by S. E. Rose
My mind is half on my work and half on the fact that Lanie should be here soon. We’ve been circling around our attraction for days now, and I’ve about reached my limit.
I don’t want to act too soon, but I also don’t want to act too late. That one kiss was like heroin, and I need more. My gut tells me if I let Lanie slip away, I will regret it for the rest of my life. I’ve never felt that way about a woman before her.
My phone buzzes, and I look down, expecting to see a friend of mine texting. I still keep in touch with a few of my friends from living abroad, and they are notorious for messaging me at all hours of the day. I’m surprised when I see a text from Di.
Di: Hey, got a minute?
Me: Of course
Di: Cool – I’ll call you
Di had insisted that she be added to my contacts at the last Moore Saturday dinner party. Her call comes through a moment later.
“Hello?” I answer, glancing around because this feels like I’m getting punked.
“We need to talk about Lanie.”
“W-what?” I stammer.
Di audibly sighs. “You need to take charge and put the moves on her.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I’m only going to say this once. For the love of God, please go bang my sister.”
I nearly choke. “Di, I like you, I do, but I think you might be overstepping a tad.”
“Nope, she’s my twin. I mean, once you share a womb with someone, there is zero overstepping. There aren’t even boundaries. Listen, I love Lanie and I want what’s best for her, and we have decided that you are what is best for her.”
“I . . . what? We?”
“Yeah, KJ, C-Dog, Kylie, and me.”
“Wait? You had, like, a family meeting about this?”
“Not a meeting per se, but more like a brief sidebar.”
“Seriously?”
“Listen, I don’t normally do this, but in this case, she needs a nudge. And not just a lame goodnight kiss. Just . . . ya know . . . go for it.”
“Di, I appreciate the vote of confidence and I’m glad you all approve of me dating your sister, but can we keep my and Lanie’s relationship between, oh, I don’t know, Lanie and me?”
“Fair enough . . . just think about it, OK?”
“Noted.”
“Great . . . OK . . . well, uh, yeah. Have a great day!” Di hangs up before I can respond, and I stare at my phone, trying to figure out if that conversation just happened or if I somehow have started dreaming while awake.
I look around me. People act completely normal, so hopefully, none of them heard that awkward conversation.
I look back down at the tablet on the counter, pretending to read something while trying to process what Di just said to me. She’s not wrong, necessarily. I know Lanie is going to overthink everything and we could be circling this thing between us for months if I don’t do something.
I’m deep in thought when someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn around and see Lanie standing there.
I have no idea what I’m doing, but just looking at her, smelling her, having her touch me, I need more, and I need it now.
Lanie
One minute I’m tapping Brix on the shoulder, and the next minute he has me by my arm. I’m not sure what’s happening, but the next thing I know, the door to my left flies open, and Brix pushes me inside. My eyes adjust as he shuts the door. A supply closet. All I can hear is our heavy breathing.
Neither of us says a word. Brix’s hands come up and cup my face. My body trembles with anticipation as his lips gently touch mine. It’s a ghost of a touch, permission. He’s asking permission.
Something in me snaps. I don’t want control anymore. I don’t want everything to be perfect. I just want him.
I lean forward, pressing my lips against his. It’s all he needs. His lips move against mine, his tongue coaxing my mouth to open. I comply. I’m lost to the sensations. God, it’s been too long. My tightly wound brain starts to count the months since I broke up with Steve Lanigan, my last boyfriend. I lose track at sixteen months. Has it been sixteen months already? But I quickly lose count as Brix’s hands move down my body. His right-hand finds my breast and pebbled nipple. He squeezes it, and I moan into his lips. His other hand grips my waist, pulling me flush against his hard body. I can feel his erection against my belly. Jesus. I need this. I need him right now, in this supply closet.
My hands begin to roam his body as his tongue dances with mine. He somehow has the art of being simultaneously gentle and firm mastered as he explores my mouth and my breast.
