His gaze lowers to my lips and I can’t help but lick them, wondering if they’re chapped or dry or ugly in any way. His warm brown eyes flare with something. I watch his pupils dilate. I know what that means, and I’m not panicking. I’m not scared that Ryder likes my lips. I want him to.
He bends his neck, his face close to mine. He’s slow, as if asking for permission every aching second of the way, readying himself to stop if I say so. Which…oh god…is making the apex of my legs ache.
I’ve been turned on before. But not by a man, as odd as that sounds. I’ve never really liked kissing or being touched. However, I love my romance books. In those novels, I live vicariously through characters who are okay with being touched and fondled and caressed. Me? I can’t stand it. Usually.
But with Ryder, I’m excited. My breath is spastic, yes, but that’s because I’m…electrified. My heart is beating fast but not in the pained way it does when a man wants to kiss me. For Ryder, my heart is wild and free. And I’m not sure what to make of that.
He slides his nose against mine, not touching my lips yet, but he’s so close I have to close my eyes and savor this feeling. The air we breathe is mingled, becoming one. His warmth invades me, makes me shudder with how good this feels.
Good. This feels good.
For once, a man touching me isn’t triggering my panic, my fears.
Oh god.
Wow.
His lips feather against mine. It’s a light touch, so light I almost can’t feel it, other than the fact that I’m highly aware of him and everything he’s doing. He feathers against me again. Only this time with a little more pressure. I feel him now. Something warm and wet licks against my bottom lip. His tongue.
I release a gust of a shaky breath, maybe even moan too.
At that, he growls and slams his lips against mine. His chest is suddenly against me too and he’s pushing himself closer and closer.
God, I like the way he kisses, as if he’s becoming unhinged. And normally, I’d be so intimidated by that. But with Ryder, I have a sense of power. I’m the one making him unhinged. Me.
I’m the one with my tongue against the seam of his lips. Me. Which leaves me wondering who I’ve become. But it’s just me. I’m still in my body. I’m not dissociating. I feel everything. The way Ryder opens for me and lets me into his warm mouth, pushing me against the wall of hospital sanitizers behind me even more. His chest is hot and covers all of me, my breasts love the impact of his hard flesh. My nipples are beading. When I wrap my arms around his neck, he makes a very male sound of approval. And when I feel him start to harden against my stomach, I…I…I like it.
I love it.
His tongue tangles with mine, sweeping in and slowing extracting out. Sweeping in. Slowly out. Again and again. Lulling me into a trance where he’s building a steady rhythm. There’s a beat to this dance, this kiss. It makes me want to do anything he wants.
The hand that was resting on the cabinet clutches onto my waist. His other hand slides up from my hip to the opposite side of my stomach. He’s holding onto me, gripping me, angling his body so we’re more in contact. One of his legs somehow parts mine. His knee is moving, opening my legs a little more and a little more. He releases my lips only to kiss my cheek, my jaw, the shell of my ear, and then the leg that’s between mine moves. His thigh rubs against my sex and I moan. Loudly.
This—this feels good. Everything feels so good. The caress of his hard leg against my clitoris augments this wonderful lush feeling inside of me. I know I’m getting wet. I can feel my body responding to him.
He licks my lobe then whispers, “Asha.”
My name, said like that, so reverently, so sweetly, as if he’d been dying to say my name like that, is sweetening the already amazing feeling buzzing through my body. My breasts…the press of Ryder against me makes them…I don’t know how to explain it. At the same time, his touch is exactly what I need, but it’s also not. I want more. I’ve never wanted physical intimacy. I resigned myself to a life where I’d feel these kinds of things through my novels. And there are some amazing books out there, so I was okay with that kind of life.
But right now, I’m feeling everything.
And it feels so…good.
He bites my lobe, surprising me, making me gasp. Which seems to make him growl and press his body even more against mine. His hands reach behind me, right to my ass and he pulls me up, up, and up. My toes aren’t touching the ground, but I like floating. My physical being matches how I feel inside—I’m soaring. Then my clit brushes against his hard length.
