4. Chapter 4 #4
Her hands braced against the counter.
You’re married?
A simple question. Obvious, even. She was wearing the damn ring. But it hadn’t felt simple. It had felt like someone yanking a wire connected to a live mine.
Because she wasn’t ready to say it. Not out loud.
Not to him.
She closed her eyes and breathed through her nose, trying to slow the rising panic. Her pulse was too loud. Her body too hot. Her heart too raw.
That was a childish exit.
You’re not a child.
Her jaw clenched as she opened her eyes. The ring on her finger caught the light—dull silver, no stone, barely noticeable until it was the only thing she could see. She twisted it once. Twice. The same old habit.
And then she heard him.
Boots on old hardwood. Heavy tread. Controlled pace. She didn’t turn. Not even when he paused in the doorway. His presence alone tightened something in her chest—like a magnet she didn’t want to acknowledge.
He waited.
Then: “I—”
“Don’t.” Her voice came out sharper than intended. “Just… don’t.”
Still, he didn’t leave. Didn’t push. Just stood there in the quiet, letting her burn it off.
“I wanted this ring because it fit under latex gloves,” she said after a beat, her voice brittle. “Didn’t get caught on hospital gowns. Didn’t scratch patients. Didn’t need a stone. Easier to clean when I’m scrubbing in for surgery.”
The silence between them thickened.
“I told myself it was practical. I was in med school. I didn’t need flashy.
I needed functional.” Her throat worked around the words.
“And I kept wearing it because I didn’t want to answer questions.
Because he works at the hospital too. And I didn’t want to admit to everyone the truth… that it is over.”
Her hand moved to the faucet, twisted the knob. Cold water burst from the tap. She shoved her hand under, the icy stream shocking her nerves awake.
Still, he didn’t speak. Just watched.
The ring refused to budge at first—her skin was too hot, too tight. But the cold helped. Slowly, her knuckles loosened. Her pulse began to slow.
She pulled the ring off in one smooth motion and stared at it in her palm.
It looked so small now.
So meaningless.
When she turned, he was closer than she expected. Still not touching. Still giving her that impossible space.
But his gaze had shifted.
She felt it in her chest. In her stomach. In that place just below her navel where heat had started to curl.
“So, no—I’m not married,” she said. “I’m separated.”
“Are you okay?” he asked, low and careful. But there was something else in it now—like he already knew the answer.
Maddie didn’t look at the ring again. She lifted her chin and met his eyes.
“Not really.”
His eyes flared. Not with surprise. But with something else. Heat.
Maddie’s breath caught. Her skin prickled. She wasn’t used to this—being wanted in a way that wasn’t about control. That wasn’t about performance. She wasn’t used to being seen, fully, without pretense.
But he saw her now.
And he was still looking.
“What do you need?”
“You,” she admitted.
The word dropped between them like a match on gasoline.
He stepped in.
And kissed her.
No hesitation. No soft buildup. Just sudden heat—sharp and rough and real.
Maddie made a noise—part shock, part relief—and kissed him back.
The ring fell from her palm, forgotten. It hit the floor with a faint clink and rolled under the cabinet.
Gone.
His mouth was hot against hers, commanding. His hand slid around her waist, tugging her against him like he couldn’t stand the space between them another second. She grabbed his shirt, curled her fingers into the fabric, anchoring herself.
He groaned—low, raw, vibrating against her lips—and kissed her deeper, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, slow and sure.
God, he tasted like coffee and salt and sin.
Her body leaned in on instinct, arching to meet the solid heat of his chest. Her nipples peaked through her tank, brushing against him with every ragged breath.
Then—his hands moved. Gripped her thighs.
Lifted.
She gasped as her back hit the edge of the counter, her legs wrapping around his hips on reflex. Her tank rode up. His shirt bunched at her fists.
“Fuck, Maddie,” he rasped, his forehead pressed against hers, his voice wrecked. “You have no fucking idea what you’re asking.”
“I think I do,” she whispered, her hands sliding over his shoulders, fingertips pressing into hard muscle.
His hips pressed forward, fitting to her perfectly. The edge of his arousal grinding into her core.
“You’re my client,” he said, even as his hands slid up the backs of her thighs. “This is a bad idea.”
“The worst,” she breathed, tilting her head to kiss him again. “Do it anyway.”
And then he kissed her like restraint was a thing he’d only just remembered existed.
Rough. Controlled. Desperate.
Her head fell back as his mouth found her neck, her collarbone. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and held on.
For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she was breaking.
She felt like she was catching fire.
And maybe she didn’t care if it burned.