Cynda and the City Doctor - Theodora Taylor Page 0,41
just following his commands, but his head falls back like I slapped him in the face. “Christ, this is too much. Come here.”
I do as commanded and begin to crawl up his body. But I must not be going fast enough. He grabs me under my armpits and drags me the rest of the way like I was lollygagging.
No more commands after that. He flips me over on to my back and wraps one of my legs around his waist before thrusting into me.
I let out a long, ragged groan, welcoming The Real Prince back into my soaking core. And he drops down so that we’re chest to chest as he starts to take me.
The drag of him between my legs, rubbing at my core as he pumps in and out…it’s more than I can stand. What can’t even be five minutes later, I shove my mouth into his shoulder to muffle my scream as I explode beneath him.
He comes soon after. There’s no rush of semen this time, but his body goes rigid. And he pushes in even deeper before collapsing on top of me.
Just like he used to when we were better than this.
“Oh, baby…” I sigh.
Blame it on the surge of endorphins. I wrap my arms around him and hug him like I never would have before. When I was Nurse America, the woman who peaced out at any sign of adversity.
For a few moments, he lets me hold him. But only for a few moments. Then he stiffens and pulls out of my arms. Oddly, I feel bereft at his withdrawal.
He was heavy on top of me, but I miss his body weight when he’s gone.
He tucks himself back in and disposes of the condom with precise, deliberate movements.
“I need another shower. And then I have a day filled with paperwork. Feel free to watch television if you need to entertain yourself.
I believe him. Paperwork is never ending, and I know a lot of doctors push it all off to the weekend, so as not to split their focus.
But something makes me sit up in bed and ask, “Rhys?”
“Yes?” He’s over at his dresser now, pulling out clothes to wear when he gets out of the shower.
“What was that?”
His back stiffens like someone caught in the act.
But to his credit, he doesn’t try to act like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
“My plan is to spend the next two weeks getting you out of my system. This time safely, with protection,” he answers. “I don’t like how mental you make me.”
I nod in total agreement. Quiet as I keep it, I don’t like how he makes me feel either.
But then I find myself once again saying, “Rhys?”
“Yes?” His expression is wary. Like I’ve got a knife in my hand.
“I choose TV.”
He nods, “Fine, yes, whatever you want.”
“What I want is for you to watch TV with me.”
He falters, his whole body visibly stiffening. “What does that mean?”
“It’s cool if you spend the next two weeks fucking me out of your system. And you don’t have to give me back my job if it’s too hard to work with me. But…” I let out a heavy sigh “Can you stop hating me? Treating me like dirt? Can we be nice to each other? Like we were back in St. Louis? At least until we’re done with this mini-quarantine?”
He stares blankly at me. Then suddenly lunges forward.
One moment, I’m sitting up in bed and the next I’m on my stomach with one of Rhys’s hands at my core and the other kneading my breast.
“Do you know what I gave up to be with you?” he asks, rubbing at my clit with one hand while the other pinches and rolls my nipple. “How it fucked with my mind when you not only dumped me like an afterthought but refused to answer any of my calls or texts?”
His hand on my breast hurts but the one rubbing at my most sensitive spot feels so good. A sweet ache rekindles inside of me, and it’s hard to distinguish between the pleasure and the pain.
“You keep telling me it was only six months. But that six months turned me into the kind of nutter who moves to a small town in Missouri just to get back at the woman who broke his heart.”
Before I can even process that confession, he pushes into me from behind, rough and hard. Like he doesn’t care if he hurts me.
He doesn’t hurt me though. Just