by Dee Palmer
I can’t breathe for long seconds as he swells and throbs in the back of my throat and when my tummy clenches with the first reflex to gag, he pulls back. I suck in short breaths, because he is quick to slams back inside…again and again, fucking my face until my lips are swollen, and my face is soaked with tears. He’s relentless, and I love every second. I suck him down again and again, moaning and humming around his cock every time he holds himself so deep, it makes my toes curl.
“I want you to swallow every drop,” he grits out through his teeth in warning, but, really, he’s buried so deep down my throat, I know it’s not really a choice. His hips jerk, and I feel the first rush of warm liquid hit the back of my tongue. The soft vein against my lips pulses and swells, pumping everything he has to give into my eager mouth. I can feel him filling me, and I swallow again and again, until the tension leaves his body, and he pulls his still hard cock from my lips.
I wipe my bruised lips with the back of my hand and take the hand he offers, helping me to my feet.
“Wow,” I drag my bottom lip into my mouth through my teeth, heat burning my cheeks as the awkward aftermath of regret rears its ugly head. He stands close, and I have to tilt back to meet his dark gaze, looking up as he looks down.
“Yeah, wow.” His thumb brushes my bottom lip, and he hums, a satisfied sexy sound that makes me smile. I’m happy.
It’s brief, only lasting a second, max.
“You need to make up your mind, Regan.” Joel straightens to his full height but doesn’t step away.
“Make up my mind? About what?” I push my hand to his chest to move him away as I suddenly feel a little claustrophobic.
“Us.” He states as if it’s too obvious to have to say out loud.
“There is no us.” I push a little harder since he didn’t budge the first time.
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“There is no us.” I repeat slowly for effect. He steps back, nodding with wry amusement.
“Riiight, okay, then. In that case…always a pleasure, Regan.”. He rectifies his clothing situation and steps away, holding the door open long enough to wink and give a two-fingered salute back at me before disappearing. My mouth gapes, and I just stand there with my scrubs around my knees, feeling the shame of a thousand whores drenching my slutty soul.
“You did what?” Cameron sits bolt upright, swiftly swinging his long legs from hanging over the edge of my sofa. His dark hair momentarily covers his shocked, piercing blue eyes. Where Harper is the sister I’d always hoped Raleigh would’ve been, Cameron is the brother I never had. He’s also very easy on the eyes. Tall, lean, muscular in all the right proportions, and is the sweetest human on the planet. He does just enough modelling to pay the bills and defer any need to actually decide what he wants to do with his life. He’s the picture postcard of laid-back, easy-going, and fun. He and Harper survived a one-night stand seven years ago, and he’s been a welcome fixture in both our lives since then. I’m still undecided whether they are polar opposites or destined to end up together.
“Oh, Cam, didn’t you know Regan is a slut like us now?” Harper sits next to Cameron, knee-to-knee, waving the bottle of Chardonnay at me, like I’m Exhibit A in her prosecution.
“About time someone gave you a run for your money, Harper.” Cameron nudges Harper, and she twists to the side to face him, arches an accusatory brow high, and with a good deal of pride lighting her flawless face, she retorts.
“Pot, Kettle, are you jealous?”
“Completely, I feel like a monk. I haven’t had sex in”—he looks at his watch—“seven hours.”
“And I’ve had sex once in the last ten weeks, and before that, I honestly can’t remember, so you two can both breathe a sigh of relief. I’m not after your titles.” I flop back into the only armchair, regretting my revelation. Harper’s like a bloodhound for gossip, and Cameron would sulk if he found out I’d shared this juicy information with Harper and not him. He needs more male friends.
“Yours wouldn’t qualify anyway. Same person twice doesn’t count as a slut.” Harper starts to uncork the fresh bottle of wine, screwing into the top like it’s her day job.
“Same person twice is a committed relationship in my book.” Cameron winks at me, and I roll my eyes.
“And I’m stunned you’ve not been scooped up, Cam, you’re such a catch.” He may be my best friend, but he redefines the term commitmentphobe.
