Page 22 of Nicky

My fist moved in a rhythm that should’ve been mindless, automatic. Except it wasn’t. Every movement dragged me deeper into that picture behind my closed lids—Markus’s face,his hands, the way his voice wrapped around me like something solid.

My breath hitched, my body tensing as the heat built too fast to ignore. My toes curled, and my thighs shook as I chased that edge, every nerve in my body alive.

When it finally hit, it was like my whole body unraveled at once. My cock throbbed in my hand, release spilling over my fingers and onto my skin. For a few seconds, all I could hear was the sound of my breathing, loud and unsteady in the quiet room.

And then the ache came back. Not in my chest this time, but somewhere deeper.

I swore under my breath, reaching for tissues on my bedside table to clean myself up. My body might’ve been satisfied, but my mind was a mess. Markus wasn’t just under my skin—he waseverywhere.

God, I was so screwed.

CHAPTER 11

Markus

Mondays were supposed to be a fresh start. New week, new focus. At least, that’s what I told myself when I walked into the facility, ready to bury myself in charts and rounds. After an unsatisfying weekend spent thinking about Nicky—the off-limits Nicky who’d been avoiding me for the past week—I needed the distraction.

He probably felt self-conscious after everything. The breakdown at Cedar Hill. Showing up at my house unexpectedly. I’d tried to approach him midweek, wanting to tell him he’d always be safe with me, that I’d never betray his trust. But it didn’t take long to realize he was actively avoiding me. Every time I came near, he made himself scarce.

It stung more than I cared to admit, but I decided not to push it. He’d come around when he was ready. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Either way, chasing him wouldn’t help.

I was determined to put it out of my mind. Work would help. It had to.

It was ten-thirty, not even lunchtime yet, and Carl was throwing a wrench in that plan.

Carl was one of those residents who kept life interesting. His wiry frame, rich dark brown skin the color of espresso,and neatly trimmed beard dusted with gray made him look distinguished, but the twinkle in his sharp eyes promised mischief.

He waved me into his room with a hand that didn’t look the least bit weak, despite his claim of needing assistance.

“Doc,” he drawled, his voice smooth and warm, like jazz on a Sunday afternoon. “I need to move these old bones from the chair to the bed. But I’m too worn out to get myself together.”

I leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm. And I can’t be examined properly unless Nicholas is here. He’s got the magic touch, you know.”

The request shouldn’t have surprised me. Carl and Beverly were thick as thieves, and if Beverly was in the matchmaking business, Carl was her chief consultant. I tapped into the intercom system to page Nicholas to Carl’s room, keeping my tone neutral.

A few minutes later, Nicky appeared in the doorway, a little out of breath, a clipboard tucked under one arm. His uniform was perfectly neat, but his hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d run his fingers through it too many times.

“You need me, Mr. Carter?” His voice was even, but his gaze darted between Carl and me, lingering on me a second too long.

“I'd love to get from this chair to the bed, but I'm not sure I've got the strength. You're the only one I trust.”

Nicky moved to Carl’s bedside, pulling on gloves with practiced efficiency. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

As we worked—lifting, positioning, adjusting—I caught Carl watching us with a knowing smile.

“Did I ever tell you about my Henry?” Carl asked as Nicky carefully checked his vitals.

“No, sir. But I have a feeling you’re about to,” Nicky replied with a small grin, his tone gentler than usual.

Carl chuckled. “Met him in ‘68. I was a young man, not much older than you, Nicholas. Henry was... Well, he was something else. Smooth talker, dashing looks, made me feel like I was the only one in the room.”

I handed Nicky a blood pressure cuff, our fingers brushing for a brief moment. He glanced at me, and for a second, something unspoken passed between us. I looked away first, focusing on Carl.

“Back then was no where near like what we have now. We had to be careful, quiet. Sneaking glances, sharing smiles when no one was looking.” Carl’s voice grew softer, his gaze distant, wistful. “But we made it work. For fifty years, we made it work.”

He paused, and the room seemed to hold its breath with him.

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