by Cassia Leo
I coil my legs around his waist and pull him closer so I can feel his warm cock against my wet slit. “Fuck me, Samuel,” I breathe into his mouth.
His lips graze my jaw as he moves down to kiss my neck, but he doesn’t answer my plea. With superhuman patience, he continues slowly kissing his way down my shoulder, over my chest, paying special attention to my nipples before he reaches my navel.
There is a mischievous glint in his eyes as he kisses my pubic mound. But after that, his full attention is on my pleasure. He works his way slowly around the crease of my thigh, planting sensual kisses on every part of my skin, from the small patch of hair above my slit to the smooth skin on my bottom and inner thighs.
The anticipation is driving me crazy. I grip the counter, hardly able to breathe as he finally lays a soft kiss on my clit.
“Is this what you want?” he taunts me as he runs the tip of his finger down my slit, and uses it to massage my entrance.
I nod. “Oh, yes.”
He slides his finger inside me a few times before removing it and holding it up curiously, then he slips the dripping wet appendage into his mouth. It comes out clean.
“Oh, God. Please, Samuel. Please make me come.”
And with that, he lifts both of my legs over his shoulders and my ass makes a squeaking noise as he slides me closer to the edge of the counter to devour me. Leaning back with my hands splayed against the cold, white marble, I stop breathing for a while as the orgasm steamrolls over me. When it’s over, my legs are still twitching and my vision is slightly blurred. Lights dance before my eyes as I gasp for oxygen.
“Holy shit,” I pant, as I try to catch my breath.
But Samuel seems to have other plans.
He stands up straight and slides his hands under my butt to lift me off the counter. I latch onto his neck and coil my legs around his hips as he thrusts into me. Using the sheer strength in his muscled arms, he pushes my hips back and forth, so he’s fucking me as he carries me to the bedroom.
We leave the bedroom only once for the rest of the night, to take a shower and refuel with some water and a plate of charcuterie. And as I lay my head on his shoulder, he tells me a bedtime story I’m sure I’ll never forget. It’s the story of the moment he realized he was falling in love with me.
“When I asked you if you were speaking to me as my therapist or as Leah, and you said you’d be anything I needed you to be, that was the moment everything shifted inside me,” he says as he strokes my shoulder. “That was when I knew I was falling in love with you. And I knew you were falling in love with me. But it wasn’t until today, I realized just how fucking lucky I am to be here with you right now. Even if it’s just for tonight. I was lucky to feel your love, because it’s not just any kind of love. I can see it in your face when you talk about your sister. How you lost her changed your life. You became a doctor so others might not ever have to feel the pain you felt. That is not just your typical kind of love. That’s what selfless love looks like.
“Leah, the way you love is an art form. And that’s why, after tomorrow, I will not come back here. I will not call you or message you. But I will show up for you at the disciplinary hearing. And I will do everything in my power to make sure you can continue practicing medicine. So you can continue expressing your love.”
I lift my head slightly, wiping my spent tears off his collar bone as I plant a kiss on the side of his neck. “It’s actually just an assessment hearing. Not a disciplinary hearing yet. But thank you.”
He kisses my forehead and squeezes my shoulders. “Good night, little bird.”
Chapter 6
I received the notice of the impending assessment from the Washington State Department of Health two weeks ago. Now, as I roam the shops at the Tumwater Town Center, waiting for my scheduled meeting with the medical commission, I feel lost.
The Christmas spirit is alive in the tinsel-splashed storefronts touting holiday sales; the aroma of pumpkin spice lattes wafting from the café next to me; the sparkling lights circling the lampposts like giant candy canes; and the sharp scent of pine from the thirty-foot tall Christmas tree being erected in the center of the courtyard, in preparation for tomorrow’s Christmas tree lighting festival.
Today, the medical commission will decide if they should dismiss the complaint Linda and Bernard had a duty to report. They didn’t want to file the complaint, but I insisted they do so. I didn’t want any questions to be raised in the future about whether I should still be practicing. Though, I feel my behavior should result in, at worst, a temporary suspension, my feelings are clearly not a reliable method of prognostication. At least, not when it comes to issues concerning Samuel Paxson.