“Ah, thanks.”
“He never gets my sarcasm.” I wrinkle my face with amusement, conspiratorially whispering behind my hand at Harper.
“He’s pretty but not very bright,” Harper mouths back.
“I heard that! We can’t all have scored a gazillion in our SATs,” he grumbles, taking a large scoop of fiery peanuts from the table and scarfing the entire handful in one cheek-swelling mouthful. He has really big hands.
“Did you even take SATs?” I ask.
“With this face and this body, what do you think?” He leans his large, trim frame back and stretches his arms the length of the sofa. He is stunning, and confidence oozes from every perfect pore on his drop-dead gorgeous body.
“You know, Cam, I think you’d give Joel a run for his money in the arrogance department.”
“Lucky you love me, then, or I might be getting the cold shoulder too.”
“I’m not giving him the cold shoulder.”
“Not with warm, wide open legs you’re not.”
“Harper!”
“Sorry, but when he returned from down under last year, you were adamant you wouldn’t go there again, and here you are, fucking him in the supply cupboard. Classy.” She takes a long sip of her wine, eyeing me cautiously for my reaction. I honestly think I’ve given too much away as it is. I try and school my features and rectify her geography.
“It was New Zealand not Australia.”
“Because that’s the pertinent point here, which country he lived in. Not the fact that you’re clocking up some serious frequent flyer miles on Dr Dick.”
“Frequent? You mean this wasn’t the only time?” Cameron interjects. “Nooo, Regan! How could you?”
“You’ve actually seen him, right?” I counter. Harper shrugs, her expression acknowledging my self-explanatory tone. Cameron’s shrug is more dismissive. “You’ve met him, spoken to him. He’s utterly charming, funny, engaging, intelligent, and—” I stop myself, because this list is coming way too easily, and their eyes are widening with all sorts of assumptions. I puff out a breath and try to laugh off what I fear is now going through their heads. “It’s just sex, guys, feral, animalistic fucking, and very occasionally angry fucking, so trust me, I haven’t fallen or anything like that, I promise. It’s just all that is quite distracting for a celibate nurse, coupled with me actually working with him when he’s being all adorable with the children, not to mention, he does actually save lives.”
“You save lives,” Cameron offers, reaching for the bottle of wine with one hand and more peanuts with the other.
“Providing snacks and alcohol doesn’t count.”
“It does to us,” Harper adds, and Cam nods enthusiastically.
“You are always here for us, and you always have wine, a definite lifesaver. Here, let me top you up.”
“No, no more for me.” I place my hand over the rim of my half-full glass just as Cameron is about to pour.
“Ruby’s staying over with Ophelia; have another glass.” Harper eases the glass from under my hand and holds it for Cameron to do the honours.
“I don’t like to drink when she’s not here, just in case she might need me.”
“It’s not like you have to drive, Regan. She’s next door.” Cameron fills the glass to just below the rim and hands it back.
“I’m good, thanks.” I take the glass and place it on the low table. It’s full now, but I’m not going to drink anymore, but I know it won’t go to waste.
“I think we need a girls’ night out,” Harper declares in a tone that
makes my face scrunch with dread.
“Um…” My reticence speaks volumes as the familiar sinking feeling of recalling all the times Harper has tried to hook me up hits me. Harper would end up three sheets to the wind, hitting on every guy with a pulse, and I would be painfully sober and praying for the superpower of invisibility, time travel, or even amnesia to erase our ‘girls’ night out’.
“Thanks, Harper, I’d love to.” Cameron grins wickedly.
“I know you’re not the sharpest tool, Cameron, but even you know you’re not a girl, right?”
“I’m coming with you. If it makes you feel better, I’ll tuck my tool away.” He slides his hand down the front of his sweatpants and blatantly does some rearranging.
“Cameron Parker, stop masturbating!” Harper strategically places one of my cushions over his crotch.
“Trust me, Harper, you’d know if I was masturbating.”
“I’m not sure,” I say.
“About the tool tucking or the night out?” Harper asks.
