Page 13 of Rust the Rejected
She frownsat the cloth and shrugs a shoulder.
“Your cast sling.”
Her onyx eyes widen as her mouth opens on a gasp. Color suffuses her cheeks.
The scent of her distress confuses me as much as her ability to move her arm with such ease mere days after her fall. I didn’t want to distract her during the surgeries by asking about it. Rather, I explained it as her running on adrenaline, more concerned about the patients than her own wellbeing. However, I find it odd she left the strap on the counter.
“You’ve been using your arm despite the fractures.”
Her face shutters as she reaches up to take the sling. As she places it around her neck and slips her arm through it, she responds in a clipped manner.
“Yes, obviously, Dr. Ingolf. I find it more important to focus on my patient’s life than to worry about a bit of pain I experience. I do not appreciate you questioning me. Good night, Dr. Ingolf.”
She spins on her heel and marches off.
My eyes narrow as I scent the air. She’s holding back on the full truth. And I want to know why.
“Dr. Moore, my apologies for coming across as nosy. That was not my intent. Your rapid recovery surprises me. As a medical professional, I’m sure you must understand,” I say when I catch up to her. Her pace slows, and I take advantage. “But you can’t tell me good night until after dinner. That’s ill form for a debt owed.”
She swings her head around and scoffs. Her waist-long ponytail slaps me in the mouth better than her dainty hand ever could. A smile tugs at the corners of her lush mouth. Then a giggle bursts from between her lips. She raises a hand and covers her mouth.
“How apropos, Dr. Ingolf. Hopefully, that’ll teach you to open your mouth unnecessarily.”
I chuckle wickedly and lean down to whisper in her ear.
“Were we in another place,Dr. Moore, I would show you exactly what I do with a long ponytail.”
She jerks back as she sucks in a ragged breath. Her pupils dilate to pure black. Cheeks redden a deep rose I’d love to see on her ass from my palm. A vision of my cock buried within the complete O of her mouth leads to a barely audible rumble in my chest.
Her eyes widen to inky pools.
For a moment, I wonder if she heard the sound, or if it’s her response to my filthy words. Fuck unprofessional. This female drives me feral.
Again, I take advantage of her delay and place a hand on her lower back. She doesn’t pull away as I guide her through the busy ER. I check out of my shift and head towards the exit. I don’t trust she’ll follow me once in her car. So, I stride towards my Range Rover P530 First Edition (LWB). The luxury SUV serves as my preferred ride for hospital duty. Fully loaded, but not one of my flashy supercars. I press the key fob, and the headlights illuminate the area as the engine purrs to life.
“Hold on. I have my car. I’ll follow you,” Dr. Moore says as her heels dig in. “It’s just over there.”
I tsk, and her elegantly arched eyebrows draw together.
“You may think I’m a nosy SOB. But I assure you, I am a gentleman. We will drive to the restaurant in my Rover. After, I’ll bring you to your car and follow you home to ensure you arrive safely,” I say in a tone that brokers no room for debate.
She lowers her eyes as her teeth tug on her lower lip. My cock twitches at another show of her reluctant submissiveness. Better still at the delicious vision of those teeth grazing my thick shaft to my plum tip before her tongue laps pre-cum from my slit. Oh, the things I would do with the feisty female. Her gaze lifts to mine.
“Fine.”
I nod and move forward. Inwardly, my Alpha Dom smirks, and my wolf’s tongue lolls out hungrily.
“After a complicated surgery, I’m famished, and one spot always satisfies my needs,” I say as my eyes flick from the road to Dr. Moore. Her onyx orbs shine in the darkened interior of the SUV as she stares back at me. Their glow surprises me. As I open my mouth to comment, she speaks.
“And what spot would that be, Dr. Ingolf?”
I blink and return my gaze to the road ahead as the traffic light changes from red to green. The niggle in the back of my mind dissipates with the flow of cars.
“Ah, yes, Prime 112. A traditional steakhouse with a modern touch and contemporary menu known as one of the best in the world,” I say, then glance at her. “Do you eat meat?”
She stifles a giggle and nods.
“I do and could use a tasty cut. My appetite for beef increased recently,” she responds with an enigmatic smile. Her fingertips reach for the console touchscreen, and she tilts her head. “Do you mind if we play some music? It soothes me post-surgery.”
