21. Marcella
twenty-one
Marcella
What the hell am I doing?
Lying against Seamus in an abandoned hospital room, his fingers tracing slow patterns over my hip.
This isn’t what I came here for.
This isn’t what people like me get to experience.
Right now, I don’t want to move. Everything’s quiet, save for the hum of overhead lights and the occasional creak of aging pipes. The sterile scent of disinfectant clings to the air—a jarring contrast to the raw, intimate thing we’ve done.
We had sex. Real, actual sex.
Not just sex—it was Seamus’s first time.
He could have chosen anyone and he gave his virginity to me—a nearly forty-year-old, body-negative, jaded professional who’s been convinced men like him didn’t exist outside of her dreams.
I don’t know what to do with this kind of devotion—if it’s for real—so, for now, I lie here tensely, trying to breathe around it.
Seamus shifts slightly to his side and his hand cups the soft curve of my belly—my most guarded, resented part. With quiet confidence he caresses me there. Stroking. Touching. He’s not repulsed. The knowledge of which nearly undoes me.
Unlike other lovers, there’s no hesitation. Or avoidance. Flinch of disgust. His elegant, precise surgeon’s fingers, which manipulated my body into multiple orgasms, exploring the abundant curves I’ve spent years trying to shrink, flatten, and make disappear.
I tense, instinctively.
He doesn’t move. Or let go. His thumb drags a slow, reverent line over my skin, like he’s mapping a place he has no intention of forgetting.
It’s too much. Too intimate. I’m trying to be comfortable in his arms on the thin mattress. Impossible . I’m naked. He’s naked. We’re in a damn abandoned hospital room like some ill-conceived fantasy. Is this even hygienic? Won’t there be security guards?
My brain is spiraling and Seamus seems entirely at peace, his mouth-watering body long and sprawled out like he owns the place.
“Are you always this comfortable being naked in public places?” I mutter, trying to pull the sheet up to cover my chest as discreetly as I can.
He glances at me with a lazy, satisfied grin. “Not always. I’m feeling pretty good right now, though. What happened was incredible. You’re incredible.”
“Like you’d know. I’m your only frame of reference.” I snort, trying to pretend like the compliment doesn’t make my insides flutter.
“Well,” his hand glides over my thigh, “as far as I’m concerned, it was perfect. I’m ready for round two.”
My smile doesn’t quite reach my eyes. The truth is, I’m not some wildly experienced femme fatale who’s had dozens of lovers and years of practiced confidence.
Not even close.
If we’re being technical, Seamus has more hands-on experience than I ever have. More bodies. More skin. More ways of making someone feel good.
What guts me a little—catches me right in the center of my chest—is why he chose me . With all the women who’ve thrown themselves at him over the years, he could have had anyone. Clearly, he thought of his virginity as something sacred. He picked me for his final step.
I’ll always have that honor.
I’m not sure how to feel. I never thought I’d be in this position. I’ve spent my life trying to be smart and capable and good, I don’t allow myself to want. Or believe I could be wanted like this .
There’s no way I’ll make this moment about me, though, so I smack his chest playfully. “You’re incorrigible.”
He catches my wrist and kisses the inside of it, and I swear my heart skips a beat. Then props himself up on one elbow and the sheet shifts off us.
Lying bare beside him, I’m painfully aware of how my body settles. My breasts—heavy and full—spread slightly to the sides, the weight of them unmistakable against my ribcage. They’ve always felt like too much. Under his gaze, my nipples pucker, making me more aware of every inch of myself.
I breathe slowly, trying to keep still. The rise and fall of my chest gives me away. I feel exposed in every possible way—yet I don’t move to cover myself. For once, I resist the urge to hide.
“Marcella,” his thumb traces the edge of my jaw, “are you okay?”
I blink, taken off guard. “Yeah. I…someone could walk in.”
He chuckles. “I told you. No one’s using this floor. You saw the signs—‘Renovation Begins January 1st.’ We have, what? Three weeks? Think of the damage we could do to this bed.”
“Stop.” I laugh, then bite my lip. “Seriously, though. We should go.”
Seamus brushes a lock of hair from my face. “Come to my place. I’ll make dinner. Or order dinner. Whatever you want. I’m not ready for this to be over.”
I open my mouth, then close it again.
Come to his place? The idea sends a bolt of panic and excitement through me. I don’t know what I expected to happen. It certainly wasn’t him wanting more.
If anything, I figured he’d already be gone.
“I’m sweaty and my hair’s a mess,” I stall.
“You’re perfect,” he says without hesitation. “If you’re more comfortable at your place, I’ll come with you.”
My eyebrows lift. “You want to come over?”
