Page 43 of Dr. Fellow

“We need to talk more about this,” I murmur. “Let’s finish that bottle of wine in bed.”

Chapter 17

Morgan

While Walker went to grab our wine glasses, I tossed my T-shirt back on. Before snuggling beneath my duvet, I swung by my attached bathroom to make sure I didn’t look completely disheveled.

My hair was still wet when he showed up tonight, and I was waiting for it to air dry a bit before I used the Dyson that Claire made me buy last week. Even though it's expensive as hell, it makes my life so much easier because my hair is still at the length where it’s a nightmare to style. Unfortunately, I don’t have time for a full blow out at the moment so I toss it into a single braid and move on. It’s not like Walker and I are going to hook up tonight, and he’s already seen me at my worst . . . multiple times, in fact.

“I swear if you spill that shit in my bed, I will ruin your life,” I warn as he walks into my room holding two very full wine glasses. He must have emptied the remainder of the bottle because the red liquid is sloshing dangerously close to the rim with each step that he takes.

Walker reaches out and hands me my glass. “You already have ruined my life, little devil.”

My heart flutters with his use of my nickname, like things are normal between us again. I feel like he only calls me Morgan when I’m in trouble, or something serious is going on, so I’m glad that he’s not too upset after everything that happened tonight.

“Cheers to that,” I reply, unable to help my grin.

Walker places his glass on my nightstand and begins to unbutton his jeans, swiftly dropping them to the floor. I almost choke on my wine as I watch him step out of the denim to reveal fitted gray briefs that hug his lean thighs.

“Sorry, uh, didn’t you say you wanted to talk?” I mumble like a damn idiot, though I can’t bring myself to look away from him as he moves to take off his shirt.

He pauses, narrowing his gaze in a terrifyingly intimidating way. “I do. But I’m not fucking getting into bed wearing jeans and a sweater. I sleep hot.”

There are very few things in my life that have ever left me speechless, but Walker Chastain inviting himself to stay overnight is now at the top of that list. Not only was it the opposite of what I expected after our uncomfortable incident, but I’ve truthfully never had a man sleep in my bed before. Sure, I’ve gone home with plenty of guys and stayed the night, but my bedroom is my sanctuary—I’ve never once considered sharing it with anyone.

I gawk at him in muted awe as he tosses his clothes on the floor and climbs into bed beside me, pulling my duvet cover over his lap like he’s done it a million times before.

He releases a long exhale as he leans back against one of my oversized shams. Neither one of us says anything for a moment which he must find odd because he turns his head to me and asks, “What?”

I blink rapidly a few times, trying to gain control of my sex-scrambled brain. “You do realize this is super distracting, don’t you?”

Not only is his massive body overtaking the entirety of my queen-size bed, but his tattooed arm is practically resting against mine. My eyes study the intricate artwork on his skin, tracking the design as I try to make out anything distinctive other than waves and non-specific flower petals. It surprises me because I feel like tattoos are usually unique and personal, but Walker’s looks like he asked for the most generic design possible.

“I distract you?”

I nod, pursing my lips as I try to work out some sort of witty response but come up with nothing.

He just chuckles and reaches for his glass. “Now you know how it feels.”

An exaggerated sigh comes from my mouth as I shift in the bed to face him more directly.“Kind of irritating.”

“You’re telling me,” he says, gaze locking on me as he takes a sip of his wine.

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” I blurt, eyes going wide as soon as the words leave my mouth.

So much for playing it cool.

“Why’s that?” His brow arches in genuine curiosity.

“Uh . . . last time you stopped things between us physically, you left to go think. So I guess I just expected you to do that again.”

Walker nods, rolling his lips thoughtfully. “Did that upset you?”

“Kind of,” I admit, though I’m not sure why. “Other than thinking that you were missing out, I felt like you weren’t interested.”

“I get that,” he pauses, like he’s searching for the right words. “I hope you don’t believe that anymore. I didn’t know how to process what was happening with us and wanted to make sure that I was ready before we got too deep.”

“But this is just sex,” I argue, not entirely sure why it’s such an issue. We’re just two bodies that are giving mutual pleasure to each other—it doesn’t have to be that complicated.

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