I waited impatiently for the past two weeks, since Linda and Bernard filed their complaint. I can’t stop thinking about the possibilities. It’s possible to have your medical license suspended for simply failing to respond to written communication from the medical commission. I’m not looking forward to finding out what they do to doctors who screw their patients.
I enter the glass-covered Department of Health building, and my heart skips a beat when I see Samuel exiting the disciplinary chamber on the second floor. He looks somewhat agitated, but if I’m being honest, I’ve never really seen him agitated, so I could be misinterpreting the furrow in his brow and the way his jaw is set. We both stop for a moment, staring at each other with about thirty feet of distance between us. Finally, the wrinkle in his brow melts and the left corner of his mouth tugs upward.
I take a deep breath and continue toward him. “I’m so sorry you had to do this,” I begin, ready to continue with my apology, but he holds up a finger to stop me.
He shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize. As I just told the commission, I kept my identity anonymous from you until after our…flirtation began. The blame should rest squarely on my shoulders, as you played no part in it.”
I smile at the way he’s innocently tweaked the truth to protect me. “Thank you,” is all I can say, afraid we’re being watched.
He looks me up and down the way he always does, as if he’s mentally undressing me. “You look beautiful today. Are you ready for the holidays?”
I chuckle at this attempt at small talk, something neither of us have ever engaged in together. “Actually, believe it or not, I’m not in much of a holiday mood this year. It’s… It’s actually the first year I haven’t put up a Christmas tree. It sounds weird, but it makes me feel…slightly lost.” I let out a heavy sigh. “But, I’m sure the holiday cheer will kick in soon.”
“An eternal optimist. You never cease to amaze me,” he says as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his slacks, as if he’s trying to stop himself from touching me. “Well, I hope the hearing goes well. But most of all, I hope you get your spirit back. Take care, little bird.”
The longing to reach for him as he walks away feels like a physical ache in every part of my body. Somehow, I manage to resist. But as I walk toward the door that Samuel just exited from, I can’t help but look back at him over my shoulder. And an overwhelming sense of peace comes over me when he looks back at the same time and winks.
I peel off my waterproof trench coat and drape it over my forearm, then I walk into the chamber to face my fate.
It’s been two and a half weeks since I delivered my testimony to the medical commission, regarding the complaint about my misconduct with Samuel Paxson, and I finally received their determination letter this morning. I told myself every day for the past couple weeks that, no matter what the outcome was, I would not practice psychiatry anymore. It was the only way to keep myself sane when so much of my life was hanging in the balance. So, when the determination arrived in my mailbox today, I wasn’t overwhelmed with relief when I read that the commission had decided to dismiss the complaint.
Anti-climactic as it was, it felt nice to be able to put it behind me. And as I stand next to my desk, tossing my belongings into an empty file box as I watch snow falling outside my office w
indow, I feel a sense of hope tinged with sadness. Many cultures have a word to describe this combination of emotions, but none of these words mean quite the same thing. I think that’s because emotions are like snowflakes.
Linda and Bernard help me carry my things to my car, continually insisting that I will always have a place at their office should I choose to return to practice.
As I drive home with tears welling up in my eyes, I have a brief urge to call my friend Kathleen, who got me the job as an adjunct professor of psychology at Seattle University. I could call her right now and tell her I changed my mind, and I want to remain with my practice. But I’ve never been one to shy away from big risks.
The greater the risk, the greater the reward. Is it still a platitude if it’s true?
I suppose it’s not really that huge of a risk, considering I went with an adjunct professorship rather than assistant professorship. I need to maintain some autonomy while I attempt to write a book about family legacies of addiction.
I carry my box of belongings into the elevator and up to the 15th floor, adjusting it every twenty feet or so as it begins to slide down my hip. By the time I reach my front door, I just want to get inside, pour myself a glass of wine, and relax in my bathtub with a good book. Propping the box up on my thigh as I lean it against the door frame, I punch in my code to unlock the deadbolt and use my ass to push the door open.
I spin around to face the interior of my condo and let the door fall closed behind me. But what I see in front of me makes me drop my file box onto the wood floor, where it lands with a loud smack.
