by Cara McKenna
“Good, Kelly.”
“Make me come. Make me come.” He begged with more than his words. He pleaded with his hips and eyes and the fingers digging into my thighs, with every twitch of every muscle in his huge body.
He grabbed my ass as the climax hit, jamming our bodies together, burying his cock so deep I winced through a cramp. Three times he tensed, before his grip relaxed, traveling up my waist to stroke my back. His smile was sudden and guileless, catching me off guard.
He muttered a disbelieving, “Oh, sweetheart,” then dropped his forehead to my collarbone and sighed. The affection was a pleasant surprise, and I was glad he couldn’t see how poor a job I was doing, biting back a dopey grin. I stroked his hair, feeling how his flaring breaths slowed alongside the fingertips caressing my back.
He cleared his throat and raised his head. “Damn.”
“You’re welcome?”
He kissed my mouth. “That was amazing.”
Ever cagey, I deflected. “How very gracious of you to let me be on top.”
Kelly gave me a dry look. “I’m not into weak women, you know.” He flipped us over like I weighed no more than a pillow, kneeling between my legs and stripping the condom in a practiced motion.
“No?”
“Nah. Quite the opposite. I like tough girls, ones with a little crust to them.”
“Oh lovely,” I said, faking annoyance. “I’m crusty now.”
Kelly reached under me, urging me to arch my back. He fingered my vertebrae like piano keys. “I love how every time I push you, you go all stiff, right here. I like a girl with a rock-hard spine.”
“All the more fun to dominate, I’m sure.”
“Snark all you want, but it’s true.” Kelly braced himself on his elbows, leaning in to kiss my forehead.
“I trust I proved a worthy challenge.”
He sat back on his heels, squeezing my calves as he gathered his thoughts. “When I was about twenty-four, I was sort of dating this stripper—”
“Of course you were.”
“I was bouncing weekends at this topless bar for a few months, and I knew all the girls who danced there. They came from all kinds of backgrounds—plenty of them were what you’d expect, desperate or worn out, or supporting some habit or other. But this one chick, she had a spine made of fucking iron. She didn’t take shit from anybody, and it fucking blew my mind.”
I ignored the hot snake of jealousy wriggling in my gut. He was talking about someone he’d known fifteen years ago, after all, plus I didn’t want to miss a new clue into who this man was and how he’d gotten that way, just because it made me insecure.
“I mean, my mom was a complete doormat,” he said. “That was my female role model—a woman who couldn’t defend herself or her kid. I’d never met a girl as bullshit-proof as this dancer. It made me want her so bad, just knowing . . .”
“Just knowing she’d put up a fight.”
“Nah. Just knowing like, this chick doesn’t let any guy between her legs unless she fucking wants him there. I’d gotten so used to muscling my way through life, it was like some revelation. The first woman where I thought, damn, I want to earn my way into a taste of that.”
“This is a very romantic anecdote, Kelly.”
“Shush. And I did eventually get with her. I wasn’t her boyfriend, I don’t think, but we had a thing, for a while. It just blew my mind, to be with this woman that I knew didn’t roll over for anybody. I mean, I saw this girl naked every day I was at work, but it was like the armor never came off. And I wanted to get under there, even more than I wanted to get with her.”
“Did you?”
“No. I never really did, but it still completely changed how I felt about women.”
“Did you try to like, rescue her from herself?”
“Maybe, yeah. That was sort of the only role I knew, at the time. But this woman didn’t want or need rescuing. If any guy tried to help her, there went her entire identity, you know? If she wasn’t in control, she was nothing, in her mind.”
“That sounds like someone I know.” I’d meant Kelly, but the second the words came out, I realized they could just as easily apply to me.
“I swear she had fucking rebar instead of bone marrow.”
“What happened with you two?”
He shrugged. “She got bored of me, I think. Or got bored of me like, worshipping her. Told me to fuck off and give her some space, so I did. Found a different job.”
“Did you love her?”
