Chapter 11 #2
I bite my lip with a chuckle as he grabs my thighs and flips me without warning.
“On your knees.”
I obey without question, and he helps me move, arranging me exactly where he wants me, pulling me onto all fours and guiding me up the bed.
“That headboard sturdy?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Hold onto it while I fuck you.”
He kneels behind me, palms skating up my thighs as I scramble to hold on.
“Ready?”
I nod frantically, still breathless.
A palm slaps down on my ass. “Use your words, Havoc.”
“Yes,” I gasp out. “I want you to fuck me.”
A hand slides into my hair, gripping at the nape, while his other drags the head of his cock through my soaked pussy. I moan at the feel of it—the stretch, the way the piercings bump and catch.
“Mmm,” he hums. “You’re so fucking ready.”
I glance back at him over my shoulder. “Then fuck me already.”
“Hold on tight, baby.”
He thrusts forward in one deliberate stroke, and I feel his ladder press and slide against every sensitive nerve.
“Fuck,” I cry out. “Reid.”
“You like that, huh?” he asks.
“Yes—fuck—yes.”
He pulls back, the balls of his piercings catching again, and my knees nearly buckle.
“Shit, fuck, that—” I break off with a moan as he thrusts back in, hard and fast enough to slap skin against skin.
“Tell me,” he growls. “Tell me how it feels.”
“Good. So good. So fucking deep, Reid, I can’t—”
“You can,” he grits out, fingers digging into my hips. “Take it, baby.”
I arch, my mouth open and eyes rolling back. My hands clutch at the headboard as he bottoms out with a groan, hips flush with mine.
He sets a brutal rhythm, every drag of his cock sending pleasure ricocheting through me until I’m babbling incoherently.
“This what you needed, Havoc? To be fucked so good you can’t talk straight?”
“Yes,” I gasp. “Oh my god, yes.”
The ladder hits me in just the right place, and my entire body jerks as he pulls back and thrusts in harder.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, a palm cracking across one of my ass cheeks with a delicious sting. “The perfect composed surgeon, always in control, always with an answer, speechless and coming apart on my cock.”
Holy shit. This man is in my head, and it’s making me feral for him.
“Harder,” I moan, pushing back into him with every thrust. “Spank me—my clit—please—”
He lets out a strangled sound, then his fingers slide around my hip and between my thighs, tapping one sharp slap right against my clit. I choke on a moan, lurching forward on the bed. There’s another tap, then another. Light, perfect wet slaps timed with every thrust of his hips.
“You like that?” he pants, his other hand drifting back to fist my hair. “Me playing with your clit with while I fuck you?”
“Y-yes, yes—”
His hand tightens in my hair, tugging just enough to keep me arched against him.
“Good. But for the record,” he murmurs right against my ear, “you don’t get to give the orders here, sweetheart. You just take it like a good fucking girl.”
A deep, primal moan leaves me when he spanks my clit again, followed by rhythmic taps in between thrusts, and I can’t take it. The pleasure, the filthy way he knows exactly how I need to release control, the way he’s handling me roughly but reverently all at once.
I let go of the headboard, my back flush up against his chest, knees sliding wider, head falling back onto his shoulder.
I can feel everything—his cock slamming up into me, the stretch and thrum of each piercing, the tap-tap-tap of his fingers on my clit, and the scratch of his mustache against the skin of my neck where he gently sucks.
It’s too much and not enough. I moan something unintelligible as he pounds into me harder, my body lurching forward again from the force of it, and clinging to the headboard again.
“Oh god, I’m gonna… I’m gonna come.”
“Yeah?” He thrusts deep, his balls slapping at me. “Come on my cock, Havoc. Come right fucking now.”
My orgasm is so strong, I forget my name. Forget the room I’m in. Forget every single coherent thought except for Reid Hutchison. The world narrows to one perfect point of pleasure he holds, and I fall into it completely.
There’s nothing but the feel of him, the way he knows exactly what I need and how to make me come like no one else ever has.
I sob his name into my arm as I shatter around him, pussy clenching tight and wet.
