by W Winters
I don’t know what we are. I don’t know why my head’s so fucked. But I know she’s mine. She’ll stay here until I tell her otherwise.
Laura comes into the house the same way I came into her place last night, saying my name as she pushes open the door with a key in her hand.
“You found it,” I say as I smirk at her. Even after a twelve-hour shift in baggy scrubs, she’s breathtaking.
“The key in my sandwich bag? Yes, yes I did.”
“It was unlocked, you know?” I tease her.
“Maybe I wanted to make sure it was to your front door. Since, you know, it just happened to be in the bag with no note.” She shrugs as she adds, “It could have been anyone’s key.”
“It’s yours.”
Closing and then locking the door behind her, she cradles an overnight bag in the crook of her arm along with her purse. It’s not a large bag and I’m sure she only packed for one night. I’ll have to fix that. She needs everything here and a place for what she needs in the cabinets and dressers. I’ll correct that issue tomorrow. Dropping her keys next to mine on the kitchen counter, she leaves her bag there too and rubs her eyes, sagging into the seat next to me.
I hold up the beer, offering it to her but she shakes her head and then rests her forehead on my shoulder, sleep weighing her down. “You don’t drink after work. Now that is different.”
She smiles in the crook of my neck and her shoulders shake slightly with a small feminine snicker.
Glancing up at me, she gives me a smile and then rolls to the side, giving me space. She lets out an exhausted yawn and tells me she’s just tired.
“Bethany said I should take up a red wine nightcap to help me sleep.”
“I’ll grab a couple of bottles.”
“Mmm,” she half responds with her eyes closed. Eyeing her plump lips with a loose tendril of hair in her face has me hard in a split second.
“You’re not allowed to sleep just yet,” I tell her and those long lashes sweep up so she can look at me.
“I should probably tell you something first,” she says and the sweetness and playful demeanor fall from her expression until all I see is my tired girl.
Setting down the beer and leaning forward, I pray it’s not about someone calling from California with news on her father. I’m aware of how I tell her to tell me, relaxed and easy. I’m aware of how I’m breathing calmly, like I’m not worried at all.
“Walsh came by the center.” Relief hits first, then pride when Laura looks down at her hands, watching her fingers wring around one another as she tells me, “Today and yesterday.”
She feels guilty for not telling me. I like the look of submission on her.
“Did he talk to you?” I ask her, expecting to hear that he didn’t. Why would he? He doesn’t know she’s with me. He doesn’t know shit about her. Or about the diaries.
“He did. About a murder and one of my patients.” She readjusts and then looks at my beer where I left it. “Maybe I should have a drink,” she comments.
“I’ll get you one; you keep talking,” I tell her and stand up, moving away from her field of vision to listen.
“The fire that happened down at the farm.” She speaks louder so I can hear as I open cabinets, pretending to look for a stray bottle of wine. Crouched down and staring at rows of clear and amber liquor bottles, I listen. “He thinks she has motive and it has something to do with Marcus helping her get revenge.”
“The fire at the farm?” I question her, as I stand up and move to the fridge. “No wine, Babygirl,” I add with a smile, easing her as much as I can.
“A beer?” she asks and even pouts. She can’t know how I want to kill Walsh for talking to her. She can’t know half the shit that’s going on. She wouldn’t want to anyway. If she knew, she wouldn’t stay.
“The thing is,” she keeps talking as I twist the top off and toss it in the garbage. She only stops talking to thank me when I retake my seat next to her. “He keeps bringing up Marcus. He’s talking to me as if he knows that I know.”
My hackles rise, the tiny hairs on my arms standing on edge.
“Whether he knows about the diaries or he thinks I’ve heard things and whispers in the center… I don’t know.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I played dumb. I told him if he needs anything from me, to let me know.”
Her nervousness and insecurity are something I’ve never liked. I’m here and as long as I’m here, she shouldn’t feel like that. I’ll fix it. I’ll find out everything and fix it.
