I bury myself deep and let go, groaning into her mouth as the release hits hard and fast.
Her walls pulse around me, and my rhythm breaks. My breath shudders out of me as I drive in once, twice more, and then I lose it. My whole body locks, pleasure ripping through me so hard it knocks the sound from my throat.
For a second, neither of us moves. I’m still buried deep inside her, both of us caught in the wreckage of what we just did. Her chest rises against mine, our breaths uneven, matching in rhythm but not in recovery.
Her breath fans against my cheek. Her heartbeatpounds against my chest. My hands stay on her body because I don’t want to let go yet. Not of her. Not of this.
Then she blinks, like waking up from a dream, and I feel her pull away.
She slips out from under me without a word, grabs her robe from the floor, and slips it on.
Just like that.
Whatever this is, or was, it’s already starting to shift.
And I have no idea what happens next.
THREE
Sam
I duck out of Mr. Lorenzo's room, making notes on his chart. His post-op incision looks good. There's no sign of infection around the sutures, though he's still grumbling about the catheter. Can't blame him.
I should be focused, but my brain's still out to lunch. My body still remembers the night before last in detail. My rational self would like to forget it.
The hallway is alive with the familiar hospital symphony of beeping monitors, squeaking shoes, and hushed conversations. I check my watch. Three more patients before lunch, which might happen today if?—
"Sam?"
I'd know that voice anywhere. Dad stands near the nurses' station, dressed in khakis and a light blue button-down. Even in casual clothes, he carries himself like the chief surgeon he was for twenty years. His silver hair catches the fluorescent lighting.
"Dad? What are you doing here?"
He steps closer, folds me into a brief hug that smellslike his cedar aftershave. "Had a foundation meeting. Thought I might catch you."
"Checking up on me?" I raise an eyebrow.
"Can't a father visit his daughter at work?" His eyes crinkle at the corners.
"Hmm. If you say so."
"How many more rounds do you have?"
I take a deep breath. "I just finished. I have a break before I meet with Grimalidi in fifteen."
"Good." He takes my clipboard, hands it to a passing nurse. "Melissa, could you let Dr. Grimaldi know I'm stealing Sam for a bit?"
Before I can protest, he's steering me toward the elevator. "Dad?—"
"Fifteen minutes, Sammy. Can't you indulge your dear, old dad?"
The elevator doors open to the ground floor. Dad guides me through the lobby and out into the blinding Florida sunlight. The heat hits like a wall, instantly making my scrubs stick to my back.
"Here." He hands me a steel water bottle. "You're probably dehydrated. I know you."
I take a sip, loving the sensation of the cold water as it hits my system. I hadn't realized how thirsty I was.
"Sunshine's good for the soul." Dad looks up at the clear blue sky. "Your mother always said that."