by Lexy Timms
They moved toward the bed his hand covered both sides of her hips, his fingers digging gently into her derriere muscles as he directed her. The back of her knees were pressed against the bed mattress, but she clenched her hamstrings so she wouldn’t fall onto it. Seven months pregnant did not create a graceful fall. It would end up more of a plop and she didn’t want to drop the baby against her spine like that.
Elijah’s hand found its way under her pink lace panties. “Look at me,” he whispered, his hot breath torture against her ear. His lips caressed the thin line of her jaw as he moved his head back. His hand stopped moving in its downward motion until she opened her eyes.
She loved the way his eyes burned bright when they had sex. They seemed fifty shades bluer. She lost the ability to focus when his finger slipped inside of her. He knew exactly what he was doing. His finger and tongue could torment her to the brink of her begging him to stop and bring her desired agony to an apex.
She managed to get her hands into his jeans and undo the button. She pushed them, along with his briefs, over his hips. He shifted and they fell to the floor. As he stepped to kick them away, she turned slightly to press her back against his chest.
Elijah moaned when her hip brushed against his erection. His hands returned to the crests of her hip bone and held her tight. He turned her all the way around. She pressed her hands flat against the mattress for balance. She sucked in a sharp breath, afraid he would make her wait before he entered her. “Please,” she begged huskily.
Elijah’s erection brushed against her inner thigh and nuzzled against her. “You make me so hard.” His breath was hot against her back. The head of his cock entered her slowly. “I don’t want to hurt…”
She didn’t let him finish. She rotated her hips and pressed her hips into him, swallowing all of him in one thrust. Her body tightened against his erection like a fist curling. She moved so he slid in and out of her. She bit her lip and the taste of copper filled her tongue. She had bit it so hard she made it bleed. She didn’t care. All she could focus on was the tortured agony Elijah created inside of her begging to be released.
She thrust back and forth, harder and faster. Elijah matched her rhythm but begging her to slow down. She couldn’t. How did you stop a train rushing down a mountain? Impossible. She could feel him swell inside of her and it sent her to climax instantly. She cried out, clenching the bed sheet into her fists as she trembled and exploded. Elijah groaned as he came inside of her. Charity felt herself shudder and deep inside she spasmed and came again.
Elijah lay slightly on her back, locked in an embrace as they slowly brought their racing breath back to a slower, steady rhythm. Charity crawled on the bed and lay on her side, one of the only comfortable positions these days with her growing belly.
Elijah curled behind her, his arm draped over her hip, his hand protecting around her belly. “You don’t think I hurt her,” he murmured into Charity’s hair and neck.
Charity giggled. “You can’t. You’re a doctor and you don’t know that?”
“I do.” He pressed his face against her skin. “It doesn’t stop a guy from worrying.”
Charity smiled, too exhausted and sexually sedated to laugh. “If the baby – Jamie – comes out with a dent in her forehead, we’ll know it’s your penis. Then you can feel terrible.”
Elijah’s low laugh rumbled from his chest against her back. “That can’t happen.”
“I love you.” Charity sighed and snuggled tighter against him. “Happy Anniversary.”
“I love you, too.” He leaned over and grabbed the crumpled duvet from the end of the bed, tossing it over them. “You’ve got quite the hand pull.”
Charity yawned. “Did I do that? Hmm… I didn’t even notice.”
“Catwoman,” he whispered into her ear before kissing her neck, just below it.
She couldn’t remember if she’d answered back, but she was pretty sure she fell asleep with a smile on her face.
Chapter 13
“We’ve just been notified there is a multi-vehicle accident out on the highway.” The tone of Elijah’s voice got everyone’s attention. “Get ready. The ER is about to get crazy. Five minutes out. All hands on deck. It’s raining hard. It’s cold, wicked windy so be alert and careful.”
The Emergency room sprung to instant life. Medical staff began clearing things out of the way, checking to make sure no supplies were low of stock, beds were available and curtains drawn where they needed to be.