“A cop came in questioning a murder, that’s… nerve wracking,” I answer her, taking a long drag of my beer after handing Laura hers. She doesn’t move to drink yet; even though I’m staring at the fireplace, I know she’s staring at me. “To add on to it, you have secrets. You know about him and his motives. That’s what’s gotten to you,” I say as I finally look at her and rest my hand on her thigh.
I have to give her a small smirk when my gentle touch, the back and forth of my thumb, gives her shivers. A deep chuckle vibrates up my chest. “So easy,” I tease her.
She finally smiles, a cute little smile that she tries to catch between her teeth. The soft pink of a blush rises to her cheeks and she asks me, “You really think that’s all this is?”
“You don’t like secrets and you’re shit at keeping them,” I tell her. “You’re doing good.” Patting her thigh and then giving a gentle squeeze, I tell her, “Don’t worry about Marcus or Walsh. They don’t know anything and it’s all in that pretty little head of yours.”
“You sure?” Even though she questions me, her body language relaxes. Everything about her believes me. Which is shit, because I’m lying to her. Marcus knows something. Walsh doesn’t though.
I give her a smile, followed by a peck of a kiss that leaves her with her eyes closed and a simper on her lips. “I’m sure, Babygirl. You’re just stressed, but you handled it well.”
“It’s just a lot and it feels like—”
I cut her off to say, “Because it is a lot. You’re carrying a heavy burden on your shoulders every day. When someone makes you question yourself, it feels a lot worse, knowing everything else that could fall.” Cupping her chin in my hand, I kiss her again. I swear every time we kiss she melts a little more. She doesn’t worry, she doesn’t buy into the voices in her head telling her she’s not enough and she’s in too deep. I should kiss her every moment of every day.
“So… what should I do?” she asks me.
“You already handled it. Nothing else to do but let it go. I know you don’t like to lie, and you did today, a lie of omission, but you have your reasons. You don’t need to be in the middle of anything and Walsh shouldn’t have put you there.”
“Right, right. And he doesn’t know that I read Delilah’s diaries,” she says and keeps nodding to herself, even after she’s done thinking out loud.
“I know what’ll help you,” I say as I get on my knees on the sofa and face her, towering over her.
She’s huddled beneath me, holding on to her beer with both hands and looking up at me wide eyed although there’s a smile on her face. “What are you doing?” she asks playfully.
“Hands up,” I demand and she obeys, not letting go of her beer bottle. Her bra’s a simple white number; it makes her look innocent and sweet. Like an angel laid out before me. An angel to play with, to dirty and taint with all the sinful lust I have for her.
“You make me want to do bad things to you,” I murmur. Peeking up through her thick lashes, her doe eyes go wide with lust, proving her to be the vixen she is. Even her cheeks heat nearly instantly.
“You like it, don’t you?” I ask her and she doesn’t even give me a chance to add, how much you get to me.
She answers, “I love it” before I can finish. “I love everything you do to me.” With her hands behind her, her shoulders back and her head tilted up to look at me, she’s vulnerable and waiting.
I want her to remember t
his night. I want every moment to be different, every touch to be more than what she can imagine on her own.
I glance to my left and the brown glass of the empty beer bottle glints. Turning back to her, I tell her, “I’m going to play with you, and take my time with you.”
She doesn’t protest, although I can hear my name and the way she says it likes it’s a warning lingering on the tip of her tongue. She swallows it and any argument she has that she’s tired. I know she is. She’ll do what I want though, because she knows I’ll make it good for her.
“Strip down.” I give her the command and she obeys. She doesn’t try to make a show of it although she teases me by biting down on her lower lip when she drops her bra to the floor.
I wasn’t going to touch her, but the pale pink of her nipples begs me to caress them. Her head tips back, her hair cascading behind her. Correcting myself, and ignoring the desire that has all the blood in my body stiffening my cock, I pull away from her.
Without her clothes, goosebumps play along her body and after she lies down like I tell her to, I blow. That’s all I do, teasing her, going from a warm breath along her neck that makes her shiver, to a steady stream down her belly and lower, to her sex.
