived of acceptance as I have been.
“I’m sorry for crying like that,” I whisper, emboldened by the darkness. Opening up feels less raw away from his perceptive gaze. Also, by the knowing that he won’t desert me after my outburst.
“Never apologize for your feelings, Ani, whatever they are. Not with me.”
He says it as if there’s a future stretching ahead of us, making my heart ache. “Even if they are impulsive and loud and too much?” I sound like a child seeking reassurance again, but the words are already out.
“I have built my life on order and structure and predictability. It hasn’t made me any happier than you are, I think. If anything…”
“What?”
When he remains quiet, I wriggle in his hold. Suddenly, I’m painfully aware of the seconds piling up into minutes and hours. I’ve been so overwhelmed by this instant attraction and his addictive attention that I have learned nothing about him. While he knows me more than any other person does.
He adores his mother, is kind to his cousin Arthur, is renowned for using experimental technology in his career, and runs a charity that raises funds to help pay medical bills for underprivileged kids—that’s the extent of my knowledge of him.
Questions about him swarm me suddenly, like bees buzzing. I know nothing about his dating life, his views on love, or if he even has a current lover—some sophisticated woman in her late-thirties, who’s a badass in her own field.
“Do you have a girlfriend, Dr. Cross?” The question barrels out of me before I can stop it.