Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Red
Time loses shape around our kisses. It could be seconds, minutes, or a lifetime compressed into one impossible moment.
Blue's soft mouth trembles against mine, her body quivering and melting in a way that tortures me further.
Her fingers curl in my shirt like she's afraid I'll disappear if she lets go.
And the sound she makes is barely a whimper, cutting straight through me until every warning I've ever given myself disintegrates under the weight of her beautiful unraveling.
My tongue slides quicker, greedy with the hunger I've spent too many hours pretending I don't have.
She rotates her hips, shimmying her pussy against my shaft, and I groan. "I've saved it all for you," she mumbles against my lips, then kisses me harder.
It knocks the air out of my lungs. The reality of what I'm doing slams into me. I tear my mouth away, breathing hard.
Her lips chase mine instantly. A broken little sound escapes her throat as she tries to pull me back down. "Red?"
My hand drops from her hair and grips her wrists before she can haul me toward her again. My voice fractures. "We have to stop."
She leans forward anyway, eyes half-lidded and starving. "Just one more. Please. Just... Please, Dr. Mercer."
God help me.
Her pleading hits every weak spot in my body. My stomach twists with that sickening thrill I don't want to acknowledge. Want coils low and sharp, so potent it steals my breath for a second.
She lowers her eyes to my mouth.
This is wrong.
I'm too attracted to her.
I hate myself.
I force myself to hold her still. "Blue, look at me."
She lifts her eyes, pupils blown wide, lips swollen from my kiss. She's too wildly, painfully beautiful. Her hair's falling out of its bun. Red flushes her cheeks. Blue irises flicker with exhaustion, want, and an innocence in her expression that destroys me further.
She doesn't understand the fire she's playing with.
I'm the one holding the match.
"We have to stop," I repeat, but it's barely audible and not remotely convincing.
She lets out a shaky breath, her body swaying toward me. "I don't want to stop."
Everything in me whips tight.
She's not stable.
She hasn't slept.
She's manic, trembling, and fragile.
And I took advantage of her and kissed her.
My mouth still tingles with the shape of hers. I close my eyes for half a second and manage, "You told me that if I kissed you just once, you would go to sleep."
She blinks, confused at first, then shakes her head softly. "But I don't want to sleep. I want—" She drags a finger from my neck to the first button of my shirt and moves her hips against me. She shudders, and her breath hits mine.
A guttural sound catches in my throat. My pulse slams harder. If she comes undone like this from just a kiss, I don't dare imagine how completely she'd unravel if I ever truly took all of her.
I'm not crossing that line.
I only kissed her so she'd go to sleep.
Liar!
I murmur, "I know what you say you want, but right now, you want it because you're exhausted and overstimulated. Your brain hasn't had rest in days. You need sleep more than anything."
Her face crumples, like I physically smacked her.
I quickly add, "If I didn't care about you, I wouldn't hold myself back."
She blinks a few times, then beams at me. She firmly reiterates, "You do care about me."
"Yes."
Her smile widens, then falls. Her body betrays her. She sways, blinking faster.
"Whoa." I pull her against me to steady her. I assert in her ear, "You're exhausted."
"No, I'm not," she whispers, but the word cracks in the middle.
"You are. You can barely sit upright."
"But you kissed me," she murmurs, voice barely audible, like that changes the laws of the universe. "You kissed me, so you don't… You don't get to leave."
Her logic makes my throat tighten painfully.
Panic hits her. She pushes away to lock eyes with me. "Tell me you won't leave me."
A punch of fear hits me, sharp and hollow, because she isn't asking for reassurance. She's anchoring herself to me, and I'm the last person who should let her. For one terrifying heartbeat, I don't know how to protect her without breaking myself.
"I'll sleep well but only if you don't leave," she reiterates.
I cave, "I'm not leaving you."
Her entire body softens. A shuddering exhale leaves her lungs as though my words are the only thing keeping her tethered. The trust in her eyes is so raw, it makes my rib cage ache.
She leans into me again, cheek brushing my jaw, breath skimming the corner of my mouth.
My stomach drops, heat coils low, and a groan threatens to tear from my throat if I don't move away now. I pull back hard.
Her face falls.
A stab of guilt hits me.
She admits, "I want to keep kissing you. You don't want to kiss me again?"
Oh God.
I grip the edge of the couch to anchor myself. "I know. But I can't. Not again. Not tonight."