Charity changed her gloves and followed the crew of doctors heading outside.
Elijah held his hand out to stop her. “It’s going to be nuts out here and in two minutes just as crazy inside. It’s pouring outside and slick. I don’t want you to fall. Stay in here. Please.” He glanced down at her belly.
The doctor in her wanted to argue, but the mother-to-be in her warned her to keep her mouth shut. She gave him a curt nod. “Fine.” She spun around as Elijah dashed outside.
Two seconds later a pair of paramedics came rushing in. The one on the right slipped on the linoleum floor. He crashed nearly taking the gurney caring a patient with him.
“Are you alright?” Charity rushed over. She glanced back and forth at the man lying on the stretcher and the paramedic.
He lay on his back clutching his foot. “I think I friggin’ sprained my ankle. So help me if I broke it!”
Charity crouched down, letting her belly hang between her knees. “Let me have a look.” She palpated and noticed the instant swelling and bruising already appearing. She had a feeling there might be a hairline fracture. “It’s at least a third-degree sprain. We need to get some X-Rays on it.” She motioned to a nurse to bring a gurney over. Other patients with serious injuries were being rushed in.
“What’s your name?” Charity asked.
“Lawrence.” The paramedic’s face scrunched, but he didn’t cry out when he tried to move his ankle.
“I’m Doctor Thompson-Bennet, Lawrence. It’s nice to meet you. Let’s get you sorted how ’bout?” She nodded at the larger patient lying on the paramedic gurney they had brought in. “Is he part of the multi-vehicle accident?”
The other paramedic shook his head. He looked young and scared. He watched with wide eyes as the nurse helped his partner into a wheelchair and out of the way of the incoming doctors. “This guy’s sedated. He was yelling at his wife when he tried going up a ladder outside to fix their satellite dish. In this weather! He slipped on the way down and fell on his as—his coccyx. It might be a badly bruised tailbone or possibly broken. Then when we’re halfway here he decides he doesn’t want to go to the hospital and tries getting out of the back of the wagon. While we’re moving! I had to sedate him.” The young paramedic shivered. “It’s my first day.”
Charity gave him a reassuring smile. “You’re doing a great job.” Lightning flashed outside and seconds later thunder crackled above the hospital. “See? Even the gods agree with me.”
“You ride in the back?”
He nodded. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now.”
“Stay with your partner. He sounds like a veteran. He’ll know what to do.” She moved so another gurney could get past. “I’ll get the injured patient checked in.” She walked around to the head of the stretcher. “Why don’t you go see if your partner’s okay? Maybe grab him some water or something? I’ll be back in a moment to get him in for X-Rays.” She pushed the sleeping giant toward the end of the row of hospital beds.
“I’m going to need the bed back,” the young paramedic called out, not sounding entirely convinced he would. It came out more like a question.
Charity maneuvered the paramedic’s gurney to the last cubicle space. She had to pull the empty hospital bed out of the cubby-hole location and move it to the hall. She locked the patient’s wheels in place and checked his vitals. Then she grabbed the chart lying across his lower legs.
Notes were scribbled on the side of the chart information with the patient’s name and address
. It noted that his wife would drive herself separately to the hospital. The patient’s name was Pitch Wiggins. He had become agitated inside the moving ambulance and had been sedated with IM Ketamine. A note scrawled on the side estimated the man’s weight and added that 4ml/kg had been used. The dose may be slightly higher because of the rush to inject the ketamine intramuscularly.
Charity checked her watch and did a quick mental math from when he had been sedated and how much the newbie had given him. He would be waking up in about ten minutes. Maybe a little less because of his size. She scribbled on the file to order an X-Ray when the patient woke and to ask how he felt. She pulled the curtain tight around him to let him rest a little while longer and then she headed back to check on the paramedic.