He shook his head, and I believed him. “I sort of loved how she was, but she never let me get that close. I dunno what she was really like, under that armor.”
Have you ever been in love? I wanted to ask. “And why are you telling me about some hard-hearted stripper you banged fifteen years ago, when I was nice enough to get your rocks off, twice in one morning?”
“Twice so far,” Kelly corrected. “And just so you’ll know, I didn’t come after you because I think you’re weak, like I’m looking for some easy lay. It’s ’cause I like how you tense up, the second we start butting heads.” He smiled. “You’re all soft on the outside, barbed wire on the inside. Gets me hard, knowing you wouldn’t let just any guy take you to bed.”
“And here I thought you only wanted a challenge. But maybe you just need to feel special . . .?”
He smirked at me, then sat up. “That’s enough pillow talk. I need a shower.”
I watched him go, a tower of lean muscle and scar tissue camouflaging more secrets than I’d realized.
Chapter Eleven
Saturday dawned way too soon.
I woke at the brush of Kelly’s fingertips through my hair, my eyes opening to find him standing beside the bed with a towel around his waist.
“Nooo,” I moaned, turning over.
“Time for school, kid. Get your butt in the shower.”
I heard him moving and sat up so I wouldn’t miss the free show. He draped his towel over the doorknob, and I watched his back and arms flex as he dressed in his Larkhaven gray. I bit my lip, wondering if it would turn him into work Kelly, all cool and civil and alert, or if that metamorphosis didn’t happen until he passed through the institution’s gates.
Once dressed, he gathered jeans and a spare shirt to change into after our shift, then turned to me. His look said, Time’s a-wastin’. He nodded toward the door.
I complied with a sigh and swung my legs to floor. I’d been so annoyed by that leave-a-woman-half-crippled comment he’d made, yet as I hobbled to the bathroom on sore hips, if anything I felt proud of my sexual war wounds. I’d never before gotten so laid I couldn’t walk properly, and it felt smugly pleasing, like a post-workout soreness. Only times a thousand.
I was dressed by a quarter past six, and we only had time for coffee and cereal.
“I can’t believe you eat Cheerios,” I told Kelly as we sat at the counter. “It seems way too wholesome.”
“What’d you picture?”
“I dunno. Raw steaks?”
“You got a lotta weird preconceptions about me.”
As I ate, I wondered whose court the ball would be left in, once we climbed into our separate vehicles and headed to work.
I wanted to do this again. Intensely.
But if he’d targeted me because I seemed hard to get, maybe his fun was over. I hoped not. Though after that little talk we’d had in his bed, about how he had a hard-on for scrappy women, I hadn’t caught any more glimpses of forthcoming Kelly, not the man who’d told me about his fathers over breakfast the previous morning, or begged me to make him come.
We’d had sex, made lunch, had more sex, ordered Chinese food for dinner and watched The Deer Hunter, had more sex and passed out. He’d fluctuated between mean and generous and rough and desperate, but I hadn
’t been privy to another glimpse of that inner Kelly. I must have short-circuited his brain with that one orgasm, fucked the armor right off him and sent it clattering to the floor, if only for a few minutes.
In any case, it seemed eagerness was the wrong card to play, if I wanted another two-day debauchery seminar in my future. I’d go back to how we’d been, me playing the nonplussed skeptic to balance Kelly’s bullish machismo. That game was fun, after all. And I didn’t feel bad playing games with him; it wasn’t as if I were trying to land him as a boyfriend. A bit of manipulation seemed fair when the prize was as simple and equitable as nasty-good sex.
It was raining when we left his place, and Kelly followed me to my car, tenting his hoodie over me in lieu of an umbrella.
“Thanks,” I said, dropping into my driver’s seat.
Folding his jacket under his arm, he crouched at my open door. “Have a good time?”
I nodded. “Thanks for that, too.”
He smiled dryly. “I’d kiss you, but you got that raccoon look back on your face.”
