Page 74 of Dr. Roz Harrington
Roz kept at it, humming her approval, which sent ripples throughout Sam’s body. When Roz flattened her tongue on Sam’s clit and raised her mouth just enough to whisper, “my good girl,” between strokes, Sam lost control and felt every cell in her body scream out for Roz as her climax shattered her and left her breathless.
Roz held her and coaxed her through the aftershocks of her orgasm, whispering her sweet “I love yous” and stroking Sam’s hair. It was no less passionate, but so much more loving than they had ever been. And Sam knew without any doubt this was exactly where she belonged.
Afterward, Roz cleaned her gently, then slipped back into bed and pulled Sam close, so close she could barely tell where one of them ended and the other began.
They lay like that for a long time. Breathing. Tangled.
Eventually, Sam spoke.
“Do you think this is what forever feels like?”
Roz didn’t answer immediately.
She just kissed her forehead, traced a fingertip down the dip of her spine, and said, “If it isn’t, we’ll build it ourselves.”
Outside, the city kept on rushing too fast, too loud, too much.
But in that room, with Roz’s arm around her waist and the ribbon still knotted at her throat, Sam was everything she wanted to be.
Loved. Adored. Safe.
Her princess.
6 months later
Dawn found them the way it often did now—half-tangled, half-awake, wholly at peace.
The apartment was still and warm, the curtains breathing faintly with the changing light. In the kitchen, the kettle clicked off with a soft sigh, and Roz poured coffee into two mismatched mugs—the heavy stoneware one Sam claimed, and the porcelain one Roz had brought back from a conference years ago and never used until now. The scent rose, rich and dark, and Roz felt it loosen the last knots in her shoulders.
Sam was already at the balcony door, a blanket slung around her like a cape, hair mussed, bare feet silent on the wood. She glanced over her shoulder when Roz approached, that lazy, private smile tilting her mouth. It was the smile Roz lived for—the one that saidI’m homewithout a word.
“Coffee,” Roz murmured, pressing the warm mug into Sam’s hands.
“Saved my life,” Sam said, voice rough with sleep.
Roz’s mouth curved. “Not yet. But I do enjoy the practice.”
They stepped out onto the balcony, the air cool and damp from last night’s rain. Far below, the city rubbed its eyes—traffic a whisper, windows blinking on one by one, gulls somewhere out of sight. The sky held to its blue-gray hush a moment longer before the first low streaks of gold began to catch on glass and stone.
Sam leaned her elbows on the railing and took a slow sip. “Shift’s at nine,” she said, not complaining. Sam didn’t complain. She simply measured, appraised, adjusted. “Quieter week, they say.”
“They always say.” Roz folded the blanket over Sam’s shoulders more snugly and smoothed it where it caught against her collarbone. The habit was impossible to break—she was forever straightening, tucking, aligning. Sam indulged her. Always. “What’s on your docket, Captain?”
Sam’s mouth tugged. “Hydrant inspections, ladder maintenance, paperwork. Riveting.”
“Ah.” Roz glanced sideways, feigning solemnity. “Forms. The true emergency medicine.”
Sam snorted into her coffee. “Says the woman who leaves a surgical atlas on the kitchen counter like it’s a cookbook.”
“It was one page.” Roz sipped, then conceded, “Three.”
“Four. I counted. Twice.” Sam bumped her shoulder. Under the blanket, Roz felt the heat of her, the line of her body easing into hers the way it always did—as if they had been made to slot together and had finally remembered it.
A faint sound rumbled from inside—the soft thud of paws followed by a questioning chirp. A sleek, coal-gray cat appeared at the threshold and sat like a sentry, tail flicking slowly. He’d been Sam’s idea, a rescue with a crooked left ear and a habit of sleeping in laundry baskets. Roz had resisted for exactly thirty minutes before buying a litter box and three types of treats.
“Morning, Sir Percival,” Sam said without turning. “Permission to enter denied.”
Percival blinked once, regal and unbothered, and sauntered away.