I grow bold with desire. My hand travels down the muscled plane of his chest, the perfect ridges of his abdomen, until it finds his erection straining against his scrubs. The lightweight hospital pants do little to hide the outline of his need. He’s thick and long against my hand as I grip it through the fabric. He groans and pushes against me. I hesitate, not knowing if it feels good or bad for him.
“Fuck, Lanie. Don’t stop,” he encourages as he nips at my lower lip.
I cautiously explore him, moving my hand up and down. He’s so hard that his length juts out away from his body. His left hand moves farther down to my hip, pushing my hand and his erection against me. I curse the fact that I have on a pencil skirt. I can’t move my legs, and the growing ache between them has me slowly losing my mind.
As if sensing my desire, his hand travels from my hip and pulls up my skirt enough that he can caress my inner thighs. I shiver from the contact as he runs a single finger along the edge of my panties. I squirm against him, needing more.
“I got you, angel,” he murmurs as he slowly pushes his finger inside my panties and traces the lips of my sex. I have never been so happy to have maintained a grooming routine, ever. He moans against my lips as his finger slowly separates my folds.
“Fuck, you are so wet.” He slides his finger back and forth between my clit and my opening. My eyes roll back in my head at the perfect sensation he’s creating. He pushes his finger inside me, and my hands fly to his arms to steady myself.
“Easy,” he whispers as he continues kissing me, while slowly working his finger in and out of my heat, going deeper each time. It only takes him a moment to curl his finger and find the spot that will make me lose my mind. His palm presses against my clit as his finger does something magical inside me. I feel all my muscles shaking.
“Let go, Lanie. I got you,” he says against my mouth. His other hand grips my ass, and I wrap my arms tightly around his neck and bury my face against his shoulder, biting it as I come completely undone in his arms.
It takes a long moment for me to come back to reality as he pulls his finger out of me and adjusts my panties and skirt. I keep my face buried against him, smelling his cologne and body wash. How can he smell so good? His hand that was gripping my ass slowly moves up my back.
“You OK?” he asks me. I nod, still not removing my face. I’m not sure what to say. This is so not like me. I don’t make out in closets at hospitals. Then it dawns on me. I should return the favor. I pull back to look at him, biting my lip as I bring my hand back to his erection. He closes his eyes and swallows.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know,” I whisper as I grip him a little tighter. I grow bolder and find the hem of his pants, pulling the string to allow me to get inside them. I find his length and wrap my fingers gingerly around it. He lets out a breath as I stroke him.
I’m about to pull his member free from his pants when the door flies open. I snatch my hand out of his pants like I’ve been caught grabbing a cookie from the cookie jar.
“Oh . . . uh . . . um . . . so sorry, I’ll come back,” a voice says from the doorway before the door is shut.
“Oh. My. God,” I mutter in complete mortification.
Brixton chuckles. “Maybe we should, uh, continue this at a later date,” he looks sheepishly at me. “Sorry, I got a little carried away.”
I bite my lip. “Me too.”
He brings a hand up and caresses my cheek. “I like you, Lanie.”
I look into his eyes. “You do?”
He nods. “A lot.”
I release my bottom lip and grin. “I like you, too, Dr. Crane.”
He laughs, and his hand travels back to my ass. He swats it playfully. “Let’s get out of here before I ravage you in this supply closet. You deserve more than a quickie at my work. I want to take my time with you.”
My eyes widen. “OK,” I murmur.
He kisses me gently on the lips and adjusts himself before walking to the door. He gazes at me before pulling the door open.
“Have dinner with me?” he asks.
“What time?”
“I get off at seven.”
“Seven-thirty?”
“Perfect.” He opens the door, and I give him a moment to leave before exiting. The hallway is thankfully devoid of people as I walk down to Ash’s room. Ash asks me to read to him, which takes up a good chunk of the day.
I look for Brixton as I go to leave, but he’s nowhere to be found. I press two and anxiously wait for the elevator to move. My foot taps involuntarily. I stop as a memory floods me.
