Page 3 of Keeping Her Under
Fuck. This might be my only chance to touch her. If I’m seen visiting her again tomorrow, it could raise suspicion. Then I could lose my license. Potentially get locked up. And I’ll never get to touch her like I want to.
So taking my thumb and forefinger, I open her pussy up to my gaze. I groan at the sight of the pretty pinkness spread wide between my fingers. My cock jerks with the knowledge that I can do anything I want to her right now. She is completely at my mercy, completely there for me to use.
Breathing hard, I lift my other hand to her pussy and place the tips of two fingers against her. I hesitate for a moment, thinking I can hear the glass doors opening, but a quick glance up tells me that it was only my imagination. Adrenaline rushes through my veins. My cock jerks from the thrill of being caught, of doing this here, where it’s so fucking risky…
Dropping my gaze back to my hands, I rock my hips forward without control as I slowly push my fingers inside her. I go in past my first knuckles. Then my second. Then I slide all the way in with a shudder and a groan.
I hold my fingers still for a moment. My cock throbs hard, begging for me to touch it. To jerk myself off to the same rhythm with which I’m touching her.
But I can’t risk having one hand down my pants if the door starts to slide open. I’ll barely have enough time to pull her gown down.
So I keep one hand on her pussy, spreading her open as I pump my other fingers in and out of her. Sweat beads on the back of my neck as my balls draw tight. I push in, pull out, and with every movement, my arousal strengthens. The risk of being caught, the naughtiness of the act, the power I have over her – it all mixes into this sheer intensity that is damn near going to make my legs collapse out from underneath me. I glance over at the door again. I hold my breath as I listen to the noises out in the ICU. There are the muffled sounds of footsteps and voices, but none of them are coming towards me.
Focusing back on the patient, I look at her tits. I want to bare them to me. I want to squeeze them as I fingerfuck her. I reach forward with the hand that’s not buried inside her, but just as I cup her right tit, I come all in my pants.
It’s intense.
So fucking intense.
My knees buckle, and I collapse onto the bed as my cock shoots load after load into my boxers. I pinch her nipple as I ride out my orgasm, rubbing it between my fingers while wishing it was in my mouth.
Fuck, that is the hardest I’ve ever come.
My entire lower back is tingling. My legs are weak, and I’m biting back a groan so I don’t cry out in pleasure. I’ve never screamed as I’ve come before, but fuck me, this was too erotic.
“I’m going to be back,” I groan as I trail my lips along her inner thigh. I can’t leave this as a one-off. Whatever the risk, whatever I need to do, I will fuck her right here in this hospital bed before we wake her from her coma.
Aware of just how much semen is in my pants and how I need to go change before it stains through, I reluctantly lift my head. I pull my fingers out of her pussy and pop them into my mouth. As I suck them clean, my cock jerks with more need. Fuck, I need to spend a day with my head buried between her thighs.
Dropping my hand before I grow hard again, I quickly fix her gown, then turn for the door, only to stop as the chair in the room snags my attention. Her purse was brought in by the police after the surgery, and there it now lies, tossed into a clear plastic hospital bag.
It will have her house keys inside...
Hesitating for only a second, I stride over to it. I glance at the door, making sure no one’s about to enter, then I take her purse out of the plastic bag and unzip its main compartment. Inside is a wallet, some used make-up, crumpled napkins and receipts, and a bottle of water that surprisingly did not burst in the crash. I shift things around to see the bottom, and that’s where I find the keys.
Pulling them out, I quickly remove the one that looks like a house key before putting the rest back. If I took them all, they would jingle as I walked, and I don’t want to draw any attention to myself.
Feeling the pressure of time, I grab the wallet to search for her driver’s license. Hoping she isn’t here on a holiday, I pull out the plastic card.
Summer Wintry.
A smile curls my lips as I read her name, then her address. She lives in Mobile, Alabama, which is only an hour’s drive from here. My cousin’s a state trooper in that area too. So if anyone sees me nosying around and calls the cops, he can pull some strings to get any charges dropped.
Her crashing in my area clearly wasn’t just luck. It was fate.
Slipping her license back into her bag, I leave it all on the chair. Then I head out of her room. My neck prickles as I try to look casual striding through the ICU. The nurses all look at me, but they’re quick glances of sympathy rather than suspicion, and I realize I’m getting away with it.
All because they think I made a mistake. That my mishap during Summer’s surgery is weighing heavily on my mind.
To them, it’s no wonder that I would come to see her.
After all, she’s only in a coma because of me.
Because I dropped the dantrolene needed to treat her malignant hyperthermia, a genetic condition that most carriers don’t even know they have until they undergo surgery and develop a severe, often fatal reaction to the anaesthesia.
Her muscles released a dangerous amount of calcium, causing her entire body to seize and her body temperature to shoot to 106°F. The dantrolene would have stopped her organs from shutting down and her brain from frying itself, but we only had one kit at the ready, the rest having gone out of date. With time pressing, I was forced to put her into a medically induced coma.
She nearly died because of me.