“The night out. I’m trying to suppress the visual of Cameron tool tucking.”
“When was the last time you cut loose?” Cameron asks, finally lifting his hand free of his pants and grabbing a fresh handful of nuts. The irony isn’t lost on me or Harper. We both lean forward and push the bowl of nuts along the table so they are no longer for sharing. Gross.
I reach for my phone and pull up my diary app. It’s pathetically blank, except for Ruby’s schedule.
“The fact that you have to scroll through your calendar is all kinds of tragic, Regan.” Harper reaches over and squeezes my knee. I take the small offer of comfort even if her comment stings. I know she didn’t mean anything by it.
“I have Ruby and a full-time job. Oh, and no money.”
“You also have a life of your own.” Cameron slides away from Harper and pats the seat. I fill the gap he created and fall into his warm embrace. He pulls me back against the sofa and into a very welcome hug. Harper cuddles along my other side, rests her head on my shoulder, and we rest in an easy, comfortable silence.
“You have some money,” Harper says after a while.
“That’s not my money.”
“What money?” Cameron asks.
“Ruby’s trust fund.” Harper answers for me, and I wish she hadn’t. I’m not so broke I’d need to dip into what wasn’t mine for a night out.
“Ruby has a trust fund? How the hell did that happen?” Cameron sits forward and turns back to face me. He looks hurt, which is crazy. It’s not that I’m keeping secrets. They know everything there is to know about me. Only this isn’t really about me; this is about Ruby. I only told Harper because she was at Raleigh’s apartment helping me move when Ivan showed up out of the blue.
“Ivan Strosvik was one of the potential fathers. He’s super rich in a dodgy way, I think. He genuinely wanted to be the father, and Raleigh didn’t exactly leave me a list of daddies. Honestly, with the shock and trauma of everything, I was sort of hoping the father would show up and lend a hand. I agreed to the paternity test, but it turned out he wasn’t the daddy.”
“He gave Regan half a million dollars to raise her.” Harper sips her wine, her face a picture of innocence as she drop the grenade between Cameron and me.
“What? And you took it? What did you have to give him for that kind of money?” Cameron snaps, and my hackles rise to the insinuation in his tone.
“I didn’t give him anything, Cameron, and thank you for thinking so highly of me.”
“Oh, god, Reggie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… It’s just, that’s a lot of money.”
“Not to him,” I point out as a matter of fact. “He didn’t want anything in return, and I didn’t want to take the money. I did it for Ruby. I turned him down at first. He seems to understand how uncomfortable his offer made me, and then he quite rightly pointed out this wasn’t about me. He said I should take the money for Ruby, to help with college, or a buy a house, or whatever. The fact was this money meant nothing to him, and it would mean the world to Ruby. I couldn’t argue, and when he added that he spent more on his New Year’s Eve party, I caved. Raleigh left nothing for Ruby. I didn’t really have a choice.” Cameron and Harper wrap their arms around my shoulders in a tangle of long limbs and hug the life out of me. Cameron kisses my cheek.
“You did the right thing,” Harper says, and Cameron nods. I know I did, and five years later, I question my reticence back then, when now I know there’s not a single thing I wouldn’t do for that brave little girl.
“I only have one question.” Cameron’s devilish grin gives him away.
“It’s about getting an invite to his New Year’s party, isn’t it?” Harper narrows her eyes at Cam, spot on with her guess.
“What? Don’t tell me you wouldn’t want to go?” He holds up his hands in surrender as we both attack, wrestling him back and rolling in a heap on to the floor. The doorbell interrupts before he can tap out and avoid death by tickle.
“Count yourself lucky, Cameron.” I jump to my feet and head for the front door. I pause and turn as Harper still struggles with Cameron, trying to get to his very ticklish underarm.
“Can we not share this with the others, please?” We’re a close group, and I dearly love my friends, but you never really know people, and as absolute trust goes, mine begins and ends in this room.
“Of course.” Cameron looks comically affronted at my comment.
