Pulse (10 page)

He peeled
down my underwear, spread my legs, then stood.

“God,
you're so beautiful,” he murmured. “Just let me look at you.”

I
squirmed against the cold sheets. I loved how it felt, his eyes on me, hungrily
devouring every inch of my skin.

“Please,”
I begged. “I don't want to wait anymore.”

Dr.
Greene unbuttoned his shirt slowly, letting it fall from his shoulders. He was
perfectly defined, his stomach toned, his limbs sinewy. Fair-yet-sun-kissed
skin stretched over taught muscle. Coupled with his dark hair and pale-green
eyes, he was a god.

He undid
his jeans, let them fall, and stepped out of them. Then, fluidly, he climbed
atop me, hovering only centimeters above my body.

When we
kissed, it was all so rough that it hurt, but I loved it. He bit my lip, nipped
at my throat, and yanked his boxer-briefs down so that I could feel the hot
length of his cock against my thigh. His breath, heavy and raw, thrilled me.

Reaching
across the bed, he opened a drawer and fumbled inside the nightstand for a
condom. I closed my eyes, listening to the sound as he tore it open, rolled it
on, then felt the sweet heaviness of his body against me again.

He slid
inside me sharply, and I moaned.

“Ah...”

I gripped
his shoulders. His thumb grazed across my bottom lip, bitten and swollen.

“Fuck,”
he hissed. “Oh my God, Mia. Mia, Mia...”

He caught
the skin of my neck with his teeth, biting a bit harder. Each time he moved, he
stayed inside me, full and pulsing and hotter than the rest of his body. It
burned in the best way, and each time, his breath grew louder, his thrusts more
frantic.

There's
something so hot, so empowering about feeling someone lose themselves inside of
you. You can hear it in their breath, and feel it in their hands. For a moment,
they are yours, and you are theirs.

I was
his, and he was mine. We owned each other.

I could
feel him swell as I reached a hand up to touch his face, skimming my fingers
against the hollow of his stubbled cheek. His eyes were two live wires.

“I'm so
close...” he whispered in my ear. “My little fox.”

I lost
it. Pleasure surged through my body, from fingertips to legs, flowing over me
like a sudden eclipse. He came quickly after, his face buried against my neck,
our bodies one, nearly transcendental.

Lifting
his head, his face flushed, he kissed me again. Gentle, feather-soft.

“I've
missed you,” he said after a moment had passed.

“Do you
want me to leave?” I asked.

“No,” he
said. “Please don't. Not tonight.”

He sat
up, pulled his boxer-briefs on, and when I picked up my dress, he chuckled
softly:

“You're
so pretty,” he said. “You're like a little china doll.”

In the
kitchen, he filled two glasses with ice and Coke and a bit of liquor, and stood
by one of the windows, just watching the city as it moved below us, glowing and
alive. I knew he could feel how in awe I was of his place – truly befitting of
a doctor – and he said, smiling.

“You
know, this is what I always wanted.”

“What
is?” I asked.

“Well,”
he said. “When I was younger, I had this dream of living in a high-rise with
giant windows, so I could watch the city. I don't know. It always seemed so
cool
.
Being able to stand above and watch everything move about like there's
something more intricate than just the city below. From above, it looks like a
photograph. It looks unreal.”

“Everything
is prettier when you're not forced to look at it up close,” I noted. “You can't
see the filthy streets, or the messy people, or the pot-holes or the smoggy
air. But I guess I get it.”

He
laughed a little.

“You're
very astute, Miss Holloway,” he cooed. “You know, I have something for you.”

Oh God,
another surprise. But this time, I wasn't so afraid.

He
quickly stepped away, returning with his hands behind his back.

“Close
your eyes,” he commanded. “And put your hands out.”

I closed
them without a second thought, following his instruction. I felt something soft
drop into my palms, and when he gave the green-light, I opened my eyes.

“A fox,”
I said. “A little fox.”

I could
have cried, to be honest. Not sad tears, or confused tears. Happy ones.

I hugged
it closely, holding it to my heart, not caring how silly or girly I might have
looked. But Dr. Greene didn't seemed to mind; his smile beamed.

“I'm so
sorry,” he said. “I'm so sorry I behaved like a total asshole last week. It's
just...you need to understand that this is complicated, Mia.”

