Page 19 of Down to Puck

7

Emerson

I never thought I’d be happy to be on medical leave.

The day after she gave herself to me, I woke up to Yasmín climbing on top of me. The next day, I woke her up with my mouth on her sweet cunt. It took us a full day just to leave my house. We ordered every meal, only eating once the hunger became too much to ignore.

Insatiable.

I recognize the fire that burns in Yasmín. It’s the same relentless drive that fuels me, and she applies it to everything in her life. I knew that from the moment we met. But I didn’t realize that it would make the sex so damn good.

Not just pleasurable and fun, but cathartic.

I’ve never cried after sex before. But with Yasmín, I found my cheeks wet before I even knew what was happening. She held me and kissed those tears, holding me late into the night.

This is more than lust. More than a fling. I was worried she might not be looking for commitment, but I can tell she feels the same way. My need for her grows by the hour.

Three days. We get three glorious days without the world interrupting. By Sunday evening, reality is creeping back in.

“I have to go to work tomorrow, Emerson. I can’t stay in bed with you all day on a Monday,” Yasmín sighs, sounding wistful.

I push her hair out of her face, looking deep into her dark eyes.

“You could call in sick,” I offer.

She gives me a look, those gorgeous eyes flashing. I love how expressive they are, even when they’re burning a hole through me. I feel like an ant under a magnifying glass as she leans in.

“How many times have you called in sick, ever?” she asks, her voice deceptively soft.

I shrug, glancing away, but her finger on my chin turns my eyes back to hers.

“Never,” I grumble.

“Same. So, no. I’m going to work tomorrow, Emerson.” She sits up, reaching for her phone. “You need to—”

Yasmín stops, engrossed in whatever she sees on the screen. Whatever the message in her hand, I don’t like the way she’s gnawing anxiously at her lower lip. She looks up, dark eyes wide.

“Hey, no phones in bed. That’s a new rule,” I reach for it, but she twists, evading my grasp.

Yas sits all the way up, crossing her legs under her. There’s concern written all over her face.

“Emerson,” she blows out a breath. “I just got the results from your MRI and CAT Scans.”

She sets the phone on the bed between us. The shorthand notes and liquid images might as well be written in hieroglyphics. But it doesn’t take a medical prodigy to read the look on Yasmín’s face.

I stiffen, bracing myself for the worst.

“Give it to me straight, Doc.” I scoot closer until we’re both sitting in the middle of the bed. “How bad is it?”

Her smile is reassuring. Yasmín brushes my cheek, and I press a kiss into her palm. Just being near her centers me.

“Your brain is fine. But take a look at this—” she pinches the screen, zooming in on a pale blue image of my head. “This is a linear fracture— a hairline break near the base of your skull.”

Yas traces her fingertip along a fine spiderweb of lines on the screen.

“Hey,” I shrug one shoulder. “Who knows how long that’s been there? I’m fine, Yas—”

Yasmín shakes her head hard, cutting me off. She takes both of my hands in hers, squeezing until I’m looking into her eyes.

---