“Tap your foot, or wriggle your toes. Focus on that, OK?” Dr. Penningbrook says as he sets up my treatment. It’s my first time getting a treatment, and he promised to be here. Dr. Penningbrook is my favorite doctor. He makes me laugh. He’s silly and plays games with me when he comes to check on me.
“Will it hurt?” I ask him, my eyes already filling with unshed tears.
“Just a pinch for a second.”
A tear escapes and runs down my cheek. He squeezes my hand, and I look up at him. His warm smile makes me feel a fraction better.
“You’re the bravest girl I know. You can do this,” he urges.
I close my eyes and nod.
“I’ll be fast, OK?”
I nod again and bite my lip.
“Focus on those toes,” he reminds me. I feel a pinch. I wriggle my toes faster.
The ping of the elevator door opening pulls me from my memory as I hurry to my car. Time to get home and . . . do some more grooming . . . and stuff. Ugh, dread washes over me as I come out of my post make-out haze. What if Brix doesn’t like me as much as I like him? What if he’s grossed out by scars? OK, he’s a doctor—that probably doesn’t bother him. I need to stop overthinking this. I’m about to pull out of my parking spot when a text pops up on my phone.
Di: Stop overthinking
I burst out laughing. The twin thing is real, and so is her point. Time to stop overthinking things.
Chapter Seventeen
Brixton
I’ve never been so laser-focused in my life. I need Lanie, and I need her now.
Thankfully, my patients keep me busy until it’s time for the end of my shift. I go through my notes with Dr. Lawrence, who’s taking over the next shift.
I practically run to my car. I race toward Banneker, Maryland. Traffic isn’t as heavy this time of day, and I get to Main Street faster than I anticipated.
I turn onto Maple Drive. The old homes are lit up by streetlights, giving it an Americana glow.
I stop my car and take a breath before going up to her side door and knocking on it.
“Come in,” Lanie’s voice calls out from inside.
I want to yell at her about locking her door, but I refrain as I enter the house and look for her. I don’t have to look for long. She’s in her kitchen, wearing an oversized, off-the-shoulder sweater and a pair of leggings.
The oven beeps, and she pulls out a lasagna. “I hope you like Italian. I ordered us some food from Rosa’s around the corner.”
“So, you didn’t cook it?”
She laughs. “I’m not much of a chef other than mac and cheese. I didn’t want to kill you.”
I grin at her. “Fair enough. And I’m starving.” I don’t mention that I’m starving for her, but I can wait thirty more minutes.
She leads me into the formal dining room like last time. It’s got burgundy paint on the top half of the walls, white wood-trimmed panels on the bottom half, and a tray ceiling. A crystal chandelier that is the same period as the house hangs above the table.
She has candles lit, and fine china decorates the table. A bottle of red wine sits on the table next to two crystal wine glasses.
“Wow,” I manage. “And I thought last time was impressive.”
Lanie’s face turns pink. “Sorry, I don’t have a lot of company. I may have gone a little overboard. I probably was overthinking things. I tend to do that.” She looks at the table setting and bites her lip.
I smile at her. “No, this is impressive. I don’t think you had restored the dining room when I dropped the soup off. And honestly, last time I ate here, I was in such a hurry to eat and then I got that call, I didn’t get a chance to look around.”
“Oh, right. I just finished a few weeks ago. It was hard to find someone to match the wood trim work.”
“I’m sure. Not a skill often used anymore.”
“True.”
“Please, have a seat.” Lanie motions to a chair across from us. I pull out the seat in front of us for her first. She smiles shyly and sits down. I join her, and she pours us wine as she tells me about her day. It seems like the most natural conversation in the world. Like we are a couple doing this every night.
Lanie talks more than she eats during dinner.
“Not hungry?” I ask her as I wipe my mouth.
She glances down at her half-empty plate. “I . . .” She trails off and looks up at me, taking a deep breath and straightening her shoulders. For a moment, I can see what opposing counsel must think of this magnificent woman when she enters the courtroom. She’s regal and commanding, but I sense deep insecurity.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, placing my hand over hers and caressing the back of it.
