Page 226 of The Night Shift
She looks like a fucking goddess. Wild, flushed, head tipped back, mouth parted. Mine.
She fists her hands into my curls. The sting explodes through my scalp and down my spine — and fuck, I’m gone. I come in mypants like a fucking teenager, groaning ragged against her as she grinds harder, chasing her own climax.
“Theo,” she gasps. “I’m gonna —”
Her phone rings.
We jolt like a bomb just went off in the car. Holly jerks upright so fast she hits her head on the ceiling.
“Shit,” she hisses, rubbing the spot. Her hair’s a mess. Her chest is flushed. Her bra’s half off and my hand is still clutching her thigh.
I’m pretty sure I’m drooling.
She scrambles off my lap, pulling her cardigan around herself with frantic hands. She grabs her phone off the dash. “It’s Camille.” She swallows hard, thumb trembling, then ends the call without a word.
She glances at me. At my sling. At the wet spot in my jeans. Then quickly looks away.
“I should —” she starts.
I nod once, giving her a soft smile. “Anything you need.”
She opens the car door, her bag slung over her shoulder, and just as she’s about to step out into the night, she stops and looks back. “I’m not, you know,” she says.
“Going to touch yourself the second you’re in your room? Pity. I was hoping to catch the tail end of that show.”
Her cheeks flush a furious pink, but I see the tiny half-smile. “A good person,” she clarifies.
“Yes, you are.”
She shakes her head slowly. “No, I’m not. But you make me feel like one day I could be.”
By the time I reach my flat, it’s half past one.
The drive home should’ve sobered me, but I’m still running on the high of hearing Holly say she doesn’t hate me.
It sits under my skin like static. I can feel it in my bones. I’m running up the stairs, two at a time for all four flights, goingfaster than I should be with one arm in a sling. The dull throb of my fractured hand is more like background noise at this point.
I dig my keys out of my coat pocket as I reach my door. The hallway’s quiet and dimly lit. I unlock the door, step inside, toe my shoes off at the shelf by the entrance.
I pull off my coat next, fumbling a bit with my one good arm. It takes longer than it should. This sling makes everything a goddamn hassle. Eventually I manage it, shut the door behind me with a soft click, and toss the coat over the back of the nearest chair.
I don’t even make it to the bedroom.
Something hits me.
Hard.
Blunt-force trauma to the side of my skull kind of hard.
My vision flashes white, then goes hot and red. A sickeningcrackexplodes inside my head like thunder under water. I don’t even have time to think. I stumble sideways, dizzy, one knee buckling beneath me.
“What the f —”
I don’t get to finish the sentence.
Another hit. This time to the back of my head. Sharp. Heavy. The pain is instant and searing. Something wet is already running down my face. I taste blood.
My shoulder slams into the wall. I try to stay upright, try to reach for something,anything to brace myself, but my slinged arm is useless and my other is too slow. My legs fold.
