Page 72 of Hook Up

Five minutes later, as I’m covered in orange juice and scrambled eggs, I have my answer. Tossing down my fork in disgust, I give up, having only managed to get two bites of food to my mouth in the melee.

“Hey,” a familiar voice sounds out, “let me help.”

Gigi. Just the sound of her voice soothes my frazzled nerves, even if I’m embarrassed as hell for her to see me in this state. “I told them I could do it.”

“You sure showed them.” I can hear her smirk, but I’m not in the mood for levity. Her hands pull away the bedside table and I feel her collecting the pieces of food I’ve tossed around my bed.

Mortification at its finest.

“That’s better. I’ll see if we can’t get you a shower after breakfast.” She dabs my face with a napkin, and I’m torn between laughing and screaming.

Is this what my life has become?

“I can’t wait to see how I do in the shower.”

“I’ll be right there with you. You’ll be fine.”

“I’m pretty fucking far from fine, Greer.” She doesn’t deserve my anger, but my emotions are vacillating wildly with one constant—abject terror.

The man who’s never known fear is absolutely terrified.

My wife seems undeterred by my emotional wall. Typical Greer. “It will take time, but you are going to be fine. Besides, hospital food isn’t the cure for what ails you. So, I brought you something better. A spinach and tomato omelet, just the way you like it.”

“Might as well toss it on me, like my first breakfast.”

“I have a better idea.” The mattress sinks next to me, only a moment before my nostrils are assuaged by two scents, both indelibly better than hospital chow. One is the subtle undertone of gourmet food. The other? The spicy amber scent Gigi wears.

The one that drives me wild in the best possible way.

“Open,” she demands, and the mental image of my wife riding my cock slips away, replaced by the reality that she’s not fucking me. She’s feeding me.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Your choice. You can keep going the way you were and waste three-quarters of this ridiculously expensive omelet, I can straddle your waist and force-feed you, or you can open your mouth and cooperate.”

“Thanks, Nurse Ratched,” I mutter, opening my mouth and releasing a groan when the flavors mingle on my tongue. “This is so much better than that hospital crap.”

Ten minutes later, my belly is full and my mind calm. Calmer, anyway. Greer does that for me, and she’s the only one who can.

“Better?”

“Much. Thank you.”

Her lips dust across my cheek, and I’m tempted to request that she keep moving down. I may be blind, but I still have needs.

I need her in every possible way.

“I’m going to speak with the staff about getting you a shower. You still have dried blood on you from the crash. I’m also fairly certain there will be a line of nurses eager to assist with that task.”

“I’ve got a nurse already.”

“Damn straight.” Her footsteps fade away and I fall back against the pillow, turning my face toward the only light in my world.

Well, the only light besides Greer.

She returns a few minutes later, triumphant in her quest, and within an hour, I’m feeling almost human again.

Emphasis on almost.

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