She looks devastated, like I took something precious from her. Her hand lifts toward me again, fingers shaking, but her body sags at the effort. "Am I a bad kisser?"
I swallow hard, confessing, "No. You're the best damn kisser I've ever encountered."
She gasps. Her eyes perk with fire. "I am?"
"Yes. And I need you to go to sleep, now, as you promised."
Her eyelids flutter, heavy and uneven. She deadpans, "I suppose I am a bit tired. But you won't leave me?"
I cup the side of her face with a steadiness I don't feel. "I'm not going anywhere until you're safe."
Her eyes fill with something soft and disbelieving, as if no one has ever said that to her in her entire life. She whispers, "Promise?"
My chest cracks. "I promise."
She sags into me again, and this time, I lift her before she can fall, my arms sliding under her half-limp body. Her head drops onto my shoulder, warm and unbearably trusting. Her hand curls weakly into my shirt.
Her breath ghosts along my neck, and my stomach tightens with a dark, heavy pull I have to fight down.
She's so damn beautiful, exhausted, vulnerable, and too trusting. She has no idea what she does to me.
I'm fucked.
This has to stop.
"This way," I murmur, guiding her toward the bedroom, hoping she can't feel the tremor running through me.
I kissed her.
I made everything worse.
Now, I have to save her from the fallout and from myself.
Her weight shifts in my arms as I step through the doorway, her cheek sliding a fraction closer against my neck. The soft sound she makes is barely conscious. It hits me low and hard, tightening that dark pull I'm trying so damn hard to ignore.
She has no idea how close I am to losing control around her.
And she never will.
This can't go any further.
I adjust my grip, holding her more securely as I carry her down the short hall. Her legs hang with exhaustion, brushing against my hip with every step. Each tiny movement sends a jolt through me that I have no business feeling.
"Almost there," I murmur, mostly to myself.
Her dim bedroom only has a soft spill of light from the hallway outlining the bed.
From fashion magazines strewn on the nightstand, to fabric swatches draped over a chair, to a half-finished sketch on the dresser, the room is unmistakably hers.
It's Blue's world and sanctuary. And I'm crossing into it in the most intimate way possible.
She stirs weakly. "Red…"
"I've got you."
The words leave me before I think of them. They come out low, rough, too honest.
I lower her onto the mattress slowly, carefully, making sure her head rests on the pillow. The second my arms release her, her fingers slide blindly across the sheets, like she's searching for me even in her fog.
"Right here," I say, sitting at the edge of the bed so she can feel the mattress shift with my weight.
She exhales, long and heavy, tension draining out of her limbs like she's finally letting herself surrender. Her eyes blink open just enough to find me. "Lie down with me." Her voice is faint, but steady. Not a plea. Not manipulation. Just raw, simple, need.
I have to deny her. The night's already ripped another boundary line into shreds. For my own mental health, I have to be stronger than what I want.
"I'll stay, but like this," I tell her.
Her fingers move again, slower now, drifting toward mine. I shouldn't take her hand. I know that. It isn't appropriate. It isn't safe. It isn't allowed by any definition of the profession I swore to uphold.
But her hand trembles, suspended in the space between us, reaching me and whatever version of safety she thinks I am.
So I let my fingers meet hers.
She sighs, soft and content, and her grip relaxes the instant our skin touches. She suggests, "We could cuddle."
A fresh ache plants roots in my core. I almost cave but find another round of strength. "Not tonight."
"So another time?" she asks, full of hope.
I don't answer. Instead, I lean forward, kiss her forehead, then move a lock of hair away from her eye. I order, "Close your eyes, Blue."
A tiny smile plays on her lips. She blinks a few times, then keeps them shut. Her breathing deepens. Each exhale becomes heavier, steadier.
I sit with my spine rigid and every muscle tight. My palm rests against her smaller one. Her warmth seeps into my skin, crawls up my arm, and sinks into the center of my chest. I stare at the point where our hands meet, acknowledging the way she leans into sleep only because she knows I'm here.
She trusts me far more than she ever should.
I have to find her a new therapist.
She curls her body toward me, her face on the pillow.
She's soft, relaxed, impossibly fragile in a way that makes something painful twist beneath my sternum.
The remnants of her earlier mania flicker out one by one as exhaustion claims her.
Her lips part slightly, breaths evening out into the irresistible cadence of someone finally letting go.
I run a hand over my face with the one she isn't holding, trying to slow my own lungs, my own thoughts racing with a deepening guilt.
I shouldn't be here.