“I do
understand,” I said. And I did. Maybe not in the same fear-and-paranoia-riddled
way that Dr. Greene was forced to, but on some level. “You know I'd never hurt
you.”

He got on
his knees, touched a palm to my cheek, and kissed me again.

“I know,”
he said. “But this. You and me. What we are. It never ends, Mia. You can't
escape circumstance. We can never run away from how we met.”

Thunk
.
An arrow to the heart.

I curled
my fingers around his wrist, dropped to my knees, and kissed him. We kissed for
a long time, slowly, taking our time, savoring our mouths, our tongues gently
dancing. He ran his fingers down my jaw, down my throat, to where I knew there
would be blood-bruises that would blossom overnight. Marks.

He had
marked me, and I was glad.

“Dr.
Greene,” I said, our lips nearly touching.

“Mia
Holloway,” he whispered. “What have you done?”

Chapter 12

ALEX

At six
o'clock, my alarm went off, but I was already awake. In the kitchen, pouring
over paperwork and draining my third cup of coffee. I couldn't sleep. I had
tried, but each time I caught a glance of Mia, my nerves tightened like some teenage
boy. I was in awe at the sight of her, this little thing, all curled up like a
kitten in my bed.

I
wandered into my bedroom, where Mia still slept. The room was dark from the
light-canceling blinds, with everything bathed in shades of dark gray. She
slept positioned on her stomach, her legs splayed, her arms tucked sweetly
beneath her head, her hair in beautiful disarray. She wore one of my
undershirts, and nothing else.

I climbed
over her, began kissing her neck, and she quietly stirred.

“Hmm?”
she mumbled, blinking her eyes open. Sweet, sleepy eyes. “Hi?”

“Hi,” I
whispered. “I need you to get up.”

I helped
her up, grasping her shoulders firmly. I was still in my boxers, and the
feeling of her warmth beneath my hands was enough to make me stiffen. I felt
crass and lecherous and full of smitten adoration all at once.

“Are you
okay?”

“Yes,” I
told her. “But I need to take a shower, and I'd like to see what you look like
wet, little fox.”

She
grinned, still leaning against my shoulder, tired. I lifted her into my arms
and carried her into the bathroom, set her down on the edge of the sink, and
slowly lifted the shirt from above her head. Her breasts, which were
surprisingly big for a girl that barely brushed 5', were perky and supple.
Against the cold air of the bathroom, her nipples hardened.

“Perfect.”

I cupped
her face in my hands, kissed her, then turned on the shower. When the room was
thick with steam, I stripped out of my boxers, and we climbed over the small
step and into the shower. It was huge for a walk-in, but I needed space. I
wasn't bordering along the lines of freakdom when it came to my height, but I
was a solid 6'. Space for long limbs was absolutely pertinent.

The
shower head was big enough so that we could both fit underneath it. I'm ashamed
to say that this was technically not
my
idea, but Cait's. She hated
standing in the corner of the shower while one of us cleaned up, shivering, and
so this was the solution. Perhaps the biggest kicker was that we showered
together a whole of maybe three times, and it was never for the sake of being
playful or sexy.

But God,
I could do this with Mia every morning. It was a sight, the way the water
cascaded down the slope of her throat, over her shoulders, drenching her. With
her eyes closed, her head tilted back to let the water spill down her hair, she
couldn't see me briefly touch myself – already hard – and I had to suppress the
urge to fuck her, hard, against the tile. I wanted to take things slower this
time.

I got
down on my knees while her eyes were still closed, and skimmed a hand up the
length of her thigh. The hot water fell in such a way it almost seemed to glide
over her skin, like a waterfall.

When she
tried to open her eyes,
 
I stopped her.

“Keep
them closed,” I commanded. “I want you to feel this. I want you to let go.”

Let go
.
And here I was, on my knees, remembering the girl I'd fucked on my office desk,
still wearing my lab-coat.

I kissed
up her thighs, then began slowly tasting her. When she squirmed, I held her
still. My grip was tighter than I wanted it to be. I'd have to learn to play
gentle.

“I don't
want to come yet,” she whimpered. “Please.”

“I want
you to,” I whispered against her skin. “I want you to come for me. Because when
I fuck you, you're going to come again.”

“Doctor's
orders?”

Oh, I had
set myself up for that one. I suppressed a laugh, grinning.