Oh.
My.
God.
When we touch like that, white stars shine behind my lids. Electricity circuits through my body, but not a painful jolt. It feels fucking incredible, making me moan yet again, amazed I’m making these kinds of noises, but I can’t seem to control myself.
My legs begin to wrap around his hips when a loud noise erupts outside of this make out session. Ryder sets me down quickly and turns around, his body protecting mine from whatever the noise was.
“What are you doing in here?”
I cringe and realize that’s the voice of Bart, one of the day-shift janitors.
“I was, uh—” Ryder’s voice cracks and sounds rough. I love it.
“Got a girl in here?” Bart asks as I peek out from Ryder’s big warm body.
“Hi, Bart. How are you?” I try to sound cheerful, like it’s not a big deal to get caught kissing in a closet. Which makes Ryder glance down at me, a smile crawling across his lips, lips that are slightly swollen and darker than usual. Because of me.
Fuck, yeah! I did that! I made that gorgeous man kiss me.
Yikes, I made him kiss me.
Did he want to kiss me?
I mean, what if everything that just happened was because he felt obligated?
Okay, yes. I know Ryder was erect. But I’m a doctor. I know male anatomy. I know men get erect when talking about sports. They can get erect for no reason at all.
Or they can get erect when attracted to someone they like.
Could Ryder be attracted to me?
Should I start calling him Ian now?
And what about the fact that we work together?
“Dr. Whitetail,” Bart says, sounding surprised I was the girl behind Ryder. He looks it too. His eyes are wide for a split second, then they soften, looking like my dad when he’d caught me in junior high, planning to help a friend cheat on a test. The disapproval is palpable.
“Should get back.” Ryder’s voice is even more gruff. But this time I sense agitation within him.
Oh god.
He didn’t want to kiss me.
Or did he?
Am I a sexual harasser, forcing my coworker into something he felt uncomfortable doing?
“Yeah,” I feebly say, my heart sinking, my stomach bottoming out. Oh, I might vomit.
Ryder grabs my hand and pulls me toward the exit, rushing past the janitor.
“I hope you have a good day, Bart.” I can barely manage the words as Ryder’s hurrying out of the room.
“You too, Dr. Whitetail.” Ryder and I are already in the hallway when Bart yells, “And that nurse of yours too.”
“Did you hear Bart?” I ask, holding onto Ryder’s one hand with both of mine to try to keep up with him.
He slows slightly, which helps so I can catch my breath. Looking down at me, he sighs. Heavily. I might die from my embarrassment. The way he’s looking at me—no smile, only seriousness in his dark gaze—feels too heady for me to handle. I don’t think he wanted to kiss me. I might have made him. Although nurses and doctors are technically equals when it comes to care—we just have different expertise when it comes to the kind of care a patient needs, there’s still this feeling that doctors have more authority. That I have more authority. Oh god.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “You look pale.”
I shrug and nod, my voice leaving me. Besides, even if I could think of somethi
ng perfect to say, I doubt I could say it without sounding like the humiliated woman I am.
“I went too far.” He shakes his head, pulling me farther along the hallway, out of earshot of a family rushing through, talking about where the gift shop is. Past the family and he shoves me in a little alcove, where daguerreotypes hang, displaying the hospital’s first nursing staff of the early 1900s. He sighs heavily again. “I’m sorry. I went too far.”
“Did you?” I ask, uncertain if anything is making sense because I’m not sure if Ryder wanted to kiss me.
He blinks, probably wondering about my meaning because I’m not sure either. His eyes skim down my face, focusing on my lips. “Your mouth…it looks like you’ve been kissed.”
“You too.”
He touches his bottom full lip, the one that had been pressed against me, the one that had kissed my cheek and ear. I’m a little in love with his fingers. When we first started working together and I saw his hands in blue latex, I grew fascinated. He has these very masculine hands, complete with a few scars—wide palms, wide fingers that are somehow long too. I even like his nails, that are always clean and short.