Huh? What look? If I knew how, I’d have erased it. If I’d known I was going to get kissed good-bye, I wouldn’t have strapped on my Kelly-proof vest so soon. Damn it. But I’d committed to our going back to how we’d been, so I ran with it. “I’ll see you at hand-off.”
He stood. “Drive safe,” he said, and shut my door.
My car had become moody of late, especially when it rained, but I got it running after a couple of attempts. I flipped my lights and wipers on, watching Kelly in my rearview as I pulled away from the curb. His light gray shirt was dark at the shoulders from the rain, and as he climbed into his truck I thought he was just about the most handsome man I’d ever seen. It was a sad thought. There was a chance I might never get to be with him again, but at least I’d enjoyed those couple of days.
As I drove, the melancholy I’d known I’d feel kicked in. The weather didn’t help. But this was the price I’d willingly shelled out to play tourist in Kelly’s sexuality, and having been there and done that and bought the tee shirt, I could assure myself it was worth it.
But it always sucked a little when vacation came to an end.
I didn’t see Kelly on the drive, nor in the lot when I arrived at work. I even dawdled a bit, hoping we might walk into the building together, but maybe he’d given me a few minutes’ head start on purpose, for discretion. The rain was heavier now, and I ran for the employee entrance, soaked by the time I reached the awning. At least the weather made for a good excuse, should anyone spot my car and raise an eyebrow over the fact that I’d driven to work this morning, when I normally walked the five minutes from the apartments.
The locker room felt weird. The clean scrubs I changed into felt weird, too. The last two days had transformed me, and why shouldn’t they have? It’d been over a year since my last boyfriend. In that time I’d forgotten how opened up it can make you feel, relating to somebody flesh to flesh that way. Kelly and I had basically spent all of Thursday and Friday in one long, carnal conversation. No wonder my body felt hoarse.
When I got into the sign-in room, I was surprised to find my name already written in the nurses’ area. In the duties slot someone had noted, Admission—see DF. That’d be Dennis.
Admission. I shivered, dropping instantly into work mode.
Admission meant a new resident, maybe an entrance interview. Given that three-quarters of Starling’s patients were what administration called 401s—401 being the state’s code for involuntary hospitalization—any newcomer to the ward was nearly guaranteed to be two things: dangerous enough to be forced to come here against his will, and not at all happy about that fact.
I had ten minutes before hand-off was due to start, so I went straight to Dennis’s office on the second floor, knocking on the window. He waved me in.
“Erin, good morning.”
“Morning.”
“Have a seat.”
I wheeled a chair up to his desk.
“You saw my note, I take it. Ready for an adventure?”
“Sure,” I lied. I didn’t feel ready at all. I felt wrung out for completely unprofessional reasons, but at least I hadn’t been warned. If I had, I’d have spent the hours leading up to this playing a theoretical movie in my mind, trying to game the scenario.
“Jenny says you’re starting to really find your way on the ward. With the residents.”
“Oh.” Really finding my way? I hadn’t been sexually threatened by any new foodstuffs, but I didn’t think that counted as exemplary progress. “Well, that was nice of her. Um, thank you.”
“And I remember Jenny mentioned you were considering pursuing a BSN . . . ?”
I blushed, nodding. Back in school, I’d made noncommittal noises about going for my RN someday, if I enjoyed the actual day to day reality of nursing. But my advisor had insisted I ought to aim even higher, and Jenny had echoed the sentiment. “I’m giving it some thought.”
“So you’re interested in the higher-level responsibilities of psychiatric nursing.”
“I am.” I was warming to this invitation, nerves banished by the praise and a chance to prove myself. Deep down I was a terminal teacher’s pet.
“We’ve got a new resident joining us this morning, a referral from the ER, previously en route to Cousins.” Cousins Correctional Facility, Dennis meant, a medium-security prison a couple of towns over. “Short-term, we hope, but that’ll be for Dr. Morris to decide.”
