Thirty-Six
T he pain came mere seconds later. One moment I was feeling waves of pleasure, my body writhing against Reacher’s wicked mouth, and the next? He was seeing blood, and my stomach felt like it’d just been stabbed again.
“Fuck!” His curse was followed by him practically swaddling me in the fucking bedding, and then he was lifting me, and carrying me to the door. I had to help him open it, and then we were crossing the hallway, with him yelling out for help.
In the infirmary, the doc took one look at me and cursed.
“I don’t want to know how the fuck you guys tore these stitches. Never tell me.” He started cleaning up the area, and then he had to numb it so he could restitch it. It wasn’t the best post-orgasm ritual of my life, but I hoped it’d be the one and only time sex with Reacher would put me in a hospital.
“I’m so sorry, woman. I’m a fucking idiot.” He was taking it way harder than I had, and blaming himself, but it takes two to tango, right?
“Reacher, will you wind your neck in? I wanted you to…” I glanced at the doc, who grimaced.
“You know… I didn’t know it’d tear my stitches.” That was a good save on my part, I was certain of it, although Doc still looked a little pained.
Reacher was stroking my hand.
“I should have been able to hold off until you were fully healed. I just keep fucking up, when it comes to your safety.”
Doc cleared his throat. “If I may… because I really don’t want to know any more about your bedroom habits… ever … torn stitches can happen at any time, and in a multitude of ways. You could stretch for something, or lose your balance, and simply move wrong. It’s in a place that you can’t help but use for pretty much every activity. My advice would be bed rest, for at least the next few days, until the area is less volatile, and then you can get back to activities that I never want to even consider.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
After he moved to the other end of the infirmary, I pulled at Reacher’s hand until he looked at me.
“Not. Your. Fault. Hear me, old man?”
He practically glowered at me, but wasn’t that the look I enjoyed putting on his face?
“Not risking it again. No fucking sex or orgasms until your stitches are back out.”
I used my free hand to flip him off, and he laughed.
“Thank god you’re okay. When I saw that blood, I was so fucking scared.” His face had sobered so quickly that I immediately wanted to put the smile back on it.
“Reacher… look at me… if you kill me with an orgasm, you’ll have made sure I died happy.”
“Don’t even fucking joke about it, woman. You’re not going anywhere, and if I have to stop getting you off, to keep you… Jesus …”
“I’ll kill you if you do that, old man.”
“Probably be the death of me anyway,” his words were muttered, but I was relieved to hear them. He was starting to ease up on himself, and he should. He didn’t deliberately make me tear my stitches. He didn’t deliberately do anything, except try to give me what I needed.
“You should go, Reacher. Find Stitch. Help him. I’m just gonna rest here for a while. I’m so tired, and you have other people to worry about in this place.”
His glare was his only response.
“No, really. I’m serious. I’m fine, and Doc is taking care of me. You need to be Club President, despite my being here.”
He let out a heavy sigh.
“Don’t you dare fucking move from this bed. Doc, if she moves, you have my permission to tie her to the damn bed.”
Doc looked mildly concerned by his words.
“Uh… pretty sure that goes against everything a doctor is supposed to do, Pres.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Love you, woman. Don’t die on me.” He leaned down to kiss my forehead, his lips lingering for a few seconds.
Reacher
L eaving her was tough as hell, however, it was like she’d had some kind of fucking psychic vision, because even though Stitch was meant to be at the hospital with Ice, I saw him walk in the door as I reached the ground floor. He was so caught up in whatever his thoughts were, that he didn’t notice me until I was almost right in front of him.
“ Jesus! Where the hell did you come from?”
“Existentially, you mean?”
He snorted, and walked around me.
“I’m uh… Torch and Has are with Ice now.”
I followed him as he headed into the bar area, and ordered a coffee. I joined him on one of the stools, and nodded my head at Tommy. At least here I could get a coffee without Ally lecturing me.
“Hey, brother. We need to talk,” I started, and Stitch heaved a sigh, shaking his head.
“Ice is doing fine. Probably be out in a day or so, I reckon, and everything else is in hand. All ticking over like a well-oiled machine.” His tone wasn’t right. It was flat and lifeless. It definitely wasn’t like him at all.
“Fuck all of that. Talk to me.”
He rubbed a hand down his beard.
“Like I said, everything is fine, Pres. Although you’re about to be pissed off.” He called me Pres, and he hardly ever did that. Did I need more reasons to think something serious was wrong?
Tommy approached with drinks, sliding a coffee in front of Stitch, and then me.
“About what?”
Stitch laughed, and waved Tommy away, and I noticed the prospect moved fast.
“Enjoy your decaf.”
“What the fuck!”
He sniggered, and cradled his mug in his hands. He was quiet, thoughtful, and while that wasn’t unlike him, there was something else. Defeat? Grief?
“Brother, let me help. What can I do?”
Stitch looked at me then, and his face showed a flash of fear before he swallowed, and waved a hand at me.
“Don’t even worry, brother. Everything’s fine. I uh… I need to get back to my room, and sort some shit out. I’ll catch you later.” He was up and walking away before I could even react.
I grabbed his coffee, despite Tommy hurrying over with a look of terror on his face.
“It’s okay, I’m taking it to Stitch. You can stand down, prospect.” Tommy grimaced.
“I’m sorry, Pres. I’m under orders from Stitch, and it’s for your health. I can’t disobey.”
I felt bad for him for a brief moment, because it was an awful position for a club member to be in, but I glared anyway, because nobody should stand between a man and proper coffee. I grudgingly grabbed my ugh, decaf, and headed after Stitch. No more hiding from me. He was about to talk.
I didn’t knock, just used my elbow to push the handle down on his door, and walked in, both drinks in hand. He was sitting on his sofa, head in hands, and cursed quietly.
“Is this your revenge for me walking in on you before?”
I smirked, kicking the door closed, before I sat beside him, putting both drinks on the table. He didn’t move.
“Brother… what’s going on?”
He let out a heavy, slightly ragged, sigh.
“Jesus… I don’t want… fuck … the second I say this, it’s real. I’m not ready for it to be fucking real.”
Hell. I didn’t want it to be real either, because whatever the hell it was, he was losing his shit over it.
“Stitch.”
He covered his face, taking a deep breath. None of this was Stitch behaviour. My normally calm, relaxed VP was terrified of something, and that meant there was no chance in hell that it wasn’t serious, and real as fuck.
“You’re scaring me, brother. What’s going on?”
He pushed up from the seat, walking to the window, then he turned again to look at me. He looked… I don’t know what the look on his face was, but it wasn’t good.
“There’s a chance that I won’t be around… uh… much longer, and I uh…”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I was standing too. “Are you leaving us?”