“Good morning,” he says against my lips, voice rough with desire.“Sleep well?”
“I was,” I reply, sliding my hands beneath his t-shirt to feel the warm skin of his back.“Until someone decided breakfast couldn’t wait.”
He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest and into mine.“Couldn’t help myself.You looked too good lying there.”
My fingers trace the scar on his side, still pink and new but healing well.He no longer flinches when I touch it, no longer tries to hide it from me.Progress, for both of us.
“How’s your head?”he asks, suddenly serious as his fingers ghost over the healing wound at my temple.
“Better,” I assure him, turning to press a kiss to his palm.“Almost no pain today.”
Relief softens his features, though I still catch glimpses of the rage that’s been simmering beneath the surface since the attack.Zach has been careful around me.Gentle, attentive, almost overly so.But I’ve seen the darkness in his eyes when he thinks I’m not looking, the way his jaw tightens when the clinic is mentioned.
His lips find mine again, the kiss deeper now, more urgent.His hand slides between us, wrapping around me with perfect pressure, resuming where his mouth left off.I arch into his touch, gasping against his lips as pleasure builds once more.
“Need you.”He tugs at his shirt.“All of you.”
He sits back on his heels, pulling his shirt over his head in one fluid motion.The morning light catches on the tattoos across his chest, highlighting the phoenix in flight that spans from shoulder to sternum.I reach up to trace it, marveling as I always do at how something so beautiful can exist on someone so deadly.
“Like what you see, Doc?”he asks, that familiar half smile playing at his lips.
“Always,” I admit, my hands sliding down to work at the drawstring of his sleep pants.“Every part of you.”
He helps me push the fabric down and away, then settles back between my legs, skin against skin now.The solid heat of him presses against me, making my breath catch.His hands frame my face, careful to avoid the healing wound at my temple.
“I love you,” he says.“Every part of you.”
“Show me,” I challenge, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him closer.
His smile turns predatory as he reaches for the nightstand drawer.“With pleasure, Doc.With pleasure.”
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Xavier
The clinic smellsof fresh paint and new beginnings.I run my hand along the reception counter, smooth, unblemished, unlike the scarred surface at the hospital where I used to work.The morning light streams through the repaired front windows, casting golden rectangles across the polished floor.Two weeks after the attack, and it’s like it never happened, at least physically.The emotional scars linger, but today isn’t about that.
Today is my first official day seeing patients at my own clinic.
“Nervous?”Tiana asks, sliding a stack of patient files onto the counter.She’s volunteered to handle reception until I can afford proper staff, her usual leather and denim replaced by a surprisingly professional ensemble of slacks and a blouse.
“Terrified,” I admit, straightening my lab coat for the third time.The weight of it feels different here, heavier with responsibility, yet somehow more comfortable than it ever did at the hospital.
I turn to see a young woman, barely more than a girl, really, hovering uncertainly in the doorway.She’s thin, almost fragile-looking, with dark circles under eyes that dart nervously around the room.Her hands twist the strap of a worn backpack, knuckles white with tension.Something about her screams vulnerability, and my doctor’s instincts immediately kick into high gear.
“Welcome!”I say, keeping my voice warm but professional.“I’m Dr.Blane.How can I help you today?”
She takes a hesitant step forward, eyes dropping to the floor.“I, um… I need…” Her voice trails off, barely audible.
“Why don’t we talk in my office?”I suggest, gesturing toward the hallway.“It’s more private there.”
She nods, relief flashing across her features.As she follows me, I notice her oversized sweater despite the warm spring day, the way she hunches her shoulders as if trying to disappear.
My office is simple but comfortable: a desk, two chairs, and a small examination table behind a privacy screen.Medical diplomas hang on the wall alongside a framed photo of Zach and me at the clinic opening, his arm protectively around my shoulders as we cut the ribbon.The girl’s eyes linger on the photo, something like recognition flickering in her gaze.
“Please, sit,” I say, gesturing to the chair across from my desk.“What’s your name?”
“Daphne,” she says, perching on the edge of the seat like she might need to bolt at any moment.“Daphne Reyes.”
