by W Winters
Laura’s soft voice brings me back to the present. “Seth, I just—”
“You’re scared,” I say to cut her off when her plea breaks up the memory.
“Shouldn’t I be?” she says, stressing the words like they’re some ultimate truth.
“Come here.” I give her the command with both of my arms outstretched but she shakes her head. “Hey,” I say, hardening my voice and that gets her attention. “Didn’t we agree I should boss you around? Or do I need to get out whips and chains?” I joke with her about that BDSM shit. It does what it should and cracks a smile on her face.
“That’s only for the bedroom,” she tells me and rolls her eyes, but her soft smile is still there. I motion for her to come to me and she does. Resting her head on my shoulder even though she’s focused on twirling the ends of her hair around her fingers.
“You’re scared,” I tell her again. She’s quiet but I know she’s listening because her motions stop. “Steven Jackson knows some things, but not everything. Maybe he is scared for you, maybe he thinks something happened. I don’t know, but I can tell you,” I pause to wrap my hand around the nape of her neck and wait for her to look at me before continuing, “he doesn’t know shit.”
I don’t know if it’s a lie or the truth, but her gaze already softens with relief. Her pouty lips drop open slightly, but I keep talking before she can say anything.
“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about because we don’t tell him everything. Only little things he needs to know to keep him off our back.” Her eyes search mine and I don’t know what she’ll find after that half-truth leaves me.
“If something was wrong, or if you were in danger, you know I’d hide you away.” I run my hand through her hair as I add, “I’d probably lock you up in that safe at the house.” I grin at the ridiculousness and she lets out a broken laugh and then sniffles.
I let a minute pass, just rocking her, allowing her the moment she needs to realize Jackson isn’t the be-all and end-all. I am.
“I’m sorry he got you all worked up and upset,” I tell her and kiss the crown of her head.
“I’m sorry I let him,” she says. Her apology is quiet, and I hate it. Before I’ve even straightened my spine to stand upright, she’s coming at me, kissing me and wrapping her hands around my shoulders to keep me lowered for her.
Her lips are hot, and her tongue is greedy. Everything inside of me simmers. “Greedy girl,” I groan against her lips when she finally pulls away.
My right hand has already drifted to her ass, keeping her hip pressed against my thigh. My left is roaming, feeling curves I know so well and wanting to sear her skin, branding it with my touch to make sure she still belongs to me.
“Seth,” she murmurs. The combination of tearstained cheeks and lust in her eyes makes me hard as stone for her. “I love you,” she tells me. “I hope the guys didn’t hear,” she adds before she takes another breath. She’s quick to do that. To deny me the opportunity to say it back. She’s afraid I won’t. I get it. I don’t mind it either. She likes to protect herself however she can.
“I’m sure they did,” I answer her and then reach behind me to the doorknob, making sure it’s locked. The click is in time with the thump in my chest. “They aren’t going to hear you yell at me anymore though,” I tell her and unbutton my pants.
Laura’s thighs clench as she stands there, in a ten-by-ten-foot room with me and nowhere to hide. Desire dances in her eyes.
“We can’t,” she hisses, accompanied by the zip of my pants being undone.
“If they can hear you yell at me, they can hear me fucking you, so you better be quiet.”
My sweet innocent girl gasps and it thrills me. I love that I can still surprise her. “Don’t let them hear you,” I command her as I take a step forward, kicking off my jeans and sliding down my drawers as I go. She takes a step back until her shoulders hit the wall, as if she can escape me. As if she’d want to. “I want them to hear all the banging from me fucking your brains out against this wall. Not you moaning my name. Just this.” Splaying my hand on the drywall above her head, I slap my hand hard once against the wall. I lean my lips to the shell of her ear and say, “You need to be quiet. Do you hear me?”
My cock is already leaking precum at the thought of being inside of her and everything being right again. Her small hand reaches out between us and she rubs the moisture over the head of my dick, making me groan. Dropping my lips to the crook of her neck, I kiss and suck and nibble while she strokes me until I’ve had enough.