“Yes,” I
said.

Her
breath became more frantic, her hands found my hair, gripping, and soon she had
her back against the glass tile, holding herself up, while I slid two fingers
in, keeping them deep inside of her. I had this down to a science.

And it
worked. Her moan was louder than I think she wanted it to be, because she
blushed feverishly after. But maybe it was the heat, and the water, and the
rush of blood to her skin.

I stood,
kissing her, wanting her to taste what she tasted like.

When she
reached down, grabbing my cock in her hands, I could have come right then. Her
touch alone sent a scorch of rabid desire through me; an unquenchable thirst.

“No,” I
murmured, then seated myself on the shower's bench. I grabbed her, positioned
her legs so she was straddling me, and we locked eyes. “I want to watch you
slide down on me, and I want to see you come this time.”

She
looked so bashful. My heart began to soften even as my hands worked to grab
her, full of blood and passion and racing fervor. Straddling me, she slid down
onto my cock in such a way that I almost felt defenseless. I was already on the
brink.

“Don't
let this go to your head,” she panted. I stroked her face with my fingers, desperate
to feel her move. “But you're so
big
, Dr. Greene.”

The
words, in that moment, were a play on the bigger scheme of things, to be sure.
It's easy to twist words and positions and authority into something feverish
and hot when you're simply needing to get fucked and forget about the things
you're twisting to begin with.

I kissed
her. I kissed her mouth, her throat, kneaded her breasts with my palms. When
she arched back, moving slowly, I kissed them, too – pressing my mouth to her
nipples and sucking just softly enough that a small groan escaped her.

The
water, hot and relentless, thrashed over us. But we paid it no mind.

“They're
sensitive,” she whispered. “Be gentle.”

I
squeezed them harder. I wanted to see how high I could crank the decibel, at
least for just a second. I wanted to see her lose it as I had lost it, too.

In the
light of day, I could see the marks I had left on her throat, and it drove me
mad. I needed her to be mine, even if the dream itself crumbled as I was
falling apart, with Mia on my lap, completely devouring me.

I gripped
her waist as she moved like an ocean's wave against me, each time pulling me
closer and closer into the whirlpool. I was ready to come, holding myself back,
wanting to do nothing but stay lost in how this felt for the rest of my fucking
life.

“Mia,” I
gasped. One hand grabbed her hair, the other slid down her back. “If you don't
stop, I'm going to come inside of you.”

“Please,”
she leaned in, we kissed, and God, her breath was ragged. “Please come for me.
I want to come with you.”

One last
roll of her hips, and I was over the edge. With our lips barely brushing, I
felt her tighten against my entire length as she came, and I couldn't stop
myself.

I came,
hard, freezing up inside of her.

A hiss
against her lips, my hands still touching her face.

And what
should have made me sick, concerned, made me feel electric.

We kissed
softly, then laughed like kids when we finally came to our senses, suddenly
suffocated by the steam. I washed her, watching the soapy foam as it slid over
her curves, and she washed my hair, giggling over the fact that I had to kneel
down so that she could reach it.

When we
were dried off and dressed – I in my shirt, tie, slacks, with my lab-coat
draped over my arm; she in that same, lovely sundress – we were both quiet.
Reality settled like puddle water after a storm, and neither of us dared jump.

In her
arms, she held her stuffed fox, pressing it close to her chest like a little
girl. Something inside of me warmed, melted.

“You need
to eat,” I said softly. “We have a little bit of time. Let's stop somewhere.”

“But we
can't...” she paused. She didn't want to say it. I didn't either. “We can't go
out in public, you and I.”

“I know,”
I said. Because I did. “But the wonderful thing about my Porsche is that the
windows are tinted. It's the perfect getaway car.”

I gave
her a smile, and she smiled back, but neither of us felt good about the joke,
and I knew it. Still, what was there to do? Nothing.

So I took
her hand as we made our way towards the elevator, kissed her slowly as we
descended into the parking garage, and we spent our last twenty minutes or so
sitting in the parking lot of a small cafe, drinking coffee and sharing the
small sliver of gifted time.

“There's
something I should tell you,” she said. She picked at her cranberry scone like
a bird. The physician in me wanted to prompt her to eat, but I resisted. “I
applied to the University of Cambridge awhile back, for grad school. In the
UK.”

