Chapter 3
The Kiss
Nate
I’m at Robyn’s one-bedroom apartment in Old Town.
It’s an open plan, with her kitchen to the left of the entry door and living room to the right.
She’s catching up on sleep after last night’s shift before heading into another, and I’m meeting friends at a bar I don’t really want to go to, so I’m fixing a simple rice dish for dinner since it’s all I have time for.
She’s on the second tail of the diagnostics program, and if I thought our schedules barely aligned before, they actually never do now.
When she’s working, I’m asleep; when she’s home, I’m already out the door.
And sometimes, even when we both have the time, she’ll get a call about a case …
It’s temporary and important. I know it’s personal to her, and every patient with an innocuous symptom they can’t explain but keeps getting worse reminds her of her mom.
I know it takes her back to the doctors telling her father and her thirteen-year-old self that they missed a latent infarct, and how she never figured out how to pull her own dad out of the depression that followed.
So her work matters. And she matters.
Still, I watch the way she moves when she gets home—how she drops her bag, how long it takes her to sink into the couch—and I feel useless. She needs a night off, and I need a night with her. I don’t want to complain.
Andrzej’s articulate advice was to let her save lives and find myself a fucking hobby.
Still, helplessness takes over when her eyes look darker every day and her clothes hang more loosely.
I can’t stand that she’s running herself ragged to give this profession her best. And barely anything to me.
The intrusive thoughts have been catching up to me, and I hate it every time.
I don’t know what else to do, so I cook, clean, and bring coffee while crossing my fingers it’s enough for her.
The bright spot is that Tessa’s finally back in town.
Her move got delayed after her job pushed the start date, but she arrived in Chicago a week ago.
All of us—friends from undergrad—are celebrating her return at our usual bar tonight.
I’ve been letting myself in her apartment to fix little things here and there, but tonight, we’re all finally hanging out.
The oven timer cuts through my thoughts. Before I can take the mitts off the hot tray, Robyn wraps her arms around my middle, lacing her fingers together above my waistband. I relish in the warmth of her cheek pressing into my back just below my shoulder blades.
“I’m sorry I fell asleep on you.”
I tug one mitt free, thread my fingers through hers, and lift her hand to my mouth. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You needed it.”
She sways a little behind me, rocking gently. I close my eyes and let myself sit in it for a second longer than I would have a few weeks ago.
“I don’t like how tired you are all the time,” I murmur. “And you’re losing weight.”
She nods against my spine. “I know.” Her breath ghosts through my shirt, soft and uneven. “What are you cooking?”
“Something simple, just a rice dish.”
“Just something to stuff my mouth with?”
I wink. “I’ve got something else to stuff your mouth with.” We laugh, then I squeeze her shoulder. “I mean it, Robyn. You need to eat even when I’m not bringing you lunch.”
She lets out an exhausted sigh. “Sometimes, it’s necessary, baby. But it still sucks.”
“I can’t wait to take you away next weekend.” I turn without letting go of her hands, her forearms brushing the strip of skin exposed from my shirt riding up. “I’m going to feed you so well …”
I’m picturing the trip to House on the Rock we never took last year—since this program derailed everything for a year. I’m popping the question, though, upgrading her from girlfriend to fiancée. I’m so wrapped in it I almost missed the way she tensed in my arms.
“What?” I ask.
Her gaze drops. “Nate—”
Of course. It happened again.
“Your schedule got switched.” I keep my voice neutral, but I can’t help how my shoulders sag the tiniest bit. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll call and move the reservations. You’re scheduled for another free weekend in two weeks.”
“Actually, babe.” She looks up at me, pressing her lips together before speaking. “I think it might be less stressful if we just postpone until I’m done with the program.”
Something tightens in my chest. Not anger. Not surprise. The dull realization that I couldn’t even give her one weekend away from all of it. I get it, it’s temporary, and I don’t want her to feel guilty, so I nod. It’s not her fault I planned to propose over dinner at a fancy place near Taliesin.
“You’re probably right,” I say, tracing slow, absent circles down her back. “Changing plans is hard on my job too. I’ll cancel that request to take Monday off.”
Her fingers tighten in my shirt.
“I was given this Saturday off, though,” she says quickly. “So we have Friday night.” She stands on her toes and presses a kiss to my lips. “And Saturday.”
