Page 27 of Dr. Fellow

“You’re up early,” I say casually, watching Morgan walk toward me as she rubs her sleepy eyes.

“Girls gotta work,” she replies, not meeting my gaze as she continues into the kitchen to search for her shoes.

My body tenses. “Morgan?”

She stops, innocently peering over at me. “Yes?”

“Did we not go over this last night?” My tone drops an octave, the way it often seems to do around her.

Despite the light from the hallway, it’s still dim in the house. I can just make out the corner of her lips curving into a smirk. “Go over what?”

She’s going to be the death of me.

I take a deep breath as my heart begins to thunder in my chest. “You were going to call in,” I remind her.

Her blatant disregard for her safety is one thing, but it fucking pisses me off how she is pretending like she doesn’t remember our conversation—we had an agreement.

“Was I?” she asks sweetly. “Because I actually don’t recall promising that.”

My mind rapidly turns over our conversation from last night, thinking back on everything that was said. I come to the conclusion that while she is technically right and she never verbally agreed to call in, the implication was definitely there.

Morgan starts moving toward the front door, and I find myself on my feet in an instant, physically barricading her from the only exit to my home.

She stops in front of me, lifting her chin in challenge. Her nostrils flare like she’s the one that’s frustrated here, when really it should be the other way around. All I’m trying to do is keep her safe, and she’s hell-bent on putting herself in harm’s way.

“What are you going to do, Walker?” she goads, her emerald eyes glimmering with daring ferocity. “Force me to stay? Tie me to your bed? No. You won’t do that because you don’t have it in you. Now get out of my way. I’m going to work.”

I snap, finally freeing the part of me that she’s been feeding for months. Reaching out, I wrap one hand around her delicate throat while the other snakes around her waist, pulling her body flush against mine.

“Be very careful, little devil,” I rasp in her ear, “I told you that I like you, but I’m about thirty seconds away from treating you like I don’t. Are you sure you want to keep pushing me?”

Her chest heaves with heavy, frustrated breaths as my thumb gently presses on her pounding pulse. And though the flame in her eyes flickers in answer to my question, she doesn’t immediately respond. Instead, she lets out a forced laugh, like she’s taunting me with her irreverence for the situation.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” she answers callously, gripping my wrist in her tiny hand. “Friend.”

It’s like she knows exactly what I was trying to do by drawing that line in the sand between us, and she’s stomping right on it.

Every boundary I’ve tried to set with her, every dark impulse that I’ve tried to hold back is eviscerated in an instant.

I turn my head and capture her mouth with mine. Her lips are soft, pillowy, and fucking perfect as I press hard against them, kissing her like I’ve never kissed anyone in my life.

Morgan doesn’t fight back like I’m expecting. Instead, she leans into me like my kiss is exactly what she’s been waiting for. She lets out a desperate moan against my lips that sounds like fucking velvet as it ricochets through my mouth, and I can practically taste her desire as it travels down my throat.

As much as I want to give in to her baiting force, to show her what I’ve been holding back for months, I’m also a man who delivers on his promises.

She’s about to find out what happens when she walks into the lion’s den.

Pulling back from her lips, I bend low like I’m about to tackle her petite frame, only instead of taking her to the ground, I shove my shoulder into her waist and stand. My arm wraps around her knees, holding them tightly against my chest as I walk toward the master bedroom at the back of the house.

“Put. Me. Down,” she breaths, dramatically beating her fists against my back.

I don’t answer, bending slightly so she doesn’t hit the frame of the door to my bedroom.

Tossing her on the mattress, I flick on the gold sconce lights that I drilled into the brick behind the bed and turn to dig through the middle drawer of my dark wood dresser.

I’ve worn a tie maybe ten times in my life—for my parents’ funerals, my college and med school graduations, and a few interviews in between. Most of the time I prefer to go with the whole open collar look since it’s more casual.

But it turns out I’m suddenly feeling very formal.

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