“Fuck!” Bette called out instead, head tilted back, eyes closed, fingers reaching for Emily’s auburn tresses. She wasn’t guiding her. There was no need. The way Emily licked at her, lapping her up was so hot she could feel that orgasm waiting around the corner. When Emily locked her mouth around Bette’s clit, flicking at it with her tongue, that was the end of it. That orgasm stormed through her like a bull at a matador. Bette was trembling, her legs were shuddering, her hips pressing back trying to break contact with Emily’s tongue.
“Stop,” Bette muttered under her breath, gently pulling at the strands of Emily’s hair. “You need to stop. I’m done. I’ve come.”
Emily stopped and glanced up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Did you enjoy that?”She was smiling as if she already knew the answer.
“You have no idea what you just did to me,” Bette exhaled, feeling exhausted but ready for another round.
“Well,” Emily said, sliding up the bed. “Why don’t you show me?”
14
EMILY
Emily stepped out of the OR into the hallway, peeling off her scrub cap and raking a hand through her hair. The surgery had gone flawlessly—a clean, perfect repair of a compound femur fracture. Motorbike accidents were never pretty. The bone had shattered on impact, but the fix had been smooth, the patient stable. Emily had done her job, just like she always did before the accident.
But now, it wasn’t the surgery she was thinking about, or tomorrow’s rounds. No, it was that damn kiss two nights ago. A kiss that had led to sex. Mind-blowing, delicious, wonderful sex Emily couldn’t stop thinking about. In fact, she’d used her vibrator just that morning while replaying the whole event over and over in her head. Sex so good she’d like very much to repeat it. But that was the problem.
Emily hadn’t seen Bette in two days. They hadn’t talked about what happened—about Emily’s confession in Bette’s office. Not after sex or even the next morning. They’d both agreed not to. Bette had let Emily stay over on the condition they didn’t talk about anything deep. And Emily hadn’t minded at thetime. Playing small spoon with Bette Bridge had been worth the silence.
Emily had expected things to be awkward the morning after, maybe stilted conversation over coffee. Or maybe, miraculously, if Bette had changed her mind, a chance to talk. Properly talk. But that never happened. Bette had been polite but distant. She’d slipped back into that composed, untouchable person Emily just wanted to shake and say, “Do you ever just let anyone in?”
Scrubbing a hand down her face, Emily walked into the staff lounge. The place reeked of microwave leftovers and stale coffee. There were two other doctors milling about, but Emily didn’t have the energy for small talk. She headed straight for the fridge and reached for the container of chicken and rice she’d optimistically packed that morning but hadn’t gotten time to eat. It wouldn’t be nearly as tasty as it was last night. Emily could go home and order something, but then Tessa would be there, sprawled out on the couch with her oversized mug of chamomile tea, eyebrows raised, ready to launch into her favorite new interrogation: “So, Em. Did you and Bette finally have that chat or are we still playing the let’s silently pine and avoid our feelings game?”
Home was a battlefield she didn’t feel like entering into. And so, she headed to the microwave instead. Emily placed the Tupperware inside and was just about to set the timer when the door to the lounge opened.
Bette walked in. The woman was still in her work clothes—scrubs and sneakers and her hair framing her face so perfectly that Emily felt a jolt between her thighs. Two days and she still couldn’t get the image of naked Bette out of her head.
Bette’s eyes locked onto hers.
“Hi,” Emily muttered, feeling a little dazed at the sight of Bette, especially when she hadn’t expected to see her at all, let alone at eight p.m.
But Bette didn’t say anything. She just crossed the room toward Emily and before Emily could figure out what else to say, Bette was in front of her, cupping her face with both hands.
She kissed her.
Not just kissed her, claimed her. Lips grazing. Tongues slipping together. It was an oxygen-stealing, bone-melting, not-meant-for-public-consumption kind of kiss. Emily’s knees nearly gave out. She gripped Bette’s forearm to steady herself, fingers curling into the fabric of her long sleeve as if she might float away.
Bette’s lips moved harder against hers, her hands cradling Emily’s face, tilting her chin just so before her fingers moved down, and down until they slipped under the hem of Emily’s scrub top.
Emily exhaled and leaned into the kiss, intoher. She wished they were somewhere else, somewhere with a bed and privacy, somewhere where they didn’t have an audience.
And then, just as suddenly as it started, Bette pulled back leaving Emily breathless and dazed and just so fucking confused.
What the hell just happened?
“I’ve been wrong,” Bette said, her voice low and raspy. “I should never have avoided you these last two days. I thought if I kept my distance, I could figure out what to say. How to say it…”
Emily’s gaze flicked past Bette’s shoulder to the doctors lingering by the coffee machine, blatantly staring, smiling far too annoyingly in their direction. Emily had every intention of telling them to fuck off, but one of them—Dr. Amelia Frank, a gastroenterologist—was at least twenty years her senior and that would be extremely disrespectful. Instead, she just brushed her hair away from her cheeks and focused entirely on Bette.
“But I don’t want to do this anymore,” Bette went on, her arms by her sides when they should be on Emily’s hips. “I’ve been trying to tell myself that what happened didn’t matter. That it wasn’t—” She shook her head and breathed in deep. “I’ve been hurt before and the only way I could protect myself has been to push people away. To push you away. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel something. Because I do. I care about you, Emily. More than I probably should.”
The staff lounge suddenly felt too small, too bright, too overwhelming. She wanted to be somewhere else. Somewhere that was just the two of them.
“Can we go to your office,” Emily said, dropping the Tupperware onto the counter before Bette could say another word. “Or my office.” Frankly, she didn’t care. As long as they were alone.
Bette nodded and Emily, who refused to look at the two doctors still watching them, took the lead out of the staff lounge. Tomorrow, gossip would run around the hospital like wildfire, and by the end of the morning, everyone at Oakridge and their great-aunt would probably know about Emily and Bette and that kiss.
The rehab center in the evenings was oddly hollow. That was the best way Emily could describe it when they entered the space and Bette flicked on the light. Shadows of equipment stretched long across the floor and the space itself felt larger somehow, like it had doubled in size.
