Page 73 of Fighting for You
His lips leave a fevered trail behind as he kisses down my neck to my chest, his tongue finding my nipple. Tingles shoot from the small bud straight to my core, and I grip the sheets to keep myself from bowing off the bed. His stubble prickles my sensitive skin, just adding to the overwhelming tidal wave of sensations he’s pouring over my body.
After giving the same treatment to my other nipple, Brooks leans up and continues to thrust but slows his movements intolong, languid strokes. His eyes roam over every part of me on display for him. His cobalt gaze cuts to mine as he rasps, “Are you close, baby? Do you want me to beg again?”
It’s the sincerity of the question that does me in; a few more deep thrusts and I’m about to come as I moan—
I barrel into consciousness, awoken by my own strangled sound, to find my pussy wet and aching. My eyes flutter open, visions of Brooks’ intense gaze and sweat-slicked body dissipate. In my sleepy haze, I realize it was a dream. A great dream, a really great dream. But one that has now left me just on the edge, my belly still coiled tight, ready to unleash.
I groan in frustration. Why does he have to be the center of all my sexual fantasies lately? He might be the hottest man I’ve ever seen or touched, but can’t my imagination get a little more creative? Why can’t I have such vivid sex dreams aboutTop Gun’s Miles Teller with that dirty little pornstache? That does a lot of things to me. But no, I close my eyes, and it’s always Brooks.
I’m still so angry with him—and if I’m being honest, with myself as well. The audacity of him barging into the trailer last night while I was working on someone and telling me what I can and cannot do. I’m so tired of people treating me like I don’t know what’s good for me, like I’m a child.
Even through my angry thoughts, I realize one of my hands has found my breast and is gently pinching the nipple. My pussy is pulsing, looking for friction, and I know I won’t be able to sleep when I’m this wound up.
With a resigned sigh, I reach over into my nightstand drawer and pull out my favorite clit suction toy. I turn it on, and a soft buzzing sound fills the room. Lying back, I get more comfortable as I pull down my sleep shorts and position it on my throbbing clit. The pleasure is immediate, and I know I won’t last long.
Closing my eyes, I search for any sexy image I can muster, but Brooks is front and center. With a small shake of my head, I let my imagination run wild. As the vibrations send tingles all the way to my toes, I picture it’s Brooks’ mouth working me; his tongue flicking at my little bundle of nerves and making my abs contract as he hits all the right spots.
It doesn’t take long, just a minute or two. In my head, he grunts out “Freckles” and “please,” and it sends me over the edge. My pussy clenches, and my thighs shake as I ride out wave after wave of my orgasm, crying out Brooks’ name into the dark, silent room.
When I finally open my eyes, I feel tears tracking down my temples. With a small sniff, I wipe them away, turn on my side, and try to find sleep again.
I run the thermometer over Mr. Matthews’ forehead and frown at the reading. Ninety-nine point six. I make a note of it in his chart on my tablet. I’ll have to go find Dr. Shepherd to let her know so we can keep an eye on it.
Mr. Matthews is one of our long-term patients whose dementia has progressed significantly in the years he’s been here. It’s been heartbreaking to watch him decline and slowly lose function, both mentally and physically, just in the months I’ve been here. Because of the severity of his disease, we never dismiss even the mildest of fevers as it could be a sign of something more serious.
After taking his blood pressure and recording the results, I tuck the sheets in closer to him and quietly leave the room, letting him rest.
Just as I close Mr. Matthews’ door behind me, the receptionist from the nursing home’s front desk runs up to me.
“Hey, Margot,” she says. “Someone dropped this off for you.” She holds out an envelope to me. My name is written on the front in a messy script.
“Thanks,” I say as I take it from her hand. She smiles and hurries back to her station. I turn the envelope over expecting more, but it’s just my name. It seems innocent enough, though my chest tightens as I slide my finger under the seal and tear it open. My hands shake as I unfold the single piece of lined paper. My stomach bottoms out as soon as I see the first words.
Hi Pretty Girl,
Miss me? Did you really think I wouldn’t find you two hours away in your hometown? Oh how I’ve missed seeing your face everyday. Eight months is much too long.
You’ll be happy to know I left her. For you. For us.
I think it’s time we give this a real shot.
I’ll be seeing you soon,
J
Bile rises up my throat, and I cover my mouth with one hand, crumpling the letter with the other.
“Oh, Margot, I was looking for you,” a voice calls from down the hall. “Margot? Are you okay?” I turn to see Dr. Shepherd. She’s making her way over to me, but my world seems to be shifting on its axis.
He found me. He’s here. He found me. He found me.The words run through my head on a loop like a news ticker. I lean against the wall. “I think I’m going to be sick,” I whisper whenthe doctor approaches. “I need to go home.” My eyes bounce around the otherwise empty hallway, as if I’m expecting to see him rounding the corner at any minute.
“Yeah, you don’t look great,” she says, reaching out for me. I step to the side, unable to handle anyone touching me right now, and she retracts her hand. “Why don’t you head out? I’ll make sure we figure out coverage.”
“Thanks, yeah,” I say absently, already trying to find a way to disappear. Where can I possibly go? I take a few steps down the hall in the direction of the nurses’ lounge but turn around. “Oh, Mr. Matthews’ temp is up. Can you check on him?”
“Yeah, I’ll go examine him now,” Dr. Shepherd says with a warm smile. “Take care of yourself, Margot.” I nod and practically run the rest of the way to the lounge.
It takes me forever to get my locker open, my hands won’t stop shaking, and my breaths are coming in short gasps. I might be having a panic attack, but I don’t have time for it right now, so I push it aside the best I can as I grab my things.