“Lips sealed, babe. You know me.” Harper locks her lips and throws the key over her shoulder. I can’t help raising my brow with incredulity. “Oh, come on, Cameron doesn’t count.” She waves off my silent accusation.
“Thanks.” His bottom lip drops in an exaggerated pout.
“Not what I meant, Cam.” She ruffles his hair and pulls his lip out, releasing it with a pop. “We are keepers of all the secrets, Reggie. You can trust us.”
“And I do, with my life.” A loud impatient knock makes me jump and grimace. “Pizza’s here.”
“Pizza was here five minutes ago.” Cameron calls after me as I dash to the door before the delivery person aborts his mission.
“Hey, Ruby-Roo, come and give me a hug.” Dr Chan enters the small consulting room and drops to her knees. She offers up her sweetest smile, which cuts no ice with my daughter. The check-ups may have reduced in frequency to a more positive quarterly set of blood tests, but they are still blood tests, and Ruby is not a fan. Although Dr Chan is probably her favourite physician to date—and by favourite, I mean she gives her the silent treatment and hasn’t bitten her…yet. There is nothing more heartbreaking than pinning Ruby to my chest while she howls in agony as blood is drawn from her tiny arm each month and the fact that it’s now every three months doesn’t make it any easier.
“Maybe next time.” Dr Chan fishes in her pocket for a lollipop and hands it to me. I bite back a knowing smirk, and I’m a little ashamed that I’m fully aware of the reason she’s reluctant to hand the treat directly to Ruby. She’s a biter. It’s a self-defence thing. She’s distraught, in pain, and in floods of tears, yet I still have to scold her, and I feel like a complete monster. I deal with sick children everyday, and it never gets easy. It’s very often heartbreaking, yet that’s nothing compared to the impotent desperation and desolation of caring for one’s own.
Ruby was born early, almost two months early and has had BDP, bronchopulmonary dysplasia since birth. Her lungs were damaged at birth by the use of the ventilator and oxygen, and now she frequently struggles with her breathing. In many cases, as the patient gets older, the damage may correct itself, and with every check-up, I hope the doctor will tell me exactly that. She also has an impaired immune system and seems to catch any bug within a ten block radius. To my constant astonishment neither of these things affect her zest, infectious joy, and ability to exponentially enrich my life every single day.
Dr Chan steps around Ruby who has her arms double folded awkwardly over her chest, her dark scowl evidence of her dislike of anyo
ne donning a white lab coat and wielding a needle.
“I need to take another sample, Regan, I’m sorry.” Dr Chan whispers in my ear, but even if she’d mouthed the words silently, Ruby has had enough of these check-ups to know something bad is about to happen. She rushes to the far corner of the room and starts to shake her head. I get a sick swell in my stomach, and even though I feel the colour drain from my face, I force my brightest smile. I move my position so the good doctor has her back to Ruby and keep my smile fixed and ask very quietly in my most upbeat tone I can muster.
“Why?”
“I just want to send off for a few extra tests.” Our voices are almost inaudible.
“Because?” I hate to be a ballbreaker here, but there has to be a damn good reason for subjecting Ruby to more pain.
“Her cell count is a little low.” She tilts her head with understanding, and I half want to push it back upright. I don’t need to see that sympathetic tilt, not today, not ever.
“White or red?”
“White count is elevated, but RBCs are low, as are her platelets. It’s most likely another infection, but I want to make sure.” Dr Chan shows me the results of Ruby’s most recent test.
“Of course,” Oh, god, Oh, god! I suck in a deep, steady breath that does nothing to calm the chaos of anxiety and fear. I hate my job. I hate that my job means I know all the worst outcomes before I can begin to recall the optimistic ones. I look over at Ruby who is now mumbling a mantra of no- no -no with an occasional, no way, Momma, for added emphasis and guilt. “You’re not going to get anywhere near her, you know that, don’t you?” I state and Dr Chan slowly nods her agreement. She taps her pen on her bottom lip, regarding Ruby warily.
“What do you suggest?”
“Chloroform.” I quip, fear trumping my ability to filter the connection from brain to mouth.
