He groaned when I squeezed the head. I ran my thumb over the slit, spreading the pearl of liquid around.
“This is a bad idea.”
“Why?”
“I can’t see it ending without me fucking you.”
I backed against the wall for support, taking him with me. I worked up and down his shaft. His palm slammed against the wall beside my head.
“Do it.”
“No.”
“I want you inside me.”
“Shut up.” His lips crashed down on mine.
I jerked harder, faster, as his body pressed mine into the stone. A new kind of fire tore through me. One of burning desire that refused to be put out.
My tongue sought his. His cock swelled in my hand. Power and hunger lit my veins. I longed to drop to my knees, take him in my mouth. I slid an inch in that direction, but he stopped me with a hand under my chin.
“Absolutely not.”
“I didn’t ask for permission.” He throbbed in my fist. “You do like it when I mouth off.”
I hooked a leg around his waist, pretended I felt no pain, and guided him to my entrance.
“No.”
“Please. It’s been too long.”
His forehead dropped to mine. “I can’t do that to you. We’ve already gone too far.” He lowered my leg and attempted to unwrap my fingers from his shaft.
I wouldn’t budge. Jacked him until we both panted. He swelled, grew rigid in my hand. His cock curved just before he exploded all over my stomach. His desire coated my fingers. I brought them to my mouth and licked off every drop.
His length twitched against me. He captured my lips with his. I locked my hands behind his neck and melted against him. He made me forget all the misery I’d learned to live with. Made me believe there was something beyond it. That I deserved that something.
My hands found his face. I tried to convey without words what I felt, even though I wasn’t entirely sure myself.
“Back to bed,” he said hoarsely as his fingertips trailed down my cheek.
“I have somewhere to be.”
“I know. Bed.”
“I already missed a week when we went to the beach.” Uneasiness tingled under my skin.
“You should’ve considered that when you picked up the desk.”
“I don’t need a lecture.”
“You need rest.”
“You can’t be angry with me,” I insisted.
“I’m angry with me for what just happened. And I’m still angry with you for hurting yourself.” He brushed my hair back from my forehead. “Guess we should wash the shampoo out.”
I bit my lip. “You let me get you off with a soap beehive.”
“It was sexy.” He shrugged.
“You’re weird.”
“Love you too.”
Chapter Fifty-One
Patrick
“The answer is no.”
Marlow winced as she picked up her purse.
“I didn’t ask permission.”
I muttered a string of curses under my breath. “I’m coming with you.”
She froze. “No.”
I sharpened my gaze. “Yes. I get you're stubborn, but you injured your back. The doctor said bed rest.”
For once, she didn't argue straight back. I could almost see the pigs flying, as indecision flashed across her face.
“I—”
She shifted from foot to foot. Her pain was apparent, so whatever she wanted to do was important to her.
“Just tell me where you’re going,” I said, softening my tone. "I'm not your enemy, Wicked.”
Her mouth rolled from one side of the other. She stared at me, and I waited. I knew the drill.
“Go get Blake.” This was as close to a concession as I’d get, so I moved. “And we need a car.”
East Orange VA Hospital.
Wordlessly, I moved Blake from the car to the stroller and pulled his hat over his ears. Marlow gripped both sides of the doorframe as she eased out of the backseat to her feet. She didn’t even flinch, her tolerance for pain at a threshold higher than the toughest of people.
“What time should the driver come back?”
“Four.”
“That’s too long,” I argued.
“Then have her come get you when you get tired.” She grabbed the handles to the stroller and pushed toward the entrance of the hospital.
I instructed the driver to come back this afternoon, but to be on standby in case we needed her. I caught Marlow as she went through the automatic doors.
“Brought the cuteness back?” The nurse behind a reception desk stood and leaned over to wave at Blake.
“He’s got some new fans.”
“Along with his mama.” Her gaze drifted to me. “Who’s your other friend?”
“Just some random man following me. Is Aaron up?”
Did Wicked just make a joke? “Patrick Whitley.”
“Well, Patrick Whitley, I’m Daisy. Nice to meet you.” Dimples cratered her cheeks. She turned her attention back to Marlow. “He’s having a rough day.”
“Can you find something for him to do?” She thrust her finger in my direction.
“I’m going with you,” I said, annoyed she was treating me like a nuisance.
She pushed Blake through another set of automatic doors, this one leading to a long hallway of rooms on either side. It was quiet minus the shuffle of feet and paper and the roll of carts and equipment on the linoleum floor.
Marlow moved with purpose, as if she were no stranger to this place. Near the end of the hall, she paused. Her shoulders rose and lowered as she drew in a deep breath and released it. Then she disappeared inside an open door.
My steps faltered when I followed her. On the bed was a man with missing limbs. When he saw Wicked, his face lit up. As he rolled his head toward her, I froze. The other side appeared to have been badly burned.
“How.” Blake’s standard greeting broke me from my trance.
“How.” The man’s voice was roughened as if just speaking the word was painful.
“Mind making yourself useful and putting Blake up there?” Marlow asked.
The man’s gaze flicked in my direction and hardened. “More visitors?”
“You need a reintroduction into the real world because you’re going to be out of here in no time. Can’t have you forgetting how to interact.” She leaned forward. “Especially with weirdos.”
I hoisted Blake onto the bed. “Here okay?”
“Fine.” He moved his arm