It takes everything I have to step back and tell her to strip down. I want her ass completely naked. Both of us. Our clothes are nothing but puddles of fabric on the floor. Before I lift her up, I run my fingers between her slick folds, teasing her, rubbing her sweet nub and testing her ability to be quiet. Her nails dig into my shoulder as she bites down on her lip. Her head slams against the wall as she rocks herself on my hand. She’s breathing too heavily, making too much noise.
I don’t give a shit though. It wouldn’t be the first time my crew caught us going at it. They know to get the hell away and leave us alone.
With a hand on each of her ass cheeks, I lift her up and she wraps her legs around my waist. “Bite my shoulder,” I demand, and she does it instantly. It’s a good thing she doesn’t hesitate, because I slam into her out of pure unadulterated need. My thrusts are primal and the harder she bites me, the harder I fuck her. My body is covered in a cold sweat and hers is hot to the touch on every inch. I take her like we both need, and I have no regrets about that.
No fucking regrets. Not anymore.
Laura
I can’t even cross my legs; I’m so sore. Seth has some sort of magic over me. I don’t know what it is. The moment I’m in his vicinity, I’m a puppet for him. Whatever he commands, I do. Whatever he tells me, I believe. My body bends to his and I love it.
It does terrify a small piece of me, though. That little voice is quiet right now, sated by what happened in the back room last night.
And then again when Seth met me at his place and took me to bed.
That second time reminded me of our first time. I keep comparing the two and I find nothing identical. Back then when I first gave into Seth years ago, the temptation to touch him, the urge to let him do whatever he wanted to me—I had never experienced it with anyone else. I knew nothing, except that I wanted him to finally touch me, to have me like I’d been fantasizing about. It would have happened sooner if my dad hadn’t died shortly after Seth started hovering over me. He was my protector for nearly a year before I kissed him.
I remember being up on my tiptoes, my hand pressed against his chest and I kissed him as though I had done it a thousand times before. And I had in my mind. Every time he opened the door for me. Every time his fingers brushed against mine when we walked. Every time he laughed at the bar and with the rough cadence his hand landed on my thigh and stayed there. In the very forefront of my mind I leaned into him and kissed him, thousands of times or more. So that day, after having a drink and feeling the buzz of both intoxication and lust, I planted my lips directly onto his.
I never imagined the groan of satisfaction. That deep, masculine sound was unexpected and a pleasant surprise that travelled down to my belly, and then further. His rough hands gripped my hips and he lifted me up, keeping his lips on mine, never breaking the heated embrace.
Last night was slow and leisurely; that first night was a rush of primitive need. He couldn’t take my clothes off fast enough, until my bare back was on the table and my ass was hanging off. I’d have been mortified if he hadn’t dipped his head to my breasts and sucked, nipped and ravished every inch of my flesh. How could I be embarrassed by my body when he worshipped it the first glance he got?
I was naked while he was still clothed. Again, it’s a difference. Last night was slow, relaxing, and he stripped first, then he took his time peeling my clothes off.
“I’ll go slow,” he whispered at the crook
of my neck when he had finally made it to that moment. The moment when I was no longer a virgin. I remember how hot I felt. How suffocating those prolonged seconds were between knowing it was going to happen, and it finally happening.
“I don’t want you to go slow,” I told him, my mind clear and my desire evident. “I want you.”
In one swift stroke he took me, hard and unabashed. He watched me as my eyes widened; he never stopped watching between heated kisses.
“I’ll make sure you love it,” he promised as he pounded into me with reckless abandon and I don’t know for certain if the promise was for me or for him.
My thighs tighten and I can still feel him. That night I knew I could never go back. I wasn’t sure if he could go back to pretending the attraction wasn’t there. He made damn sure I knew the next day when he took me into the bar and kissed me in front of everyone. There was never any “going back” with Seth.