She tries to reach for me, to grab my arm or my shoulder, but I catch her wrist. “No touching.” My command sobers her, and I know in an instant she doesn’t like it.
“No. Touching,” I repeat firmly, licking my lower lip and loving how her gaze darts to the movement.
Nodding, but still holding doubt in her expression, she lowers her hands to the cushion, gripping it and closing her eyes with a soft moan as I blow against her clit again.
“You’re going to make me cum from just breathing on me?” she questions, her eyes alight with mischief and the sexy grin proves she’s thinking she’ll need more than that.
“No,” I answer her, reaching behind me for the beer bottle. I lick the top of it where the cap was twisted on and test out its ridges.
The sound of her nails scratching against the fabric, combined with her chest rising and falling quickly, let me know exactly how she’s feeling. “You scared, Babygirl?”
“Will it feel good?”
“Does it ever not?” I question her and the doubt and fear vanish from her eyes. Her thighs part, her heels digging into the cushion as she bends her knees and bares herself to me.
Arousal makes her pussy glisten, and when I press the cold glass to her clit, I watch her cunt clench around nothing. Letting out a short chuckle, I position myself between her legs, careful not to touch her. My greedy girl lifts her heel, and I know she’s going to move her leg around me, pulling me in and showing me just how much she loves it.
“No touching,” I remind her, staring up her gorgeous body. She looks down at me, puzzled until I add, “Keep your legs still.”
She only nods, her skin flushed and her breathing still not even. Just the idea of using a bottle to play with her has her so worked up. I drag the glass down her clit and through her lips, watching how her hips subtly rise and listening to the pleasure that lingers in her soft moan. It’s barely audible, nearly a murmur of satisfaction.
The sweet smell of her, the sound of her moans, the heat of her flesh… fuck, it’s torture not to touch her, not to lean forward and suck on her clit until she comes apart for me. I focus on getting the one thing I want… her desire to become so much that she disobeys.
I want her so wrapped up in pleasure from this touch that she forgets the rules. I’ll let her cum and then I’ll flip her ass over and ravage her. Letting my head fall, I close my eyes, groaning from the thought and feeling my hard cock twitch with need.
Soon.
The sooner the better. Laura’s eyes are closed and she swallows thickly, waiting for me to touch her again. Instead I blow against her sex, noting how her stomach clenches and her body sways from the sensitivity. I want the pressure to build slowly, giving her a higher high than she’ll recognize, and then I want to watch her come apart at the seams.
Starting at her clit, I press the bottle against her, slipping lower and parting her lips with the mouth of it. Pressing the bottle inside of her, her breath hitches and her eyes open. She’s staring at the ceiling, her mouth in a perfect O when I pull the bottle forward, brushing it against the front wall of her pussy. I don’t pull it out; instead I move it back inside of her slowly, all the while pressing against her front wall. The pink in her cheeks darkens and floods into her chest when the neck of the bottle is fully inside of her. Rocking it back and forth, I wait for the moment when her head thrashes and her breathing quickens.
“I can get you off with anything,” I tell her and I’m cocky, arrogant… and I feel like a damn king. Her king, her ruler, her everything.
I don’t stop until she cums. The first time, she doesn’t break the rules. She holds on to the cushion like a good submissive when I fuck her to orgasm with the bottle. The second time, she screams out my name, her hands on her face, covering her mouth and she cums hard and fast. I’m relentless though. I never stop fucking her, slow and steady with the neck of the bottle, only picking up my pace when I know she’s close to falling again. The third time, her back bows and tears fall from the corners of her eyes as her body rocks and her toes curl. She grabs my arm then, desperate to hold on to anything while she’s falling.
Thank fuck she grabs me. Thank God she breaks the rules right then and there.
I barely have any control left and I need to touch her. I need to be inside of her, falling with her.