I was
more distraught over the news than I deserved to be. Mia was young, youthful,
full of life and with many years ahead of her. I was over a decade beyond her
in time and experience, and experience told me, like a sharp dagger to the
back, that she needed to go out and live. Cambridge, grad school, exploring a new
world – that would a glorious thing.

But of
course, the fondness that had already pressed itself like ink-prints into my
brain had made a stain, and there was no scrubbing it clean.

So I felt
sad. I made no note of it, of course – but I felt it.

“That's
fantastic,” I told her. “Cambridge is an excellent school. You'd be a fool not
to take the opportunity if you get in.”

“Yeah,”
she muttered. “But if I
don't
, that's the thing. I have no idea what
I'll do. Like, right now I'm still living on campus, and I managed a summer job
at the UCF library which should at least keep a roof over my head until summer
ends. But if all fails, I'll probably end up moving back into my Mom's house.”

I could
have helped her. I could have made an offer right then, or written her a check
as I had been writing Cait checks. Doctors might not be playboy billionaires,
but we aren't hungry. I knew, at least then, that she wouldn't have accepted
it. So I just asked, plainly:

“Where
does she live?”

“Arizona,”
Mia answered bleakly. “Desert and dry air. The Grand Canyon State.”

Arizona.
That was about as bad as Cambridge felt. No matter the distance, it was a
plane-ride away, and a plane-ride was equivalent to a lifetime.

“But I'm
super optimistic,” she added, though her optimism wasn't hinted at in her tone.
“Anyway. Yeah. That's my life.”

“Have
faith, little fox. The world is broad and wide.”

I think
we both felt the words catch like snagged fabric against an unexpected hook. It
tore into us like the fabric would rip, and we had no choice but to hide the
damage.

“What
about you?” she asked. “What do you do when you're not busy saving lives?”

Like
clockwork, my phone went off. It was on vibrate, but I knew Mia could hear it.
What she didn't know was that I had designated ring-tones dependent on who was
calling – and this wasn't a medical emergency.

I looked
down, imagining myself saying the words:

Actually,
I'm about three months away from becoming a dad. I'll have a bouncing baby boy
or girl on my hands. I'm sure you'll want to see me, then.

Instead,
like a coward, I shrugged.

“Not
much,” I confessed. Which while not totally a lie, was not the complete truth.
“Usually sleep. But I make time for the important things,
 
honey.”

I
caressed her cheek with the back of my hand. Glancing at the clock, I was
already late, but I didn't want to leave her.

In the
apartment parking lot, Mia appeared concerned.

“What is
it?” I asked.

“Nothing,”
she said. “Not exactly. My friend's here. The one you met already.”

“The girl
with the blonde hair and apparent obsession with her phone?” I asked.

“Yeah. I
should go...” she said quietly. “You should go, too.”

She
turned to me once more, leaned in, and kissed me gently. The hardest part was
watching her tuck the tiny stuffed fox away in her bag, concealing it so that
her friend, who knew nothing about me aside from our brief meeting in the
sterile confines of a hospital environment, wouldn't be prompted to ask
questions. And it needed to stay that way.

“Bye, Dr.
Greene,” she said softly.

My phone
went off again. The tension was becoming unbearable.

“Alex,” I
said. “You can call me Alex.”

It almost
felt as if I were telling her that I loved her. I felt suddenly, distinctively
vulnerable. I had sprinted across all appropriate bounds, and here I was, still
running. Still holding out until that last, gasping breath.

Her eyes
fell, fluttered, then rose to meet mine again.

“Bye for
now, Alex.”

When the
door slammed shut, I glanced at my phone. One missed call from Cait. Two missed
texts.

Pulling
away, I sped off and towards the hospital, managing to hit every red light. And
when I finally arrived, Grace was the first to point out the obvious look of
death on my haggard, unshaven face.

“Nothing's
wrong,” I assured her. “That last patient, if you remember, who dealt with that
episode of cardiac arrest – well, I'm still dealing with the paperwork.”

She
laughed, understanding. A lie that worked for the time being. And when she
walked away, and I was able to catch a secluded moment to myself, I asked,
aloud:

“What am
I doing?” I clenched my fists. “What the fuck am I doing?”

But,
alone, no one was there to shake me to my senses.