I am his good girl. Ever since I was old enough to think about such things, I’ve made a conscious effort never to measure myself by what other people think of me, particularly if their approval has been on the line. I’ve never wanted it. I’ve never needed it. Not even with my parents. I’ve always wanted to make myself proud, to work hard for me, to accomplish my best for me. But this man…shit, I don’t even know where to begin when I try to analyze how he makes me feel. It brings me such intense, unfathomable pleasure to make him happy. When he tells me that he’s pleased with me, I’m filled with such a pride that it almost makes me embarrassed. I live for it, though. I crave it like a drug. I wouldn’t sacrifice it for the world.
Zeth withdraws his fingers from my mouth, rubbing the pad of his index finger against the swell of my lip. He groans in the most electrifying way, and then he says, “Still plenty of time left. I’m going to give you what you want. I’m going to come in your mouth, but I’m still going to be hard for you. Once I’m done there, we’re still going to have another thirty-five minutes. Do you know what I’m going to do then, Sloane?”
“What?” He isn’t going to have to touch me to make me come at this rate. My nipples are peaked to painful degrees; every time I shift underneath him, they rub against the light material of my pineapple covered shirt, sending shockwave after shockwave of longing through me, making me pant.
“Then,” he says, lowering himself the tiniest bit further, baring his teeth a little. It’s such an animalistic, raw thing to do that my toes curl. “Then, I’m going to fuck you long, and I’m going to fuck you hard. I’m going to make you scream my name so goddamn loud that your neighbors three miles away are going to know who I am, and they’re gonna high five me in the motherfucking street. I’m going to bring you so close to coming that you’re delirious with need, and then I’m going to stop, over and over again, until all I need to do is blow on your skin to make you explode. Do you think you can take it?”
“Yes. Fuck, Zeth. Yes.”
“And are you ready?”
I nod, swallowing. My throat feels dry. My body is vibrating with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. Zeth sits back on his heels, observing me with a calmness that makes my heart trip over itself in the most terrifying way.
“Good,” he says. “Then let’s begin.”
Chapter Ten
MASON
Five Days Later
“I want to take her home. She’s bored out of her mind down here. She’s been fine for days now. It’s time.” I lean against the wall by the elevator, pleading my case to Sloane. No, the extra treatment Millie’s receiving isn’t costing anything, and yes, I sure as hell am grateful, but fuck! I want to disentangle myself from Zeth & his girlfriend (wouldn’t that have been valuable information to know) as much as I can. I owe Sloane my life; I already owed her way more than that before, when she helped with Millie. No one else would have stepped up for my sister the way she did. I can’t bear the thought of owing her any more.
“What’s the harm in keeping her in another couple of days?” she asks. Seeing her here is very different to seeing her outside of the hospital walls. Here, she’s the epitome of calm and efficiency, almost to the point where she appears mechanical. Like nothing at all fazes her. When I saw her at Zeth’s warehouse, she had been flustered and fiery. It’s hard to imagine her like that, now, as she flips through Millie’s chart. “Her sleep pattern’s irregular. She’s complaining of stomachache a couple of times a day. Both of those things could be underlying symptoms for something more serious.”
“She’s being left alone in an unfamiliar place every night. She can’t sleep because she needs her own bed. And she’s got stomachache half the time because Dr. Bochowitz keeps giving her all the chocolate pudding she can eat instead of her regular meals.”
“Seriously?”
I shove away from the wall, following after her as she begins to walk off down the corridor. “Seriously. Trust me, okay. Millie’s going to be ten times better off at home, back to her normal routine, than she is here. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done, but it’s enough.”
Romera stops walking. “Okay. Take her home. But you call me the moment you think she looks under the weather, you hear me? Day or night. It doesn’t matter.” She hands me a business card, the kind all doctors have, a string of unintelligible letters tacked together at the end of their names. I pocket it, smiling. “Thanks, Doc. I will, I promise.”
“Good. I need to clear morning rounds. It’s a miracle you even caught me this early. I don’t need to see you out, do I?”
I shake my head.
“Then I guess I’ll be seeing you. Hopefully not too soon.”
“Hey, Dr. Romera?”
She hooks the tubing of a stethoscope over her neck. “Yes?”
“It said on that card of yours that you’re a trauma surgeon. That true?”
She nods. “Why do you ask?”
“You were in business clothes before, but now you’re in scrubs. I thought you might have been banned from operating or something.”
She clasps hold of both ends of the stethoscope, fingers wrapped around the instrument like it’s her most prized possession. “Something like that,” she says. “I had the flu. You’re not allowed into the OR if you’re contagious, Mr. Reeves. I’m sure I’ll be cleared for surgery any day, though.”
******