“Trust me,” he said between kisses, cradling my head. “Just trust me.”
And I did. Through the raindrops and thunder, the groans building in my throat, the warmed space between our bodies, I trusted him, his judgment, his intentions, his actions.
But I didn’t.
forty.
theresa
e passed Margie’s car on the way to the elevator. It was still parked in the spot reserved for the neurology guy she’d helped with a “thing.” When this was over, I was going to sit Margie down and ask her what she really did for a living.
Otto stayed in the car while Antonio and I stepped into the elevator.
“What’s the plan?” I asked, watching the numbers change. The secure lot was four levels down.
“Cardiac wing is on four.” He didn’t look at me. He looked at the numbers. “There’ll be a distraction in fifteen minutes. We will be on two.”
“This sounds pretty vague.”
“I’m using what I have.”
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open into a back hallway painted a particularly diarrhea shade of mustard.
Antonio walked out, and I followed. He was closed to me, and I didn’t know why. No. Forget that. I did know why. The price for whatever this distraction was must have been sky-high if he would rather shut me out than talk to me.
I’d mastered my impulses long ago, covering them with implacable smiles and social maneuvering, but I almost grabbed Antonio and yanked him back to demand an answer because he’d stripped away all my practiced refinement. But did we even have time for that? Did he have a moment to tell me what we were doing? Or were there too many components to explain as we walked down a hall lined with laundry bins and broken gurneys?
I had to trust him, and when he turned to an open door, stopped himself midway, and looked at me with full engagement, I was glad I’d waited. He gestured at the empty staff lunch room. Two vending machines. A wall of lockers. A coffee maker with a crust of sludge. A round tabletop on a single center pedestal and three red chairs with chrome legs.
I stepped inside, and he pushed me through to the “Pump Room,” which was no bigger than the smallest of my mother’s closets. Meaning, it had room enough for a glider and footrest, a cabinet, and a little table with a half-full paper coffee cup.
He snapped the door closed behind him.
“What’s the problem?” I asked. “What’s happening?”
He crashed his lips onto mine.
I pushed him away with force. “There couldn’t possibly be a worse time for this.”
He took my hands, holding them between us. “Please, just do this for me. Don’t ask questions.” He turned my hands over and kissed my palms. “Don’t ask to be hurt. Don’t fight. Just love me.”
His voice was soft enough to turn stone to putty, and all desire to defy him left me.
“Okay,” I said, “but I—”
He pressed his fingers to my lips. “Hush. Trust me. I’ve worked it out. All you have to do is follow along.”
“The bouncing ball.”
“Follow the ball.” He picked up my shirt and ran his hands over my nipples until they were as hard as stones. “That’s it. I need you by my side, and right now, I need you to love me. No more.”
“You’re scaring me.”
He unbuttoned my pants and slid them down my legs. “You wouldn’t be scared if you loved me.”
“That’s not true.”
It was hard to concentrate on everything that was happening when he stroked my thighs, kissing them as I stepped out of my clothes.
“It is. There’s no fear if there’s love.”
He guided me to the wooden slider and sat me in it.
“Open your legs,” he whispered, gently parting my knees until I was exposed to him. His eyes alone sent shockwaves through me, and he kept them on me when he kissed inside my thigh slowly, from knee up. He brushed his lips against my folds, flicking his tongue.
“Oh!” I cried. I couldn’t help it.