“Fuck—Carina—fuck, I’m gonna—Where do you want it?”
He’s barely hanging on, but I can’t answer. Can’t speak.
He pulls out with a loud and desperate groan before cursing and coming across my lower back, his body shaking with restraint.
There’s nothing quiet about the aftermath. Both of us are panting and shaking, my entire body thrumming under him. I sink deeper into the bed, and he joins me a second later, dragging a hand across my upper back as we both try to catch our breath.
Then he leans up, dotting a kiss to the back of my neck.
“Stay there.”
I hear the rustle of sheets, the pad of his bare feet, the sound of water running in my bathroom. Then the careful swipe of a warm cloth against my skin, so gentle, as though he’s not just wiping me clean but trying to ground me back to reality again.
After he lobs the cloth into my laundry, he climbs in behind me, tugs the sheet over both of us, and pulls me against his chest with one warm arm, fingers brushing my hair back from my face.
“You okay?” he murmurs, voice low and soft and nothing like the way he demanded me to take his cock ten minutes ago.
I nod, too blissed out to even form words.
Reid shifts behind me, his body curling around mine. One heavy arm anchors across my waist, his chest warm at my back, and breath fanning against my neck. We don’t speak, but his fingers trail lightly along the top of my thigh.
My body is boneless, my brain quiet. And for the first time in what feels like weeks, maybe months, I’m not thinking about anything at all.
“Hey,” he says eventually. “Can I ask you something?”
I hum my reply, eyes still closed.
“When you said you liked being spanked and tied up… Throat grabbed. That wasn’t just dirty talk, was it?”
My eyes flutter open.
“No,” I murmur, staring at the wall. “It wasn’t.”
There’s a beat where the only thing I can hear is his steady breathing.
“Tell me why.”
He’s not asking to push me. It feels gentler than that. Curiosity, more than anything else.
I shift in his arms, clearing my throat as I adjust so I can feel more of him. His hand stays on my skin, the heat of it grounding me.
“It’s the only time my brain shuts up,” I admit quietly. “I make decisions all day. Sometimes in the OR, I feel like I’m holding a thousand threads at once, and if I drop one, someone’s fucked. Everyone looks to me to lead or to know everything. There’s no room to unravel.”
His thumb strokes once across my skin in acknowledgement.
“But this?” I go on. “When someone else takes over… when I don’t have to think or be responsible or hold anything? It’s the only time I can really let go. My body just takes over, and my brain goes quiet.”
His voice is even softer now. “That happen with anyone else before?”
“No.” I hesitate. “I’ve tried, but it’s never felt like this. Guys… well, sometimes they think it just means getting rough. Or they push it too far, like it’s about pain.”
He goes still behind me. The shift is subtle, but the tension rolls off him like a current.
“I hate that,” he grits. “You give someone that kinda trust, and they treat it like a free pass to do whatever the fuck they want to you.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “I guess some just don’t get it’s not about being hurt, it’s about letting go. About feeling safe enough to let someone else take control.”
His arm tightens around my waist.
“You never have to explain that,” he murmurs. “Not to me.”
I believe him. I don’t even question it, because everything about the way he touched me, held me, pushed me, and made me come tonight says he already gets it.
“You don’t scare me, you know,” he adds, mouth brushing the back of my shoulder.
“What?”
“You,” he says, a hint of a smile in his voice. “You’re sharp and intense. Beautiful as fuck, obviously. But under all of it, you’ve got this pressure cooker running twenty-four-seven. Most people wouldn’t know what to do with that.”
“And you do?” I ask, the corner of my mouth twitching.
“I think I already did,” he says, nudging my hip. “But watching you come undone and want to give it up for me, just for a second? Yeah, that sealed it.”
A silence blooms between us.
“You like being in charge,” I murmur.
“I do.”
“But it’s not a power trip…”
“Nah,” he says. “It’s not about power, it’s about pleasure. Making you drip for it, and come so hard you forget your name—I love it. I like being in charge and knowing what gets you off. And I like being so attuned to what you need that I know exactly how to pull you apart and hold you together.”