She closes her eyes for a moment. “I’m nervous,” she admits on a loud exhale of air.
“About?”
She clears her throat, and her gaze finally meets mine.
“I haven’t had sex in a long time,” she says quietly as she fidgets with her fork.
“Lanie, we don’t have to—”
“No, no. I want to. Hell, it’s all I’ve been thinking about since the closet today. And I may have been thinking about it before then, too. I . . . just don’t want you to be disappointed.”
I swallow, my worry deflating with each of her words. I look at her and squeeze her hand. “Lanie, there is no way you could ever disappoint me. And I can’t stop thinking about earlier either. It’s been a long afternoon.”
Her lips twitch with a smile. “Let me clear the plates,” she says as she reaches for mine. I stop her.
“I’ll help. You did all of this; cleaning is the least I can do.”
“Thanks.” She hands me her plate and picks up what’s left of the lasagna, salad, and bread. She places things in her fridge as I wash her china and set them in the drying rack.
Again, our movements and conversation seem so natural. There’s a small part of me that is scared shitless by the ease of this relationship.
Lanie
The second the last dish is washed and put away, I close my china cabinet and take a moment to build my courage. The crazy place settings may have been a little overkill. My nerves tick up a notch as I think of how few men have seen me naked, have seen the scars of my childhood disease. I’m not ashamed of them, but I am self-conscious, even after all this time. Again, I try to push down my nerves by reminding myself that Brix is a doctor. Scars are, like, his everyday life. No big deal.
I’m also afraid that I can’t live up to Brix’s expectations. He’s this worldly doctor who’s seen and experienced way more than I probably ever will. Fine, if I’m being honest with myself, it’s the fact that I can’t control what’s about to happen. That scares me more than anything.
I hear music coming from the living room. I walk toward it. I don’t see Brixto
n; I start to turn around to look for him when arms wrap around me. I yelp as Brix spins me around.
I giggle as he takes me in his arms, and we begin to dance to music that would have been popular when our grandparents were younger.
Then a slow song comes on, and he pulls me close. I wrap my arms around his neck, and we sway.
“You have no idea how beautiful you are,” he says softly as he leans in and places a gentle kiss on my lips.
The gentle kiss starts to speed toward a more frantic pace as his arms wrap tightly around my waist, pulling me flush against him. I feel his erection against my belly. My breasts press flush to his lower chest. He tastes of the wine we had at dinner.
I pull back slightly. “We didn’t have dessert yet. I have cannoli.”
His lips ghost along my jaw. “I have other plans for dessert.”
He scoops me up before I have time to respond. “Where’s your room, angel?”
“Upstairs, first door on the left,” I answer, completely caught off guard. He continues to feather kisses along my jaw and neck as he carries me up my stairs as though I weigh no more than a pillow.
I sigh against his lips as he kisses me once more before walking into my room. He sets me down on the bed.
A loud ‘meow’ brings us out of our lust.
“Sandy . . .” I scold as I shove her off the bed. She glares at me before swishing her giant tail and walking out of the room. “Sorry about that.” I look up at Brix.
“I didn’t know you had a cat.”
“Is that a problem?”
He shakes his head. “No, I like animals. Sandy, huh?”
I shrug.
“Like the movie, Grease?” he guesses.
I laugh. “Like the first female on the Supreme Court,” I correct.
“Ah. Yes, that makes a lot more sense. Now, where were we?” He starts to lean down toward me, and I stop him and stand up.
I run my finger along the buttons of his shirt. “May I?”
He nods, and I start undoing them. I haven’t done this in forever. It feels strange unbuttoning someone else’s shirt. He’s silent as I work on his shirt. Our breaths mingle in the air between us. When I finish, I push it off his shoulders and stare at the perfection that is Brixton Crane. Now, I’m no stranger to hot men. Hell, my little brother is a professional ballplayer. I’ve seen half the team without shirts on, but this is different. This man is so real.