“I want more. I want to give you more.” He kisses me sweetly. “Anywhere you are is where I want to be.”
I blink, thrown. I’ve heard a lot of lines in my life—some sweet, some gross, some downright manipulative. Seamus? He’s not laying it on thick. He’s being honest.
“I don’t know what to do with you,” I whisper, almost to myself.
He smiles. “Oh, I have some ideas. Let me show you.”
God help me.
We get dressed slowly. Well, I do. Seamus slips his scrub pants back on with zero urgency, like we didn’t shatter every professional boundary known to man. He moves with this lazy confidence, like he’s got nowhere to be but here, bare-chested and entirely too at ease.
Meanwhile, I’m wrestling with my bra and trying to slide into my suit skirt without flashing him.
My blouse is wrinkled, buttons all out of order, and I’m painfully aware of the way my hair’s probably a mess and my lipstick’s long gone.
I’m used to commanding courtrooms in this outfit.
Now I’m hoping I don’t trip over my heels on the way out.
He watches me with a lazy kind of amusement, his gaze fond and hot all at once.
“You’re staring,” I mumble, fumbling with the zipper on my skirt.
“I like what I see.” He waggles his eyebrows. “I’m curious why you’re trying to hide yourself when I was inside your body twenty minutes ago.”
“I’m not hiding,” I lie.
He raises a brow.
“I’m not used to parading around naked in abandoned buildings.” I pout.
Seamus laughs and pulls on his scrub top like he’s got all the time in the world. The picture of unbothered. Meanwhile, I’m adjusting my blazer and trying not to freak out in the wake of what we did.
It’s not the sex causing me to spiral—it’s everything around it. The uncertainty.
His eyes flick over to me with a lazy, post-orgasm grin. It’s infuriating how damn good he looks for someone who had his first time in an abandoned hospital room.
“So…I’ve got some time off,” he says casually, like we’re colleagues making small talk. “Have to burn it before the year ends.”
I glance at him skeptically. “Didn’t you take time off for the settlement?”
“Yeah, I didn’t realize how little PTO I’ve used over the past few years. I still have more than two weeks I haven’t touched. They won’t roll over to next year. This lawsuit shit aside, residency is chaos.” He shrugs. “So, I’m off until January.”
“Must be nice,” I murmur, trying to smooth my hair into place.
He watches me for a beat. “Do you ever take time off?”
“Sure. I’ve been leaving early every Friday to drive to Tacoma before rush hour,” I say. “After Dad’s health scare, I realized how important it is to prioritize my family a bit more.”
He nods slowly. “Yeah, Sunday nights are McGloughlin family dinner nights. Whoever’s in town shows up. It’s the one good meal I eat each week. Ma’s a great cook.”
I’m caught off guard by the softness in his voice. “It’s been good,” I admit. “Needed, really.”
He fixes me with the quiet, steady look he’s so good at. His confidence makes me feel like I’m standing too close to the sun.
“I was thinking.” He helps me on with my coat. “Maybe we could spend some time together.”
I pause, surprised by how easily the words land. He’s not asking for a weekend hookup. There’s something intentional about the way he puts it. Like he’s not trying to impress me—he’s trying to be with me.
“It’s the holidays. Don’t you have plans?” I ask, hedging.
“As I said. Sunday dinner at my folks.” He smirks. “A little Christmas shopping for the kids.”
His casualness makes me laugh, and he smiles wider, like he’s been waiting to hear it.
“You’re serious?” I ask. “You want to spend time on your break with me?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Marcella, I had the most meaningful moment of my life with you. I’m not exactly rushing to fill my calendar with other things. Not if we can get to know each other better. Fuck like rabbits, of course.”
I look away, pulse fluttering. I’m not used to this—being wanted without a catch.
“I mean,” he adds, gentler now, “unless you’re a one-and-done kinda girl.”
“Not even close,” I murmur.
He leans in and tugs one of the buttons on my blazer. “Good. ’Cause I’m not sure I’ll ever be done with you.”
The air shifts a little as we gather our things. I glance at the spot on the bed where we went at it and my fear about what happened gives way to a strange mix of vulnerability and awe.
He chose me.
Despite everything—our age difference, my plump body, the roadblocks I’ve thrown at him, and this lawsuit, we’re here. Together.
He opens the door and holds it for me. As we step into the quiet hallway he takes my hand and our fingers lace together like it’s natural.
“I’ll drive.” I glance up at him. “So, yes. You can come over.”
I wait for the distance—the exit, the cold change I’ve come to expect.
It doesn’t come.
A grin spreads across his face so bright it makes my heart skedaddle all over the place. He looks at me like I’m everything .
Like this isn’t the time when it ends.
Like maybe this is how we begin.