Page 32 of The Suit

Her head smacked back onto the shelf as my lips fell on her neck, sucking and biting at the spot where her pulse was hammering, and she finally shattered, falling forward so her cries were muffled in my shoulder. The force that ripped through her had me chasing with my own orgasm, punching me so hard it buckled my knees and I tipped into the bookcase. Waves and waves crashed through me as I exploded inside her, coming like I never had in my life, like my body was on a mission to drain me dry of every last drop, until I had to hold myself up against the shelves before I collapsed onto her, exhausted, and thoroughly spent.

I could feel her heartbeat pounding, the thumping reverberating against my chest as mine was doing to hers. My heart, which was not the same as the one I’d stormed round here with.

With as much gentleness as I could muster, I pulled her head back to look at her, to see if she looked different in the way that she felt different.

I saw softness for the first time; rosy tints against her light brown skin. I saw contentment, I saw the dimple I hated so much as a tiny smile graced her smudged red lips.

It might have been the longest we’d ever gone without one of us saying something... Although I’d pay good money to hear those moans again - in my mouth, on my dick; anywhere, I didn’t care, as long as I heard them again.

“Fuck, I forgot to ask Blake to email me the Peterson summary.”

What? I pulled her head back again, and whatever look had been there a second ago was now gone. Whatever she’d been thinking about a second ago was now gone, replaced by fuckingwork.

My body was literally drained dry, my shirt sticking to me from my sweat drenched back while I wondered how the fuck that had happened, and when we could do it all over again. I was still inside her, and she was thinking about fuckingWORK?

Yeah, the moment was officially over.

I stormed out, stepping past the books scattered around us, still doing up my pants and tucking in my shirt when I bumped into the janitor crew on the way out.

Fucking work.

Never in all my life…

I could easily throttle that woman, and it would be worth doing the time.

* * *

It was only much later as I drifted in and out of sleep, after I’d texted Dover a raincheck, after I washed the remnants of sweat and Beulah’s juices off me and tended to the crater thick welts she’d left across my back, that two things occurred to me.

One - Murray owed Penn a hundred grand.

Two - The reason it had felt so good, felt out-of-this-world, felt better than anything I’d ever experienced in my life… we didn’t use a condom.

7

Beulah

“Ms. Holmes, I’m Dr. Boyson, thank you so much for coming in today. I spoke to Gray Jenkins at Chicago Children’s and he said this is your regular Saturday stop. We’re very lucky to have you.”

I blushed - fuckingblushed– as I took his outstretched hand. “Not at all, it’s my pleasure. I should be thanking you for allowing me to join you for a few hours.”

He beamed in the way that only a pediatric doctor could do, and it took all my strength not to shrink under his genuine smile, wondering if he could see right through me… right through what I’d done.

I’d had a bath and three showers since I’d left my office last night in what only could be described as a near catatonic state of shock, after having experienced my first out of body experience; out of body, out of character, out of my fucking mind.

I’d scrubbed and scrubbed myself, trying to remove all trace of Rafe Latham; all evidence of what we’d done. But no matter how much soap I’d used, I could still smell his rich musky man scent on my skin; could still feel his hot, ripped body shuddering under my fingers as he came inside me, could still taste him on the tip my tongue. If I hadn’t been wearing my favorite pair of panties, I’d have thrown them away too, soaked with a combination of his cum and too much of my own arousal; and further evidence I’d completely lost my mind. And yet here I was, eleven hours later, standing on Ward Four of the Columbia Pres Children’s Hospital, like nothing had ever happened.

Which is what I was going to pretend was the truth.

Except I knew when I looked in the mirror this morning, that I’d never be able to convince myself of that. Even if my back wasn’t laddered with bruises from being slammed against the bookshelf, or my ass didn’t hold the perfect imprint of his hands from when he squeezed my cheeks, I knew –knew– that my eyes had sparkled a little too much this morning, my face was still a little too flushed, my lips a little too swollen. And don’t get me started on the way my belly flipflopped as my mind replayed every last detail, because she was determined to drive me as crazy as I already felt.

I didn’t want to think about the thickness of his biceps, the roped muscles oozing strength and stretching across his back as I dug my nails into him while his tongue assaulted mine with deftness and expertise that made me wonder what else his tongue was capable of. Or the hint of tattoo I swear flashed under his shirt, black and mysterious and had my fingers twitching to trace. And I definitely didn’t want to think about the force of the orgasm that had stolen my breath and nearly shredded my insides. An orgasm I’d never experienced before.

Nope, not gonna think about it.

I idly scratched my neck; at the mark he’d left as though determined to make sure I didn’t forget what we’d done. Because if I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have believed it, believing instead my mind was playing tricks on me. But no, there was a hickey on my neck, and the reason why I was wearing a turtleneck when it would be seventy degrees today.

Maybe that’s why the doctor was looking at me funny, although given he was adorned with clown badges and fuzzy cartoon patches sewn onto his lab coat, I couldn’t be sure he didn’t always have a face that bordered on mildly amused.

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