He sucks in a breath, as if it might be his last. “I’m sorry I pushed things so far.”
“Pushed things so far?”
“Yeah, I—”
“I don’t want you to be sorry,” I say, sounding a tad irked.
Something within him breaks. I see it in his usually somber face. Something close to happiness breaks free. But he reins it in quickly.
“Did you want to kiss me at all?” I ask, even further humiliated because I sound like I’m going to cry. God, I hate feelings. And feeling those feelings. I sound like a little kid, I know, but I’d much rather stick my nose in a book where someone can feel for me.
Ryder’s brown eyes widen then narrow. Different from mine, his eyes are a lighter brown—caramel-colored, and he has these warm golden starbursts close to his pupils. But right before he kissed me his eyes were dark, maybe even darker than mine. I might not be able to gauge his emotions from his stone-like face, but his eyes always give him away.
Or do they?
I don’t know him—the man who’s cornering me even more into this alcove, almost awakening my fear triggers with his serious expression and the way he keeps shaking his head.
“Did I want to kiss you?” He sounds incredulous.
Something about his tone, the way he’s cornering me, is irritating. Although, in this kind of situation, if it were any other man, I’d be fearful. I’d be panicking. But somehow, I’m irritated, so I say, “Yeah,” sounding annoyed and angry and probably juvenile.
My butt bumps against the alcove behind me, and he places both his hands on the wall close to my head, caging me in. He’s leaning down, looking furious, like the first time he’d worked with Dr. Murphy who made a comment about male nurses being paid muscle, rather than real nurses who care for their patients. I’d had a talk with Dr. Murphy after that about sexual harassment and hospital administrators breaking down on physicians who seemed bigoted against male nurses. I pretended to be buddy-buddy then lied and said the admins were asking me for an interview about his conduct. I scared the shit out of him and that made me so happy.
“Look at me.” Ryder’s voice is a growl.
“I am,” I holler, knowing I’m gazing at him just as furiously as he is at me.
“I’m not sorry I pushed the kiss that far because I want you. I fucking want you so bad I can hardly think of anything else. I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you. And I’m irritated you can’t tell that I wanted to kiss you, that you even had to ask.”
“But I was the one who—”
“Asha, you weren’t the one, okay? I kissed you. I’ll pay the consequences of it.”
“Consequences?”
“Consequences.”
I shake my head. “What are you talking about?”
“Like the fact that I’m not sure if you—”
“Oh, I did, buddy. I wanted that. I wanted to kiss you, be kissed by you.”
His shoulders loosen, his face softens. A full-blown smile emerges, making my heart beat wildly. “Then why are we fighting about it?”
I tilt my chin up. “I. Don’t. Know.”
He chuckles as he slides his big hands on my shoulders. “I want to kiss you. Right here. In the hallway. Where other doctors and nurses can see us.”
“Oh,” I whisper.
His dark brows pucker. “Or did you only want the one kiss?”
I shake my head.
“Do you know what you want? From me?”
It hits me then. He’s as insecure about whatever it is we’ve got going on as I am. Wow. Ryder. Insecure? He’s adorable, looking at me with a cross between desire and something holding him back. I’ve never wanted a man before. But I think I want Ryder.
I think I want him to become my very first lover.
He growls as we hear more people approaching. Taking my hand in his, he leads me away from the alcove, his face back to somber mixed with a little pissed off. I even like him pissed off. I’ve got it bad for him.
I try to keep pace with his long legs and whisper, “Do you know what you want from me?”
He glances down at me as a huge group of new hospital workers are getting a tour from one of our volunteers who’s talking about when building this side of the hospital, the construction workers found fossils, some of which are framed along the walls.
When we pass the tour, he nods while he’s looking down at me.
“Do you know what you want from me?” he asks again.
