Page 90 of Dr. Fellow

After I fucked her on my desk until we both came, I picked her up and carried her to the bathroom. I intended to draw her a bath and let her relax, but she asked if I would get in with her, just like the night of the ice storm. And just like that night, I held her in my arms until the water turned cold, fully content.

As I’m mentally going through my to-do list for the weekend, Morgan stirs and slowly opens her eyes.

She blinks rapidly, pupils dilating and contracting as they finally focus on my face. “You’re up?”

I shift, wiping the drool-crusted hair from her face. “I’ve been up for a while, listening to you dream about . . . Italy?”

“Close.” Her lips tilt into a sleepy smile. “A billionaire boyfriend named Lorenzo.”

I scowl. “Oh, so your real-life boyfriend isn’t enough?”

“Real-life husband,” she corrects, running her fingers along my arm that’s draped over her bare stomach. “Though, I’d be happy to also find a real-life boyfriend if you want. You know what they say, sharing is caring.”

My fingers pinch her side, making her squeal and squirm. When she finally settles I ask, “How does your ass feel?”

I was hoping that we would’ve had a chance to talk more about the scene last night, but most of our time in the tub was spent in comfortable silence, and she passed out immediately after we climbed into bed.

She tilts her head toward me, brow cocked with amusement. “Why? Thinking about spanking it?”

I let out a soft laugh. “If you keep talking about sharing, I might. But I wanted to check in after last night. How are you feeling about what we did?”

The entire scene I kept my attention on her, reading her body language and breathy little sounds to ensure that I didn’t push anything too far. It seemed like she was enjoying herself, and she even voiced a few things that she liked about it briefly in the tub, but her opinion could be different now—I hope it isn’t, but it could be.

“I feel like you might have a humiliation kink,” she replies, shooting me a teasing wink.

When I don’t react, she adds, “It was honestly more intense than I was expecting. Not in a bad way, just in a surprising way. I think whenever we do that again, we need to make sure nothing is planned after, or I won’t survive.”

I swallow hesitantly before asking, “So you want to do it again?”

“Duh.” She grins at me like the little devil that she is. “Yeah it was intense, but it was also hot as fuck.”

I smile and press a silky kiss to her lips, feeling a sense of contentment that’s hard to describe. “I agree.”

Her fingers lazily trail up my arm, tracing the lines of ink covering my skin.

“You do that a lot,” I comment, watching her eyes follow her feathery touch like the tattoos are a book she’s trying to read.

Morgan furrows her brow, studying the ropelike design on the top of my forearm. “I don’t understand them.”

“You don’t understand my tattoos?”

She nods slowly. “Yeah, don’t get me wrong, I like them. It’s just that usually people get meaningful things inked on their skin, and yours just look like a bunch of random shapes and shading.”

“And?”

Her lower lip draws between her teeth as she finally turns to face me, a curious expression on her face. “Why?”

I hesitate for a moment as a feeling of uneasiness washes over me. It would be so easy to reply with a snarky comment about how I thought they looked badass when I turned eighteen, but she doesn’t deserve that—she deserves to know the truth. And I want to tell her.

“Remember how I told you that my parents died when I was a teenager?”

“Yeah . . .”

“My dad and I were in a pretty bad car accident when I was fifteen.” I flop onto my back and let out a pained breath because it’s been a long-ass time, but the words still hurt. “He died on impact, but I was thrown from the car despite wearing a seatbelt.”

I study the crown molding above my head, recounting the memory vividly even after sixteen years. Morgan threads her fingers through mine, squeezing my hand as I work up the strength to continue.

“Both of my parents were addicts who struggled with sobriety off and on for years. I was walking on eggshells for my entire childhood and never wanted to do anything that set them off. So when my dad told me to get in the car with him, I listened, even though I knew he was high.”

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