When my phone buzzes in my hand, I instinctively jump from my seat in the waiting room and then hiss at the slight pain that throbs between my legs. It’s a good ache, but it’s embarrassing as fuck when the receptionist eyes me from behind the glass divider. Like I’m some kind of nuisance. I don’t want to be here anymore than she wants me here.
I want to be a nurse; I don’t want to be a patient. I hate being a patient. Mostly because of insurance.
I’ve already got my clipboard of paperwork filled out. Now I just wait in this room, sitting in one of the chairs that look like they’re from the ’80s while a cooking show plays in the upper right corner on a tiny little TV.
I check the text I received, thinking it might be from Seth, but it’s not. Tell me something good.
Cami’s text makes me smile.
No news yet, I’m waiting to be seen. YOU tell me something good. I’m eager for her to distract me. I want to know all about what she and Derrick did last night. I feel like I’m in on the details because she told me, but Derrick didn’t tell Seth. I know because last night Seth told me he thinks that Derrick’s seeing someone seriously.
You have to tell me what they say. As I read the text Cami sent back, a little disappointed that it’s not full of juicy details, an elderly woman in an oversized t-shirt comes into the waiting room from the doctor’s side and then leaves through the front doors. I glance at the woman at the front desk, wondering if this means it’s my turn, but nope, nothing yet.
Tap, tap, tap, my shoe is at war with the wooden leg of my chair.
Cami texts me again and I nearly shriek in the room. The gasp is certainly audible and when I look at the receptionist, she’s looking at me disapprovingly. Fucking hell. This isn’t the library.
Giving her a tight smile, I return to my phone and read the text again.
Derrick and I slept together last night.
I’ve known Cami for half a decade. She’s slept with three men in her life before last night. Derrick is the fourth. All three were young love… for Cami. The guys told her they loved her, fucked her, and moved on. Derrick won’t do that. I know he won’t. He wouldn’t have touched her if he didn’t want more from her. He knows she means a lot to me. He told Cami that’s why he didn’t make a move sooner. He was afraid of getting into trouble with “the boss,” meaning Seth.
So this is the end of ‘let’s take it slow’? I ask her.
I have to wait a few minutes to get a response, and in the meantime, I text her about half a dozen times: How was it? How big is he? Where did it happen?
It’s practically an interview when she finally texts back.
He told the guys last night he was into me. He said he claimed me, like the guys used to do at the Clubhouse, you know? His dad and them.
She rambles in her messages, sending them in chunks. And all the while my heart does a little flip for her. But also for me. Seth was fucking with me. Maybe he wanted to see if I knew. Dammit, I’m more disappointed than I should be that I’m not in on a secret Seth doesn’t know of.
He said if I’m with him, we’re exclusive. That he’ll be out late some nights, but it’s for work. He said I can’t ask questions and I have to trust him. He told me that it’s hard for some girls to trust like that and he asked me if I could.
And you said yes? Right? I text back with my questions even though I already know she did. Cami knows everything I’ve been through with Seth. Late nights after we’ve had fights are the worst. It’s easy to think he’s just avoiding me, that he’s off somewhere trying to get me—and our fight—off of his mind.
Those nights, I called Cami.
She’d come over or stay with me on the phone, easing my worries. Somewhere deep down, I knew Seth wasn’t going to leave me, but it didn’t make the thoughts in my head stop. We’ve had three big fights, all about the stupid shit he does and how we can get out of it. All three times, I watched that clock. All three times, he eventually came home, then sat next to me like he belonged there. Even if I wasn’t talking to him when he left. All three times, I kissed him hard, loving that he made the choice to come back to me.
He’s a man who doesn’t leave. All of the guys in the crew are the same. Derrick will be to Cami what Seth is to me; I know it.
She didn’t grow up in the life, but she gets it. Her dad was a truck driver and not around a lot. Maybe that’s why it’s easier for her? I don’t know. But she stays calm in the storm. Derrick’s lucky to have that.
My phone pings.