He answered my question without telling me what his answer is. Frustrating man. Although that’s fair, it’s driving me bonkers and leads me to use my imagination for his answer.
What if he only wants sex?
I mean, he kind of looks like the kind of guy who would only be interested in sex. I think they call it sex on a stick—the type of guy he is. Or am I objectifying him? I think I am.
I’ve been better at relationships than physical intimacy. I dated a man for almost a year before he gave up on me and the fact that I wasn’t ready for sex. His name was Scott, and I understood why he ended things with me. I’m broken. Oh, not all of me, but there’s a part of human coupling that’s very normal to most others that isn’t to me. Sex scares me.
But with Ryder, I wasn’t scared. And maybe I should just go with that. Maybe instead of focusing on a relationship, I should focus on sex. Because this is Ryder, a guy who, for once, had me feeling and feeling great while I was making out with him.
I’ve never heard of him dating. I doubt he’s the kind who dates. I doubt that he thinks of me in terms of wanting to take me to the movies and talk and hold my hand, although he is. But that’s just so he can pull me along. I’m pretty sure he’s the kind of man who has sex. Just sex.
Despite how intimidating he is—not just his big buffness, but also his attitude, as well as usually a man who only wants sex would scare me—something about him makes me feel like I’m not so broken. Like I can be normal with him. Maybe.
It’s a heartbreaking thing, knowing that something so many others take for granted is something that frightens me to the point of tears. Not to toot my own horn, but I will. I’m a strong woman in so many other regards. I got through medical school. With honors. I can smart mouth men like Dr. Murphy because, Ryder’s right, he’s a dick and Dr. Murphy doesn’t intimidate me. I do very normal things like grocery shopping and hanging out with friends, but all the time I know there’s something intrinsically different about me. And that hurts. Makes me feel alone.
So maybe I should jump on the Ryder bandwagon. Literally. Maybe I should finally figure out this sex thing and how to be more normal. Not worry if Ryder likes me and wants to watch TV with me and get to know me. Just think about sex.
I swallow and slowly nod, doing as he did in answering but not telling him what my answer is.
We’re close to the emergency departme
nt, and he slows to a stop, turning and looking at me, still holding my hand.
His huge chest rises and his eyes darken. “My shift ends soon.”
I nod. “I have another twelve hours to go.”
He smiles. Actually gives me a real warm smile. “You’re so tough. Twenty-four-hour shifts are brutal.”
I shrug, feeling embarrassed of the compliment.
“You want to—You have a phone?”
I nod again. “It’s in my locker.”
He nods. “I’ll give you all my dets.”
“Dets?”
“Details. Sorry. Army talk.”
I smile. “I like it. Yes, give me your dets.”
“Then you’ll call me? We can…” He licks his lips, never finishing his sentence.
Even though I graduated with honors and am kind of known to be intelligent, it’s taken me this long to replay and realize just what Ryder said in the hallway, that he wanted me, he’s never wanted a woman the way he wants me.
My stomach is both buoyant and roils when I realize he was probably talking about sex. Just sex. I realize then that I’m calling casual sex with Ryder just sex because…I don’t know. Casual sex sounds like a statistic while just sex sounds kind of fun.
Can I have just sex?
Should I have just sex?
I nod. “Yeah, then we can…” I’m trying to sound fine with the idea of just sex, but my voice cracks.
Ryder looks in both directions up and down the hallway, then swoops in and kisses me. It’s not a sexy kiss. It’s sweet and kind of sloppy and he’s smiling.
“Just had to do that,” he says as he tugs me along back to the emergency department.
If I’m going to have just sex with Ryder then I can’t get any kind of ideas that he might want a relationship from me, like I, silly me, did with that sweet sloppy kiss. I can’t think he might want more. I can’t think he likes me. He’s just attracted to me. That’s it.
And for once, I’m attracted to a man, so I should take advantage of that. See if I can take what was broken and turn it into normal.
Bad Medicine (Wolf Love Book 4) Page 5
