Page 19 of Don't Run
“You blacked out,” he replies, sounding bored. “It’s completely normal during intense sessions, but that’s why safe words are important.”
I don’t think he means to sound so harsh but I feel scolded nonetheless.
“It’s never happened to me before,” I rush to say in my defense. “I didn’t know itcouldhappen to me…”
The doctor says nothing as he jots down something on his notepad. I’m more impressed he can see in the low light of the room. “Well, now that you know you can, I hope you’ll take this seriously.”
He takes a seat on the bed beside me and holds up his stethoscope. “I’m going to listen to your heart,” he says by way of explanation, a second before the cool chest piece touches my skin. “Very good,” he offers after a while. “Let me take your blood pressure and then I’ll let your companion back inside.”
“Companion?” I echo as he tightens the cuff around my arm.
He nods. “Yes, I asked him to step out while I examined you.”
“Oh.”
He takes my blood pressure and jots down the number. “Looks good.”
“How long was I out?”
“In here? About five minutes.” His eyes flick down to check the Apple Watch on his left wrist. “But he carried you in from outside so I’m guessing you were out for eight to ten minutes at most.”
He carried me from the graveyard? I look down at myself, noting the dirt and scratches along my knees.
Evidence of a good ass time before I went and fucking blacked out.
I shake my head and realize the doctor is staring at me. “What? Is something wrong?”
“Nah. You be safe, Ms. Shaw. If you ever feel like you can’t breathe or orient yourself during sex, let your partner know before you blackout next time.”
Biting my lip, I give a curt nod. It’s not like I get it on the regular. And never as good as it was tonight. The last thing I’m worried about is a repeat, but he doesn’t have to know that.
He gives me a tight lipped smile and heads for the door, opening it and letting a man in a black balaclava in as he steps out.
Recognizing the stitches on his chest right away, I relax against the bed and make eye contact with him for the first time tonight as he comes to a stop at the foot of my bed.
The rest of his face is covered, but at least I get his eyes. His eyes are enough.
“Damn, pet. If you couldn’t take it that’s all you had to tell a nigga.”
The playful glint in his eyes halts my comeback. I find myself smiling instead. Like a whole ass lovesick woman instead of someone at a sex party.
“You okay, mama?” I melt at the question, nodding at the tenderness in his voice. I know it’s probably because he took off the jack-o-lantern, but I take it personally anyway, soaking up the sound.
“I’m okay.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
I give him the same answer I gave the doctor. I didn’t know.
With a nod, he absorbs my excuse and comes to stand beside me. “You scared the shit out of me. We both got carried away.”
He squeezes my thigh, his thumb trailing down over my knee to massage my scrapes and bruises. “Damn, that shit was good though. Best I ever had.”
And now my head is swelling, all my earlier embarrassment washing away while memories flood me.
“What do you need right now?”
His question pulls me out of my reverie, the earnestness grounding me.
