The nod must be enough, because he sinks into me again, rocking slowly at first. His hands roam my body, touching everywhere he’s never been able to touch until today. Both hands come to my face, smoothing my frizzy and damp hair away from my forehead so he can kiss my bare skin.
He’s gentle and romantic, showing me all sides of him. Sides that I don’t think he gets to share too often, or at all. Possibly sides that he didn’t know he had in him. We let our mouths and hands explore and caress. It’s perfect. Perfect until I become needy again. Perfect until I feel that coil in my lower body start to wind, and I lock my legs behind him, forcing him in deeper. I tilt my chin up to his ear, and tug his lobe between my teeth. “If you’re going to fuck me, Dr. Andrews,” I tease, barely able to contain my smirk. “Then you better fuck me like you mean it.”
Colt rises on his palms, bracketing his arms on either side of my head, the movement causing a lock of his chestnut hair to topple over his forehead. I bring my hand up to comb it back, knowing it’ll just fall forward again. And when I see the heat in Colt’s eyes as he rises on his knees, I know I may have bitten off more than I can chew.
He bends me at the hips, bringing my legs up so my heels rest on his shoulders. I squeeze my legs together and gasp at the feeling. He’s so deep,toodeep now, but he’s a man on a mission. A sinister smile crosses his lips and he wraps his forearm around my legs, putting me completely at his mercy.
His rugged frame thrusts, rough, punishing thrusts, and I can’t contain the moans that escape. He keeps up that pace, hitting so hard my body is pushed up with the force, his grip tightening to keep me in place.
I feel another orgasm building and tell myself it can’t be. I’ve never come more than once during sex. But the feeling doesn’t fade, it only continues to grow and I grapple at Colt’s forearms, begging him to move faster.
“Colt, oh my God,” I whine, my back arching, head digging into the bed. I lift my hips up, only a smidge with the way he has my legs locked, but it’s enough to have him hit the perfect spot, and I scream.
Colt picks up the pace, hammering into me as I ride out my orgasm. My pussy spasms, and I feel hot tears gather at the corners of my eyes with the pressure. He must see it too, because he releases my legs and they fall open, giving him space to slide his body through so he can lay his chest on mine. His hands come to my face so he can kiss me,reallykiss me. His thumbs catch my tears as they fall, swiping away each one, whispering sweet nothings as he thrusts once more. He grunts, and I can feel him clench inside me as he comes.
Colt holds me as I shudder, pressing soft, soothing kisses to my lips, my cheeks, and my neck before he pulls out. He ties off the condom and tosses it aside before he reaches for me again. Lying on his back, he maneuvers my limp body so I can drape myself across him.
I curl into his embrace, his chest becoming my pillow and I let the thud of his heartbeat steady my breaths.
He murmurs his praises to the top of my head as his hands run along my shoulders and back to calm my heaving breaths. Suddenly I feel myself getting choked up a bit. Wondering how I’ll ever be able to leave him once my residency is up. Worse than that, being with him makes me wonder if leaving is still what I want to do.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Colter
“Whatdoesitfeellike?”
Annaliese trails her fingers over the scarred flesh of my inner arm. She traces each line from top to bottom, zigzagging along each slash from beginning to end. She’s still naked, lying on her stomach with her elbows propped, and it’s hard to focus on anything when her breasts are pressed against my bedding.
“What does it feel like to hurt yourself?” I figured she saw my scars at some point. Even if they are faded after all these years, in the right light or right position they are easily spotted. When I first became a surgeon, I made sure to wear compression sleeves or a long-sleeved jacket until I’d gown up for the OR, but the older I got, the more I realized I truly don’t give a shit what people would think once they saw.
She nods slow, exaggerated movements,her head bobbing with the tracing of the lines.
I stretch out on my back, keeping my right arm under Annaliese and tucking my left hand behind my head. The sheets pool to my waist, and I stare at the ceiling fan, watching the slow spin of the blades as I try to bring back those memories from decades ago when I was an angry teenager with not much to give.
“You don’t have to talk about it, if it’s too much.”
Her voice fills the void between us, and I realize I’ve likely been daydreaming long enough she took my silence as avoidance.
“No, I’ll talk about it. I’m trying to think, actually. It was a long time ago, and even though I remember it, I don’t exactly remember it, if that makes sense.”
I turn to watch her again, and she nods, pausing her tracing to lean down and plant a soft kiss to my skin. “I’m sorry you were that sad,” she whispers when she pulls away.
Me too. I spent so long feeling sorry for myself instead of doing something to change my life. Sometimes I still kick myself about it. Wishing I had snapped out of my depression enough to seek help so I didn’t piss away so many years doing nothing.
“I remember feeling like I had no other option. And I remember feeling so numb inside. It sounds cliche, referring to myself as numb, but that’s the best way to put it.” I just wanted to feel something,anything, and if pain was the way to get myself to feel it, that’s what I did. “I don’t know what it feels like for everyone, but for me it was like my head was stuck in a dense fog. A permanent dark cloud living inside my brain. It’s like the cloud stopped me from being able to think, to rationalize, to say hey, what you’re doing to yourself is pretty awful. There were times I wanted to stop, but it was like I couldn’t break through the fog enough to get myself to stop. It was truly a feeling of being trapped in my own mind.”
“How did you get better?”
“It took a lot of time and finding the right combination of medications to finally get myself in shape.” I remember when I started the medication I’m on now, and that cloud went away. It was the first time I could have rational thoughts. The first time I could talk myself out of a spiral. “That, plus therapy, exercise, all that. But the right medication was a game changer.”
People often look at mental illness as something that should be able to be cured without medications, or something to be ashamed about. But I think of it like I think of any physical ailment. If you need medications to lower your blood pressure, then take them. No one would see it as a weakness. If you need one pill a day to be a functioning member of society, then take it.
She kisses my wrist again and goosebumps instantly break out where her lips touch. “When did it start?” Her voice is soft and a little hesitant, like she is nervous to ask me these questions.
“I always felt like I was born sad. I’m an only child; my dad was a useless drunk. He was abusive, cruel, a waste of air, and I’m sure that was the start of my issues.”
“And your mom?”