In the four minutes it took to move the giant, the Emergency room had become chaotic. Paramedics pushed injured people in as doctors came racing in to assist or pull more gurneys. Charity looked around for Elijah and found him on the far side, behind glass walls working hard on resuscitating a patient. He jumped up on top of the patient while two other medical staff wheeled the patient, and him, toward the elevators. She could hear him shouting orders and counting as he kept the patient’s heart pumping.
She focused her attention back on finding the hurt paramedic. She stopped a nurse walking by and asked her. “Have you seen the injured paramedic? I need to get his X-Ray forms signed.”
“Over in curtain three.”
“Thanks.” Charity waddled her way over, avoiding the puddles already forming on the floor from the boots and shoes rushing past. Someone needed to start mopping or there would be more slips and falls. “Alrighty,” she said as she found the older paramedic on his own, half sitting on the bed with ice wrapped around his ankle. She glanced around. “Where did your partner go?”
“I sent him out with another crew who just came in. They had three in an ambulance. Two were drivers so one of them offered to go with Newbie.”
“Is he going to be okay?”
“He hasn’t even seen any real action yet!” The paramedic laughed. “Though I do have to give him some credit. That guy we brought in was kind of aggressive and when he tried opening the door to get out, my newbie had to wrestle him down, get the door closed and give the guy a shot. It was a risky move.” He grimaced as he tried moving his leg. “I was driving and it shook me up.”
Charity grabbed the chart off the end of the bed and saw that a medical staff had filled in the information needed. “Well Lawrence, let’s get you in for an X-Ray and find out what we need to do with this ankle of yours.” She signed the form. “Let me see if I can find someone to take you up.”
“Thanks, Dr. Thompson-Bennet. Make sure you treat anyone who needs it first. I’ve called my wife to let her know where I am. I’m managing okay. It’s not life threatening.”
Charity smiled. “We won’t make you wait too long.”
He grinned back and pointed at her stomach. “As long as I’m out of here before that baby.”
“Oh, I think I can promise you that.” Charity found a nurse changing sheets on a bed a few spots down from the paramedic and asked her to make sure Lawrence got up to radiology.
Once everything was sorted she weaved her way back to the patient Lawrence had brought in. What was his name again? Pitch. Pitch Wiggins. She changed her gloves and checked her watch. Ten minutes. Pitch should be awake now or very shortly from the ketamine. She paused outside Wiggins still closed curtains. It looked like nobody had checked on him since she had been in last. She made sure her stethoscope was around her neck and straightened her shirt under her hospital jacket before slipping through the curtains.
“Good afternoon, Mister Wiggins,” she said as she stepped in. “I’m Dr. Thompson-Bennet.”
Wiggins lay on the bed with his eyes still closed.
Charity checked her watch again. Maybe the paramedic had given him more than what he had written down. Charity checked the monitor connected to the clip she had put on his finger. His heart rate was slightly elevated but not erratic or abnormally slow. She moved toward the head of the bed. “Mister Wiggins?”
She shook the bed slightly to see if it might wake him.
“Pitch. This is Doctor Thompson-Bennet.” She glanced down at the end of the bed for the file and noticed it lying on the patient’s stomach. One of the medical staff must’ve been in to check on him and forgot to put the file back. She reached over to pick it up.
Her fingers curled around the edge of the manila folder when strong fingers suddenly grasped her wrist, stunning her. A fist grabbed her shirt near her neck jerking her forward.
She dropped the folder and tried to pull back from Pitch but couldn’t escape his ferocious hold. She was too shocked to speak. Her wild eyes flitted from the file across the man’s chest to his face, now millimeters from hers.
Pitch’s eyes burned red. He scowled at her, his face hard. The fingers clutching her shirt wrapped around her neck.
“Mister Wiggins,” she whispered, still trying to break free. “I’m not here to hurt you.” She struggled for breath, terrified the man would break her neck. “I’m a doctor. You are at a hospital.” The man loosened his death grip but did not release his hold on her neck or wrist. Charity’s other hand was pinned against the bed rail.
“Who kicked my ass?”
