Page 91 of Brainwashed
Felix Darcey’s lips. The Carver is fuckingkissingme.
I yank away from him, but he grasps my jaw and holds my mouth to his, letting out a soft sigh that registers in my groin.
It makesno fucking sense.
“Felix,” I grunt, finally prying myself out of his grip. “Stop.”
“Why…” His voice comes out gravelly and when he shifts, I feel something hard between us. Pressing into my stomach.
Alright, that’s it.
Taking matters into my own hands, literally, I lift him off of me, tossing him onto the couch beside me like a rag doll. He winds up on his back, and the confusing rage burning its way up my chest takes over.
I come down over him and grab him by the throat. “Donotfucking try that shit again, do you understand me??”
He whimpers, writhing beneath me. “Why not? You might like it. Just give me a few more seconds and I can—”
“Felix,” I growl, shutting him up quick. “No. Hear me. I’m not your fucking boyfriend. I’m not yourDaddy, and I’m not your pal. I’m a doctor here to examine you. That’s it. Don’t confuse my dedication to my work with some kind of desire for you.”
“You’ve never been with a guy…?” His lashes flutter and my jaw clenches.
“We’re not talking. I’m telling you to cut the shit. Got it?” The flames of my frustration bore into him, his chest moving up and down with heavy breaths as I repeat, “Got it?”
Finally, he nods. “Yes, Dr. Love. I’m sorry.” I feel his Adam’s apple bob beneath my palm and I need to get up fast.Right the fuck now.
Letting go of him, I scramble off the couch, straightening myself up. I smooth my dreads, then swipe at my lower lip.Blood.
I peek at Felix, who’s still lying on the couch, gawking at me.
I have his blood on my mouth.
Swallowing hard, I pick my phone up off the table.Fuck… It was recording this whole time.
I’m shaking my head as I rush to grab the file off my desk and my coat off the coat rack before stalking to the door.
And as I’m leaving, I hear a raspy voice murmur, “Goodnight, Want.”
This is such a waste.
For the first time in several months, I’m sleeping on something that isn’t the floor, or an exam chair, or a rickety old cot. I’m actually on acouch—a comfortable one, at that. Sure, it’s no hotel bed or Tempurpedic whatever, but still. It’s pretty comfy. I should be taking advantage and trying my hardest to catch up on my beauty sleep.
But no. I can’t. Instead, I’m lying here, staring up at the ceiling, fantasizing about my doctor.
It’s not out of the realm of normalcy for me. I spend a lot of time daydreaming. Always have. Still, I know that Dr. Love is the last person I should be thinking about in any sort of romantic way. For so many reasons.
He’s clearly very straight. I mean, any guy who was even marginally bi-curious would have taken that opening I gave him earlier and ran with it. If he was even slightly interested, the experimentation-train would have run express to, at the very least, Tug-town.
And sure, he didn’t seemdisgustedby my attempt at making out with him. But he was certainly shocked. Maybe a little appalled, but I don’t think it was because I’m a guy. It seemed more like something he would never allow. A patient—and a vicious serial killer at that—kissing him is unacceptable in his eyes. That much was clear from his threat.
Even so, I can’t help how much my stomach is flipping and flopping at the memory of his lips touching mine. They’re soft…So very soft, and full. Even stiff and unmoving, it was a perfectly titillating thing to experience. And of course, I was hard as a rock, which was only mildly embarrassing and inconvenient. But the feeling of his abs was too much for my dick to bear.God, I could tell even from rubbing on him for one second that his body is out of this world. I can only imagine what he looks like without clothes on…
My mouth waters as I roll onto my stomach, pushing my hips into the couch. The delectable burn in my loins is something I haven’t felt in a while. And even with the last few guys, I don’t remember craving them this hard. Not for sex, anyway. It’s like a deliberate need that rushes through my entire body, an addiction demanding to be sated. But rather than the blood lust, I think it’s just a… regular lust.
I’m confused by it. My sexual appetites are never usually this strong.
It must be him. My robot doctor, who is so clearly only here to do a job. To use up every last bit of information I have to give him… Squeeze me like a sponge being wrung dry. And then he’ll let me go. Drop me like they all do.
It’s always the same. They’ll never stay, and this hyperactive drive I have for love and affection is getting old. Because now I’m not just falling for guys whose oxygen I want to steal with my bare hands; whose blood I want to bathe in as my last remaining connection to the happiness we could have shared.
