Page 27 of Fixation
I could die from how much I want her.
Her forehead rests on my collarbone, her sweat-soaked hair already dampening another spot on my shirt.
It doesn’t soak through my undershirt, though. The thick fabric is a barrier between me and that wet spot.
Between my skin andher.
Infuriating.
I shake my head. I’ll have all of her on every part of me soon enough.
I’ve been waiting for this moment for over sixty days. While I’ve stalked her. Studied her better than I have anyone I’ve killed before.
I jacked off to her. Broke into her home. Barely touched her.
Those days are over. She’s here. Waiting for me to tend to her.
A sense of mission curls tight around my lungs. A revelation. I didn’t consciously become a doctor for Harper, but it sure feels like it was meant to be.
Every sleepless night in med school, every grueling shift, every ounce of discipline shaped me into the man she can count on.
For the first time, being a doctor doesn’t feel like penance.
I’m not saving lives to make up for the ones I’ve taken.
Fate didn’t make me a healer for redemption.
It made me one for her.
My jaw clenches.
Focus. You can’t spiral now.
What I need is to grab the keys from her bag.
She’s going to need her hair products, not mine. While I’d love her hair to smell like me, these thick red locks need more care than I can give.
She’ll have my soap on her skin. That’ll have to be enough.
“Let’s put you down.” I gently lower her on her doorstep, “Nice and easy.”
Touching her, washing her, tending to her…
I’ll slip if I’m not careful.
I am careful. And I won’t slip.
Her bag. It’s slung over my shoulder, the strap overlapping mine.
Our bags.
Ours.
The word loops in my head as I pluck her keys out and slide them into the lock.
I lift her bridal style over the threshold and, fuck, if that isn’t a sign.
Patience.