It took her a moment to figure out what he meant. “You fell in the storm. The paramedics brought you here to see if you’re alright. Please let me go.” Charity struggled, trying to free her hand. When he wouldn’t release her, she tried a different approach. “Your wife is on her way here.”
Pitch’s wild eyes darted about the curtain enclosed cubical. “What have you people done to me?”
“Nothing! Let me go and I can make sure you’re alright.”
“Bullshit! You’re with them.”
Who are them? “I’m Doctor Thompson-Bennet.” Panic began to hammer inside Charity’s chest and spread up her throat. “Help!” she cried out, not very loud against the noise going inside the Emergency room and muffled by the closed plaid curtains. She tried again, “Help!”
Pitch’s fingers tightened around her throat and he dragged her closer to him. Charity’s belly pressed uncomfortably against the hospital bed metal railings. “Shut up!” he hissed, bits of spit flying into her face.
Charity froze. Her abdomen grew tight like a fist. This was not the time to start having Braxton Hicks.
Pitch’s hand trembled against her throat.
“Mister Wiggins. You are confused. You fell at your house and the paramedics brought you to the hospital. You may have hit your head when you fell. You were paranoid in the ambulance so they had to sedate you. You’re just waking up. It’s normal to be confused, but everything is fine. I’m here to help you. Not hurt you.”
She could feel his hot breath and smell the stench that came from it as he breathed. She could see him process what she had said and felt him calm as he loosened his grip on her neck. Charity straightened immediately. “Let me get someone in here to help.” She turned to go and realized he hadn’t let go of her wrist.
Pitch sat straight up, his demeanor changed and his face contorted in an all-consuming anger; his eyes flashed and closed into slits as his nostrils flared. His mouth quivered and drool ran from the side as he spoke slurring words that were unintelligible. It reminded Charity of a volcano about to erupt. Except Pitch looked ready to release horrific emotions of darkness.
As Charity opened her mouth to scream, Pitch’s free hand closed into a fist and he lurched forward. He hit her with a right uppercut to her cheek. It sent her flying from beside the bed through the curtains at what seemed like the speed of light.
Her body connected with something – a wall, a person, maybe a bed, she didn’t have time to contemplate what it was. All she could think of was to try and turn her body to protect the baby. She slid to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
She fought the darkness by focusing on the pain throbbing on her face
and the low backache. I must have hit a bed or table. She tried to reach around and rub her back, but a sudden extremely painful cramp raced across her stomach and sent her doubling over into a semi-fetal position. She could only see the floor in front of her.
“C-Code Gr-Grey,” she tried to call out, but her breath caught and the words came out a whisper.
A pair of men’s sneakers came toward her and then a pair of red shot eyes dropped into her vision.
Charity tensed, and terrified, she shut her eyes tight. Her hands and arms covered her belly praying he would not kick her in the stomach.
Chapter 14
A scuffle of material followed by the sound of a man’s voice crying out in pain resonated by Charity. She kept her eyes tightly shut, terrified to open them. Flashes of her father’s party the night she was shot seemed like déjà vu.
She was confused. The pain in her stomach felt the same but different. It didn’t make sense.
A flush of air blew over Charity’s face as someone stumbled or fell to the ground. She felt rather than watched him struggle against other men who must have tackled him.
“Code Grey” called the boring administrative voice over the hospital’s paging system. “Paging Doctor Armstrong to the ER. Code Grey.”
The fog of confusion cleared. She hadn’t been shot, she lay on the ground because someone had hit her on the cheek and pushed her like a rag doll. What’s the guy’s name again? Pitch. Pitch Wiggins. If he had a sore coccyx, now wait till she finished kicking his ass.
The dull voice came through the hospital’s paging system again, “Code Silver. Paging Doctor Armstrong to the ER. Code Silver. Paging Doctor Armstrong to the ER immediately.”
They were paging security. Inwardly Charity groaned. That was the second time the hospital needed to call security that involved her. She needed to stay out of the ER.
