“Fuck, you taste so good,” he muttered, his breath hot on my skin. “Can’t get enough of you.”
He sucked my clit into his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive nub.
I let out a strangled cry, my fingers tightening in his hair.
He didn’t stop, didn’t let up until I was on the edge, my body coiled tight like a spring.
“Elias, I’m gonna—” I gasped, but he cut me off, standing up in one fluid motion and pressing his lips to mine again.
I could taste myself on his tongue.
His cock was hard against my stomach, straining against the fabric of his scrubs.
I reached for him, fumbling with the drawstring until I had him in my hand, thick and heavy and throbbing. He groaned as I stroked him, his forehead resting against mine.
“Need to be inside you,” he breathed, his voice tight with desperation.
I nodded, too far gone to form words.
He lifted me and pinned me against the wall again.
I wrapped my legs around his waist.
And…then he pushed into me, slow and deliberate, stretching me until I was full of him.
I cried out, the sound echoing off the sterile walls, and he stifled me with another kiss, his hips rolling against mine.
“Gigi, you gotta be quiet,” he breathed on a chuckle.
He used to call me Gigi when we were together—a soft, secretive nickname only he used. It started as ajoke when one of the senior attendings kept calling me Gigi instead of Reggie.
Gigi!God! I missed the way he used to say that name, especially when we made love.
It was raw and messy and perfect, the way he fucked me, each thrust hitting that sweet spot deep inside me until I was sobbing his name.
His hand slid between us, his thumb pressing hard against my clit as he drove into me.
I shattered, my body convulsing around him as I came.
He followed me over the edge with a low groan, spilling himself inside me, his forehead pressed to mine as we caught our breath.
I felt it in every fiber of my being—I was his, completely and utterly, and he was mine.
Even now, in the cold reality of this on-call room, that memory burned inside of me like a brand. I could still feel him, still hear his voice in my ear as he whispered my name like a prayer. And I hated myself for it, for wanting him still, even after everything.
Curled up on the narrow cot after sex, limbs tangled, talking, sharing, loving.
Once, he brought me coffee and a blueberry muffin. “You always get this look when you’re too tired to admit you need a break.”
I’d laughed into his shoulder. “And you think muffins are thesolution?”
“They’re not, Gigi. But I can’t fix the world. I can only feed you.”
But I had believed he could fix my world—be there for me.
God, I’d been so stupid. So, trusting.
My breath hitched as the sterile hospital air seemed to thicken around me.