My throat catches. “That’s what it felt like.”
“Yeah.” His fingers lace with mine at my stomach. “It felt like that for me, too.”
It’s quiet for a beat, both of us tangled together, breathing in sync.
“And I also like the sound you make when I tell you what to do for once.”
Heat crawls up my spine, lingering somewhere behind my ribs.
“Jesus,” I whisper.
“Not quite,” he says, and I laugh sleepily.
Neither of us attempts to speak after that; we just lie there, skin to skin, our hearts slowly calming.
His hand eventually unlinks from mine and settles warm on my hip.
“Sleep, Havoc.”
I don’t protest. For the first time in what must be too fucking long, I let myself fall asleep with someone holding me.
***
When I wake, the light in the room is darker, and the air smells like sweat and sex and men’s cologne. I blink blearily as I lift my head, still a little disoriented.
Reid is still beside me.
Correction: Reid is awake beside me. And watching me.
One arm is tucked under his head, the sheet slung low across his hips, those ridiculous lashes framing eyes that shouldn’t look so blue at this hour of the night in a dim bedroom.
“You stare at all your one-night stands like that?”
One of his eyebrows lifts. “Only the ones who snore.”
“I don’t snore.”
“You do,” he says. “Very softly. Like a tired little chipmunk.”
I shove at him, but he’s solid and smug and completely unfazed.
The silence stretches again, but it feels different now. I tug the sheet higher up my chest, suddenly aware that we’re both still very naked. The high of earlier is wearing off, replaced with the reality of what we did creeping in.
Shit.
This can’t happen again.
“I should…” I clear my throat. “I should probably get up. Shower and pretend this never happened.”
Reid’s face doesn’t change. “Sure.”
My stomach dips because I can’t tell if he’s agreeing or waiting.
“So this was…” I trail off, purposefully avoiding his eyes.
“A mistake?” he offers.
I frown. “No. Not a mistake.”
His mustache twitches. “But not a repeat thing either.”
“Right,” I say quickly. “Exactly.”
He nods slowly. “Totally.”
We lie there for another long, awkward moment.
He opens his mouth, then closes it. Glances at me. “Unless you, uhh… also happen to be insanely stressed on a regular basis and need of convenient, mind-blowing sex to stay functional.”
My head snaps toward him, and I chuckle.
“Oh my god.”
“What?” he says, innocent. “Just spitballing.”
“You think that’s what qualifies as casual?”
“No strings, no expectations. Just stress relief.”
I blink. “That’s your pitch?”
“You got a better one?”
No. I don’t.
I’m tired, and most days, I’m wound so tight I could snap. And that was the best sex I’ve had in my entire life.
Maybe this doesn’t need to mean anything. Maybe it can just be physical. Controlled and safe stress relief with the hottest man ever, giving me the best orgasms I’ve ever had. In secret.
“I guess we both have high-stress jobs,” I offer dryly.
He nods solemnly. “Occupational hazard.”
“And sex is…” I wave a hand. “A necessary outlet?”
“Like yoga,” he agrees. “But louder.”
I snort, my hand snapping up to cover my grin. He smiles back, and the tension starts to dissolve.
But then he shifts, moving into a sitting position, and the sheet pools around his waist.
“I should go.”
I still. “Okay.”
He doesn’t move right away, instead studying me as if he’s waiting for me to ask him to stay.
But I don’t.
He nods once, then eases out of my bed, gathering his clothes from the floor and dressing in comfortable, unhurried movements.
I keep my face carefully neutral, as though this doesn’t affect me. As though this really was just sex.
He pauses at the door, one hand on the frame, his eyes boring into mine.
“Night, Havoc.”
“Night,” I murmur, clutching the sheet a little tighter.
His footsteps are heavy down my hallway, and when the front door closes, I blow out a breath of air.
The scariest thing of all this isn’t the mind-blowing sex, or the fact that I just slept with a former patient.
It’s wondering why I feel emptier now than I did before he touched me.