“Do you know what he did to get arrested?”
“Dr. Morris will debrief you, before the interview.”
“Oh, sure. Okay.”
“You’ll only be in there to observe, get a sense of how the admission process works here. Just be quiet and take notes if you want, and you’ll probably be ignored. If your presence is upsetting to the patient, you’ll simply be asked to leave.”
“Right.”
“If I were you, I’d pay close attention and be prepared to give your diagnosis and treatment plan to Dr. Morris once the patient has left.”
My eyes went wide. “Uh . . .”
Dennis smiled. “Don’t worry—you’ll probably get it wrong. Way wrong. But then Dr. Morris can walk you through his own interpretations of the patient’s symptoms. Give you some insight into how we come up with the pharma regimens we do, how we choose roommates, how we predict length of stay and so forth.”
“Okay. That sounds very interesting.” And intimidating. What if I told Dr. Morris I thought the guy was suicidal and should be prescribed antidepressants, but it turned out he was just lethargic from a Haldol dosage or something?
“Don’t worry. It’s not a test, just an opportunity to learn. Just don’t let any of those psychiatrists talk you into abandoning nursing in favor of some fancy white coat.”
Yeah, right. Me and what med school tuition? “Only if it’s a straightjacket,” I countered with that patented Starling sarcasm, and I took Dennis’s cue, getting to my feet. His outstretched hand invited me to precede him through the door.
He checked his watch. “Coffee time, methinks. The admission interview’s scheduled for nine thirty, so go ahead with your usual rounds until nine, then head to Dr. Morris’s office on S1 and he’ll prep you.”
We got to hand-off a minute late, but I figured I wasn’t busted, since I was walking in with the ward supervisor.
I spotted Kelly across the circle of staff, his cold eyes fixed on one of the overnight doctors, who was rattling through recent developments. Kelly’s arms were crossed over his chest as always, and I stole glances at the shapes of his shoulders and biceps, trying to square this man with the one I’d spent the past couple of days with. All this gray calm versus the frantic, flushed body that had owned mine on the floor, the couch, in his bed. That cool, unwavering expression versus the way he’d averted his eyes when he’d
told me about his biological father.
He didn’t look at me once during the meeting. I hoped he wasn’t going to overcompensate for our unprofessional extracurricular activities by ignoring me from now on. Frankly, I’d been hoping we might share a subtle, knowing glance or two. Nothing seedy enough to distract me from my job, but something.
What I got was a pleasant, neutral, “Good morning,” as the meeting disbanded.
“Morning, Kelly.”
“Enjoy your days off?”
I bit back my smile. “Yes, thanks. You?”
“Yup.”
“Do anything special?”
“Oh, you know. Some work around the house.”
Yes, indeed. Nailing, drilling, screwing.
“Sounds productive,” I said, and we broke away. Kelly headed to the residents’ quarters, I for the nurses’ booth.
That little exchange kept me feeling all mischievous and cheerful through morning meds, and even Lonnie couldn’t put a crimp in my mood.
“Your hair looks different, kid.”
“It shouldn’t. I didn’t do anything special, except get rained on.” That and having it fisted and pulled and mashed into Kelly’s pillow.
“It’s different. I liked it better before,” Lonnie announced, then downed his cup of pills like a shot of bourbon and headed for the dining room.
The morning was quiet—so quiet I could hear the caffeine ticking through my veins to the exact rhythm of my anxiety. At two minutes of nine I headed down to S1 for my special assignment.
Dr. Morris was the most senior psychiatrist in our building; late forties, an intimidating, decisive type, with a crisp and competent air. He would’ve been handsome, with his dignified, prematurely silver hair and pale blue eyes, except I found him impossible to relax around. I’d only interacted with him during hand-off meetings, where he spoke quickly and clearly, and nodded with his gaze on the ground as he listened to everyone else’s reports. But Jenny respected him, and she was a tough crowd when it came to the doctors, so I suspected he knew his stuff.