I told him to shut up and kiss me. He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know.
This time I do squeal and I don’t bother to look up at the receptionist. She can deal with it.
“Laura Roth?” a doctor calls out into the room, looking at a clipboard and lifting the papers before looking up to see me. The doctor looks young at first, but then I see the age around her eyes and mouth. She’s done up with dangling earrings, her brunette hair piled high in a bun, and a black dress under the professional white coat.
I wave. Like an idiot. I’ll blame it on being caught off guard by Cami’s last text.
“Come on back.” Her voice is calming yet chipper as she holds open the door and leads the way to whatever room we’re going to. “I’m Dr. June. It’s nice to meet you.” She’s polite and confident. I find myself making up stories about her on the way through the hall.
I wonder if she has a date after work. Or maybe it was a lunch date. She’s even wearing heels and that seems like a bold choice. I’ve already picked out the white sneakers I want to wear when I’m a nurse.
“Have a seat,” Dr. June says as she directs me to a blue examination table with vinyl upholstery that seems cheap but is probably easy to clean. It’s covered by a sheet of white paper that crinkles when I sit down.
“So I see here you were at your gynecologist and she identified what she believes to be a potential arrhythmia?”
I nod my head, remembering that day and a certain feeling in particular. I’m experiencing it again right now, this draining of everything inside of me right to the pit of my stomach.
“Can you tell me when you first experienced these symptoms?”
I move my gaze from her to the stark sink and the clear canisters filled with odd-shaped swabs. “I um—” I stop speaking to clear my throat. “I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t been there, so I don’t really know.”
“The chart indicates you grabbed your chest and seemed to struggle to breathe.” I can hear the paper fall as Dr. June drops the clipboard to her lap. “Is that a normal occurrence?”
“I’d just found out.” It hurts all over again. “I went in because I was bleeding, and I’d just found out that I miscarried. I didn’t even know I was two months along.” My eyes prick with tears, but I keep them back. “I didn’t know I was pregnant. … So, no, it’s not a normal occurrence. I was just reacting to the situation.”
“I can understand that,” Dr. June says and nods, trying to ease the thick tension. I hate this room. I hate being the one sitting on this table.
Sh
e asks me the same questions the gynecologist did. If I’ve felt fatigued, light-headed, or experienced any rapid heartbeat and shortness of breath in the last six months. All of them are a yes, but it’s because of Seth and the shit he puts me through, so I lie, which I know I shouldn’t do, and tell her no.
“I’ve already answered these for the other doctor, my gynecologist,” I say and cut her off from asking more questions, feeling like this is all déjà vu.
“I know, but for the tests we have to conduct, we have to do this at our facilities.” Paperwork. Legalities.
“I understand.”
“So today, I’m going to listen to your heart and do a checkup of sorts. We’re also going to do an echocardiogram to take a look at what’s going on physically. It’s an ultrasound …” Her voice drones on as she lists what she has planned for me and her reasoning for the tests. I’ve already read up on it, so I’m ready. Her stethoscope is cold as she listens to my heartbeat, occasionally pausing to tell me to breathe in deep.
All the while, I think about moments like this that I may face as a nurse. With me on the other side of things. If there’s ever a woman talking about her miscarriage and on the brink of tears, I promise myself not to keep a smile plastered on my face and tell her that I understand.
You can never understand what anyone else’s pain is like. She doesn’t know Seth told me he wanted kids. And that I told him I didn’t; there was too much going on.
I was already pregnant when I told him that. I put that out there into the universe, not knowing I was already carrying the baby Seth wanted. I practically asked fate to take that baby away from me. From us.
I’ll never forgive myself for speaking those words out loud. For even thinking them. I wish I could take it back. I would if I could. You’re never ready for a baby.
“You may want to ask someone to go with you.” Dr. June’s suggestion brings me back to the present.
“For the stress test?” I clarify, shifting and making the paper crinkle under me. I was barely listening to her telling me I’ll have to come back in next week.
