Stepping back, I dropped the robe onto the floor and walked over to the bedside table. I took out a condom, lube, and gloves and dropped them on the bed. I pulled the gloves on and the latex snapped against my wrist. I was going to give Andrew exactly what he wanted.
He was on the bed, facedown, his eyes closed, tremulous expectation evident in every breath he took. I knelt down on the bed, traced one latex-clad finger around his ear, across
his cheek, then slipped it into his mouth. “Roll over,” I whispered against his ear. “I want to see you.”
I’d been nervous before, but it had slipped away in the familiarity of what we were doing. This was known; I knew what Andrew wanted, and it was what I wanted, too.
He rolled over and I squeezed lube into one hand, his eyes locked on it as I lay down beside him. I kissed him deeply and wrapped my hand around his cock, the lube slippery and cool, and began to stroke him slowly.
He whimpered against my mouth, and I remembered that I was the only one who had come in the shower. “Do you need to come now?” I asked him, lips pressed against his ear as I whispered. “Or can you wait for me?”
“I want to wait,” he said. “Please.”
A submissive with manners; always a good thing. I kissed his lips briefly. “All right.” I let go of his cock and knelt up again.
I hadn’t touched his arse since Thursday night, so he should have recovered completely, but I was as gentle as I could be, just in case. He didn’t flinch or give me any sign he was sore as I slid one finger around the outside of his arse, getting him ready, giving him the chance to anticipate.
He was pliant, spreading his legs wide, lifting his hips a little, whispering, “Please” over and over. I slid two fingers slowly into him, knowing now that he could take two straight away, eased them all of the way in and bent forward and took his cock into my mouth.
His body jerked—I felt it clearly—and he moaned. He tasted of soap and skin and lube, and I fucked him slowly with two fingers.
He wouldn’t be able to take much of that, especially without a condom on to dull the sensation, so I lifted my mouth off him regretfully. Another time, next time, I’d make sure he came in my mouth.
He wanted more, more fingers, all of my hand probably, but neither of us were going to last long enough for that, so I slipped my fingers out of him and went to roll a condom on myself.
He stopped me, took the condom out of my hand and tore it open, then knelt in front of me. He licked the head of my cock, just the once, then carefully rolled the condom on me, over the underside bead first, then the one on the top of the glans. He’d been watching me.
He rolled the condom securely around the base of my cock, took the lube from me and coated my cock quickly, then tossed the tube of lube off the bed.
There was so much surrender in his eyes when he lay back down on the bed that it took my breath away for a moment.
I pushed gently into him and he was open and ready, the head of my cock sliding in smoothly. I held still for a moment, kissing him to distract him from any stinging, then slid halfway in. I paused, rolled my hips smoothly, watching his wide-open blue eyes for the flash.
There! That was just right and I kept the rolling motion going, dragging the top bead backward and forward inside him. It took finesse, and it took control, but I was willing to wait to fuck him if it meant I got to watch his face while he lost his mind.
He was utterly beautiful, his mouth open, his eyes closed now, breathing hard. “More,” he groaned. “Oh, fuck, more.”
I gave him more, pushing in hard all the way, then pulling back, making sure I dragged the bead inside him, then slamming myself back in. We were both groaning with every thrust, and I dug my knees and elbows into the bed for further traction and picked up speed.
He was shouting, we both were, it felt so fucking good, and the bed thudded against the wall repeatedly, half a beat behind my thrusts. I wondered briefly what the harmonic frequency of Ikea furniture was, then he clutched at me with both hands, digging his nails into my back, and I felt come spreading hot and slippery between our bodies. I held still, hopefully with the bead in the right place, just to give him something to come around.
He collapsed back onto the bed and I began to fuck him slowly and gently, stretching each stroke out, sliding in all the way, following the rhythm inside my head. The pulse in Andrew’s neck was bounding when he turned his head to one side, his eyes half-closed.
I kissed his pulse, then his cheek, resting my head, my whole body, down on him. He wrapped his arms around me, hugged me, and kissed my lips. I groaned and drove into him as hard as I could, my entire body shaking and trembling as my orgasm uncurled inside me as I thrust into him over and over.
Staying conscious afterwards didn’t seem to be an option.
I was distantly aware of Andrew getting rid of the condom and dragging a quilt over me, but I couldn’t move enough to even go and brush my teeth. I’d have to apologise for my early morning breath tomorrow.
I woke once during the night and found I was curled up against Andrew’s back, one arm slung over him. I didn’t feel nervous anymore.
Chapter Twenty Six
The alarm woke Matthew briefly, just enough for him to peer at the clock and groan, “Why?”
I kissed him. “I have to do rounds before I go on strike.” I tucked the quilt around his shoulders. “Go back to sleep.”
It was three, not really morning at all, but I went through the motions, in the hope my brain would eventually catch up with my body and start working. Preferably before I got to the hospital and had to make any decisions.
I showered quickly, dressed in the clothes I’d left ready, and went downstairs to a beautifully warm house. Guess we’d left the heater on all night.
I turned it off, and put the coffee percolator on. There was leftover curry, which reheated very nicely in the microwave. I wasn’t sure that curry was a good option for breakfast, but this counted as a late night snack anyway.
I left my spare house key on the kitchen bench, along with a note and the alarm system code.
Rhonda yawned tiredly and looked at me in confusion when I poked my head around the staff room door.
“Dr. Maynard?” she said, sounding surprised. “Um, I haven’t paged you or anything. I paged the night reg about Mrs. Silva, but I thought it was Ghastly George this week.”
“It may well be Ghastly George; I just came in early to do rounds. Want to walk around the ward with me?”
Rhonda nodded, put her shoes back on, and we started out on rounds. Ghastly George was a plump, vivacious young woman, competent and cheerful, and no one was quite sure how she got her name, but it had stuck so firmly to her that even the patients called her that. I hadn’t known she was on nights; it was a subject I tried my hardest to remain oblivious to, just in case it happened to me.
“What’s wrong with Mrs. Silva?” I asked Rhonda, hand on the door of her room. “I mean, that wasn’t wrong on Saturday when I saw.”
“She’s Cheynes-Stoking,” Rhonda said. “That’s why I called George.”
I pushed open the door of Mrs. Silva’s room, lit by the subdued lighting that the nurses used on the critically ill. Kira, the other night nurse, was sitting quietly in the corner of the room, and Mrs. Silva’s brother was sitting beside the bed, holding his sister’s hand. Mrs. Silva’s breaths filled the room.
Each one shuddered in and rasped out, and the pauses were erratic. Her brother was in tears.
I touched his shoulder and said, “Come outside and we’ll talk.”
While I led Mrs. Silva’s brother to the staff room, which was the only private place on the ward, I searched my brain for his name. John, that was it.