In the corner of my living room, right next to the French doors that lead out onto the balcony, is a nine–foot Christmas tree adorned in silver and gold decorations that sparkle with the twinkling lights. I step around the box I dropped on the floor and make my way toward the tree.
The smell of pine envelops me and takes me right back to my childhood, when Melissa and I use to wake up earlier than our parents so we could carefully peel the Scotch tape off one of our presents to sneak a peek. As I draw nearer, my chest swells with emotion as I spot tiny golden hummingbirds decorating the branches. Little birds.
A Tiffany box – usually the size that’s used for bracelets or necklaces — sits on the wooden floor beneath the tree. I pick it up and removed the tiny card that’s tucked beneath the black satin ribbon. Unfolding the card, I smile as I read the words: Merry Christmas, little bird.
I take a seat on my sofa and place the small box on the coffee table in front of me. As I stare at the box, all I can think is that I shouldn’t open this without Samuel here. But I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing, and I really, really want to open it right now.
I shake my head. He obviously was here today. He can’t be too far from here. Before I can stop myself, I slide my phone out of the pocket of my skinny jeans and dial his number.
He answers after just one ring. “I take it you found your Christmas Eve surprise?” he says in that voice that makes me feel completely disarmed and safe at the same time.
“I am, and I have a beautiful little Tiffany box sitting on the table in front of me. But I’d really like to open it with you here.”
My body floods with adrenaline as I anticipate an unexpected rejection. Maybe he’s already started dating someone else or he had his assistant set up the Christmas tree or something.
“I wouldn’t miss that for the world,” he replies tenderly. “I can be there in half an hour.”
It takes me about twelve minutes to freshen up. I spend the rest of my time staring at the box and trying to guess what might be inside. I feel that familiar childhood urge to take a peek. Instead, I decide to lie down on the sofa and close my eyes for a ten-minute power nap.
I wake to the sensation of Samuel laying a soft kiss on my temple as he crouches next to the sofa. “Are you real?” I murmur as my eyelids flutter open.
“As real as you are, princess,” he says, brushing my hair out of my eyes. “Are you tired? Do you want me to carry you to bed?”
The thought of Samuel carrying me to bed gives me butterflies. “No, I want to open your gift,” I reply, pushing myself up into a sitting position. “But I didn’t get you anything.”
He shakes his head as he grabs the Tiffany box and hands it to me. “Asking me to come here tonight was more than I could’ve hoped for.”
I smile as I let out a sigh, like a lovesick schoolgirl. “I think you literally just made me swoon,” I say, tugging the black ribbon and setting it down on the sofa cushion next to me.
He watches me for a moment before he finally speaks up. “Are you going to open it?”
I nod. “I’m… I just… I want you to know that I feel the same way. I don’t care what’s inside this box. I don’t care if you never get me another Christmas gift for the rest of our lives. You’re more than enough.”
The muscle in his jaw twitches as he seems overcome with emotion. “Duly noted. No more Christmas gifts for the rest of our lives.”
I rolled my eyes and nudge him with my knee, then I lift the lid on the Tiffany box. Inside, lies a delicate drop necklace with a pendant made of diamonds clustered in an abstract hummingbird design. A small half-inch platinum tag hangs from the clasp, and I have to hold it close up to read the words engraved on the tag: For Melissa.
I carefully set the necklace back inside the box and set it down on the cushion next to the black ribbon. Then, I pull him into my arms and bury my face in the warm crook of his neck.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “A thousand times, thank you.”
He tightens his arms around my waist and I wrap my legs around him as he lifts me off the sofa. “No. I’m the one who should be thanking you.” He carries me to the bedroom and sets me down next to the bed. “Now, it’s my turn to thank you properly. What would you like me to do to you tonight, little bird?” he asks, brushing his thumb over my cheekbone. “Shall I fuck you hard and fast or do you want me to take my time?”
I swallow hard as my center aches for him. “How about both?”
He smiles. “As you wish.”
The End.
Turn the page or visit cardsofloveromance.com for more information on other stand-alones in the Cards of Love Collection!
For more Cassia Leo books, visit cassialeo.com/books or keep turning the pages for a preview of KNOX. Happy reading!
Cards of Love Collection
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Preview of Knox
Chapter 1
