Chapter 33 #2
Seated as deep as I can go, I twitch inside her, still rubbing soft circles between her legs until she’s whimpering and shifting away.
Aspen curses under her breath as I kiss her neck, dragging kisses over her collarbone and breasts before I ease out of her. Kneeling between her thighs, I lift her other heel to the edge of the table. The wood groans, and I’m vaguely aware of her pushing up on her elbows.
“What are you—”
I cut her question off, tracing her entrance with soft strokes through the mixture of our release.
“You’re full of my cum, Angel.” Before I think too deeply about why I like that so much, I press my middle finger inside her, pushing every fucking drop back inside. “Right where it belongs.”
“Jesus.” she murmurs.
“You’ll come for me like this too—my fingers fucking this mess back into you.”
Her head hits the table, and her arm comes over her eyes.
“Too much?”
I’ve had enough sex, but I can’t remember another time or person I was this open, this vocal, with. It’s only ever been an itch I need to scratch on occasion. Something to pass the time.
“Too much, not enough, everything I need,” she whines. “It’s everything all at once.”
“Yeah, it is,” I agree. “Give me another and I’ll do that thing you like with my fingers.”
“You already are . . .”
The question on her lips turns into a long moan when I curl my fingers just so. Her thighs tremble and her breaths turn shallow.
I shake my head. “The other thing.” I look away from where I’m pumping into her just long enough to watch her come apart. Her hand curls into a fist, and her lips part on a gasp.
I’d sell my soul to the devil to replace all my nightmares with dreams of this for the rest of my life.
“Yes, Emmett.” Her toes curl around the edge of the table, and then she’s panting and pulling her knees together as I place a kiss on her mound before standing and hovering over her.
She cracks one eye open, a lazy smile on her lips. “What other thing?”
I take her hands in mine, pulling her up. I can’t scoop her off the table and carry her away the way I want, but I’m tempted to try. Only, I know she’ll yell at me, and I still have plans for her.
“The one in the shower where you let someone else take care of you for once and clean you up.”
“It’s not a hair-wash day,” she says absentmindedly, scooting off the edge of the table and into my arms.
“I’m sure we can find something else for me to help with,” I tell her.
“Bring the coffee.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“We’re taking a bath. A scented, girly, bubble bath.”
“We?”
“Yes, we. You’ll be fine as long as you keep your shoulder out of it.”
“Not sure if you noticed, but I’m not really a bath kind of guy.”
She leads the way, glancing over her shoulder, hips swaying as she walks through the house back to the bedroom. “For me, you are.”
I’d be whatever she wants.
Five minutes later, I’m chest deep in the bath with her between my legs and I’ve never felt better—lavendar bubbles and all.
“Why’d you pick nursing?” I ask, my hand coasting up and down her arm.
“Mostly, I wanted to help people.” She laughs a little sardonically. “No one told me how hard it is to actually do that in nursing.”
I think about my own reasons for joining the crew.
“Do you have any regrets?”
She shakes her hand against my shoulder.
“No. I just wish there weren’t so much politics and red-tape involved.
It’s draining knowing there’s more you could do, or do better, and not being able to.
I realized that pretty early on. In trauma situations we have more control over that aspect—you’re treating patients who need critical care, and there’s no stopping for insurance or bureaucracy; it’s just doing. ”
“Is that why you became a flight nurse?” I ask.
“It was part of the appeal. The notoriety and exclusivity of being a flight nurse were catnip for an overachiever like me. It meant more certifications and training—a way to set myself apart. To prove myself,” she admits.
“Your brothers were really spot-on with that nickname.”
She gasps, slapping my knee with a splash.
“Shut it.”
I press my lips to her temple. “No. Being habitually perfect is actually my favorite thing about you.”
“Funny. Earlier, you said it was the way I take your cock.”
“Also a highlight,” I say.
She cranes her neck, finding me over her shoulder. “Do you like what you do?”
“It’s a job.” I shrug. “The crew is decent. It lets me live a simple life, and that’s all I’ve ever really wanted.”
Never dared to dream of more, I think, but I don’t say it.
“I guess that makes sense, you dealt with more than most people before you were even a teen. Hell, probably before you were out of diapers. But you’re still here.”
Before I can change the subject she adds, “I think you’ve been carrying things alone for way too long,” she says. “And I don’t think that makes you hopeless.”
I shift beneath her. Guess we’re not dancing around this anymore.
“Is that your professional opinion?” I ask.
“No,” she says softly. “It’s what I see as someone who cares about you.”
“And what if you’re wrong and I need more than just hope.”
“You’ll do the work.”
Will I really, though?
“That’s a lot of faith to have in a guy like me,” I say, fighting a yawn.
“The guy you’ve shown me is ready for it.”
“Maybe,” I say.