I want it, I do. I want to let myself believe in it, but I also don’t want to set myself up for disappointment.
Still, I don’t stop her when she places her mouth on my throat, open and warm, drifting lower.
Arousal takes over me as I wonder how much longer we won’t have even a couple of hours with each other every day, or if sex is the one thing holding us together.
I shake my head, dropping my head to her shoulder to kiss and lick.
“Let me make it up to you,” she whispers.
“There’s nothing to make up for, sweetheart.”
Sliding her hands under my top, her fingertips leave prickled skin in their wake, then she peels the shirt off my back. She licks and sucks down my chest, around my nipples, and past my navel.
“Can I make you feel good?” She palms my hardening cock beneath my jeans until I’m rock hard, then drops to her knees and unbuttons me.
The head of my dick pushes through the opening in my briefs.
She looks up at me from the floor, lips a hairsbreadth from me.
I rock forward, and she rocks back then forward again, only to pull away just before her wet lips touch me.
She laps slowly at the bead of precum weeping from me. I moan, sure she’s finally going to take me into her mouth, but she sucks one of my balls between her lips instead. Now, I’m leaking enough that it trails down my shaft and onto her cheeks. When she pulls away, my hips follow on their own.
“Do you want a blowjob in the kitchen with all the mess?”
I freeze. No, I don’t want to be anywhere near that mess. I shoot my hand behind her head, threading my fingers into her hair until she’s looking up at me, still on her knees, lips close enough to feel her breath.
“You’re going to get naked and lean over the couch, ass pointing my way.”
“And if I don’t?”
“If you don’t, I’m going to spank you until I leave the prettiest shade of red on your skin.”
When she stands, there’s a glint in her blue eyes, the bronze ring around her pupils swallowing almost half her irises.
She pulls her top off, revealing her bare breasts, nipples pebbled from excitement.
My cock jerks at the sight. I’m so familiar with them I can already feel their weight in my palms without even touching her.
Wrapping my hand around my length, I stroke myself, wrist twisting when I reach the crown.
“Keep going, Robyn, or you’re going to earn yourself a smack.”
She smirks but complies, slipping her thumbs into the waistband of her sweats and shimmying them down her shapely legs. I hold my fist around the tip of my cock, tugging and tightening around it, then tip my chin toward the couch.
Before heading over, she slips off her panties and opens her legs, fingers dipping through her folds. They come out glistening, and she rubs slow circles over her clit. Once. Twice. She whimpers, and I let out a moan, then she finally does as she’s told.
She looks over her shoulder when she sinks into the couch on her knees, widening her stance and resting her forearms on the backrest. Arching her spine, she positions herself so her bottom is perky in the air.
It ripples deliciously as she shifts again, opening herself even more, and her pussy lips are on display—open and wet with anticipation for me.
I’m right on her heels, and she’s barely settled when I palm her ass.
“You didn’t listen, sweetheart. How many times should I spank you?”
“Three,” she says breathlessly.
I rub my palm over the fleshiest part of her cheek, taking my time, and the skin where her ass meets her thigh prickles.
“And if I’m going too hard, what do you say?”
“Yellow.”
“That’s right, baby.” Bending, I lick her left cheek, starting high on her thigh, following the curve, and ending at her hip. “And if I need to stop?”
“Red.”
“Good girl.”
I land a soft slap on her left cheek and watch until the pink fades. “Except I think you deserve five. That okay with you?”
“So okay, Nate. Please—fuck me already.”
“Tsk, tsk. You’ll get your turn to call the shots. Unless you want a sixth.”
I kneel before her, and my face lines up perfectly with her pussy.
She presses her legs against me, holding me in place.
She should know there’s no place I’d rather be—she doesn’t need to beg.
I kiss her right cheek and stretch them, and more wetness forms between her lips.
I breathe on her entrance, between her folds, and over her clit. She shivers and moans.
“Nate—”
“Patience.”
Tracing the outer lips with my tongue, I’m giving her something delicious, yet not what she craves.
With her next shaky inhale, I dive into her core, tongue flicking against her clit, and bring my hand down again, but harder this time.
Licking and sucking until she’s on the edge, I go to bring her back with another slap, but she comes anyway, and I groan as her climax soaks my face.