Laura
Three days in a row with twelve-hour shifts isn’t that difficult. It’s not my first time and it sure as hell won’t be my last. So that doesn’t explain why I feel so utterly and completely drained. Bethany called out, something about her sister. I asked if everything was all right but she couldn’t say.
The shift is harder today since I’m picking up some of her workload. The temporary hire to cover Bethany being out for so long, is a bitch who doesn’t know how to do a damn thing. So I’m basically pulling the weight of two people today. Why? Because I care about Bethany’s patients, unlike Cindy Lou Who-gives-a-fuck and who even knows where she is right now.
Looking to my left, toward the nurses’ station where Cindy better be performing the checklist so we can leave on time, the hall is empty as I quietly shut E.J.’s door.
I rest my head against the wall and just breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out. That’s all I have to do.
My grandma used to say, “You don’t have to do a damn thing. Just breathe. And pay taxes. Even if you’re dead they’ll get those taxes.”
The memory of her in the chair in the corner of the living room, pointing her finger at me while she said it makes me smile and it’s the first time I’ve smiled all shift. Damn does it make me miss her though.
I never realized how alone I truly am until recently. No family at all. I only have one friend here, really. Bethany. I’m chummy with Mel and Aiden, but they don’t know me like Bethany does. Now she’s busy, off with Jase.
I have Seth now. Only Seth.
Fuck, I don’t like that. I don’t like having to rely on him. Especially since all we’re doing is fucking. I’m not blind to the fact that when we do talk to one another, it’s like walking on eggshells. I don’t like it. I don’t know how to change it though.
Maybe with time.
Breathing out, just breathe, I stare down at the tray in my hand and the last cup of pills. Three colorful ones for Melody.
Maybe some people are just loners. There’s nothing wrong with that.
Besides, I have my patients and there aren’t a lot of people who get that.
I shake out my shoulders, feeling stiff from not sleeping well and bending over the tray all day. It was my turn to do the pill sorting, well, Bethany’s, but I didn’t trust Cindy to take on that task.
Before I can take a step forward, across the hall to Melody, I hear a bang behind me. At least I think I do. The noise wraps itself aro
und my gut, squeezing. Something’s wrong.
I drop the tray like a fool, turning as fast as I can to get to E.J.
There’s nothing wrong with her, though. Not a damn thing is out of place. I swear I heard a bang, like something heavy had dropped.
E.J.’s in the same position she always is, on her side, her knees bent, her hands under her head. I washed her hair today though, marveling at how soft and silky it was. She struggled to tell me months ago, before it happened—although she didn’t say what “it” was—she’d gotten a treatment on her hair.
There’s no doubt in my mind she’s from money. Big money, given the strings they’ve pulled.
“Are you all right?” I ask E.J. when her heavy eyes open and she stares back at me. Her slow reactions are partly from the medication to help her sleep without dreams, and partly from her crippling depression.
She nods her head slowly and just like in the shower today, she places her slender fingers at her throat and I know that means she wants to talk.
“They told me not to give you my name. Didn’t they?” Her voice is scratchy and I can tell it hurts her from the way she winces.
She must be out of it. There’s no way I’d know what anyone told her. I don’t even know who “they” are.
The end of my ponytail brushes against my shoulder as I shrug and say, “I don’t know what they told you. I just know it’s not in your files.”
My answer brings tears to her eyes; tears I think were coming regardless. Her face doesn’t crumple or contort though and when the tears fall from her chin, down the pillow, she pulls back and then reaches to her cheek before staring at the moisture on her fingertips. Like she didn’t even know she was crying.
“I lost everything… I can’t lose my name.”
“There’s always more, you didn’t lose everything.” I’m quick to console her and I slowly, cautiously, pull out the corner chair to sit in it.
“Do you know what it’s like to lose everyone you love? To watch—” Her head falls back as her silent tears turn to wracking sobs. “I have court on the third. For my own custody. For them to take that too.” She moves as quickly as she can to brush away the tears, accepting the tissue I offer her. It’s a good sign. It’s a good sign that she’s talking, that she’s aware of her pain.
