Page 17 of Shadows of Recovery

With a shared smile, they moved toward the bedroom. Once inside, the door closed behind them, and the world outside faded away.

Tristan’s hands were gentle but firm as he slipped the zipper of Sophie’s dress down her back, sliding it off her shoulders, letting the fabric pool at her feet. She stood before him in her panties and bra, her breath quickening as he gazed at her.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes drinking in every inch of her.

Sophie’s cheeks flushed under his intense gaze, but she felt nothing but cherished. She reached for him, unbuttoning his shirt with trembling fingers, revealing the sculpted muscles of his chest. Tristan shrugged off his shirt, and she traced the contours of his body, marveling at the strength and warmth of him.

Their clothes discarded, they came together in a flurry of kisses and caresses, their bodies moving instinctively toward the bed. Sophie pulled Tristan down gently, his lips never leaving hers. He kissed a trail down her neck, his hands exploring the softness of her skin, eliciting shivers of pleasure from her.

His fingers settled on the firm swell of her breasts. He bit gently, not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough for her to feel his teeth.

Sophie arched into him, her hands roaming over his back, pulling him closer. “Tristan,” she whispered, her voice a plea and a promise. She nuzzled his cheek.

“I’m here,” his deep voice rumbled. “I’m with you.” He teased her nipple with his tongue, then glided a rough palm across her abdomen. He slid lower, parting her folds and pressing two fingers inside her. She quivered around them, turning him ravenous. His tongue circled her swollen clit.

Sophie’s head rolled from side to side as she moaned. His fingers thrust in and out, rotating until he found that special internal rise. When he nibbled her clit once more, her hips rose, and she cried out, her core contracting around him.

Tristan produced a condom from his wallet. He sheathed himself and slid inside her. Her nails clawed at the taut muscles encasing his shoulder blades. He clutched her to him as he buried himself inside her repeatedly with slow, long thrusts. His palm drifted to her thigh, wrapping her leg around him.

Their bodies moved together. Tristan’s touch was both tender and commanding, guiding Sophie to heights of pleasure she had never known. She spiraled higher, her senses overwhelmed by the intensity of their lovemaking. His name escaped her lips in a breathless whisper as she clung tight, exploding around him.

Tristan’s control finally slipped, and he surrendered to the waves of pleasure crashing over him. They reached their peak together, their cries of ecstasy mingling in the air.

In the aftermath, they lay entwined in each other’s arms, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Tears of joy welled in her eyes. “I love you too.”

Soon they drifted off to sleep, his body spooning hers.

Seven

The January Doldrums were in full effect when Sophie arrived at the hospital, her white coat billowing slightly with each step. She had grown accustomed to the fast-paced environment of the ER, and her skills had earned her the respect and admiration of her colleagues. She noticed Tristan watching her from a distance, his chin held high.

"Dr. Everhart, can I consult you on a case?" a young resident named Connie approached Sophie, holding a patient chart.

"Of course, Connie. What do you have?" Sophie asked, her tone encouraging.

As they discussed the patient's symptoms and possible diagnoses, she looked up, catching Tristan’s smile and nod.

The blaring red phone alerting the staff to an approaching ambulance cut through the noise of the busy ER. A new patient was arriving. “Doc, severe diff breather coming in,” announced a nurse.

Sophie, now a supervising attending physician at Waverly County Hospital, was in the middle of reviewing another patient chart when she heard the commotion. She quickly finished her orders and handed the chart to a nurse before she headed toward the entrance, her heart pounding with the familiar rush of adrenaline.

As the ambulance doors swung open, paramedics hurriedly wheeled in an elderly man, an oxygen mask covering his face. Sophie immediately stepped forward, scanning the patient for any immediate signs of distress. His skin was wrinkled and pale. His lips were tinted blue, his neck veins resembled garden hoses, and he was struggling to breathe despite the mask.

The first paramedic said, “We have an eighty-one-year-old male, Trace Whitlock, with severe difficulty breathing. Oxygen saturation is at 82%; heart rate is 120 bpm. Possible acute exacerbation of chronic obstructive pulmonary disease."

Beside the stretcher, a frail woman with a worried expression clutched a handbag tightly to her chest. "Please, help him," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "He’s my husband.”

"We’ll take good care of him, Mrs. Whitlock," Sophie assured her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder before turning her full attention to Trace.

"Let's get him to Trauma 1," Sophie instructed, leading the way as the team rushed through the bustling ER.

As they moved the patient onto the bed, Sophie began her assessment. "Trace, I’m Dr. Everhart. Can you tell me what you’re feeling?" Her voice was voice calm and steady.

Trace struggled to speak, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Alright, let's keep him on high-flow oxygen. Continue the non-rebreather mask at 15 liters per minute.Let's get a full set of vitals and an EKG. We need IV access; start with a 20-gauge in the left arm. I don’t think you are going to get a bigger one than that.”

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