Page 50 of Fixation
Better. Much.
Her IV bag is empty. I’m going to change it. Harper needs her fluids and minerals.
It won’t be long before I see her furious emerald eyes. Hear my name on her lips.
Yes.
“Such a good patient,” I praise her while I change the bag, then start cleaning her up.
I dip the washcloth into the new ice water bowl I placed on the treatment cart while the soup was cooking on the stove. In careful movements, I dab it over her forehead, her temples.
Repeating the motion, I soak it with ice water and squeeze it over her hair. Dab a dry washcloth over her ears to prevent the fluid from entering them.
“You’re doing great.” My stethoscope, that’s been cleaned, hangs around my neck. I take it in my hand, leaning closer to her. “Let’s listen to your lungs and heart, Miss Arlington.”
I start with the blanket, pulling it down to her knees.
Fuck, she looks so good wearing my clothes. Every time I see her in them—like the time I took them off to insert the catheter briefly to help relieve her—my heart beats louder. Faster.
Possessiveness floods my blood. Focusing on her medical needs is verging on impossible.
The idea of failing her is the worst of them all.
“I’m going to just move those out of the way,” I say between clenched teeth, shoving her clothes up to her stomach. My knuckles brush her delicate skin. A forbidden temptation. “Like I said, I need to have a look at you.”
A pang of need has my cock throbbing.
Can’t have that. Can’t think of how painful my erection is.
Can’t.
I arrange the sweatshirt and shirt over her breasts. My pulse skyrockets at how beautiful she is. How perfect. The desire I have for her is a beast. A visceral ache.
Those round and biteable tits. Her nipples are pink and hard at the first touch of cool air.
Her skin prickles, and, God, what I wouldn’t give to lick her. She’d taste like heaven on my tongue. Like hell and decadence. I’d devour each and every one of her goosebumps.
Ignoring these urges is the right thing to do.
Her heart. Her lungs.
Her checkup. That’s why she’s naked beneath me. Have to remember that.
Same as I’ve done dozens of times, I adjust each earpiece of the stethoscope in my ears. The diaphragm goes above Harper’s heart.
I stifle a growl as the sound of each beat, each pulse of energy, reaches me.
Listening to another person’s heart has always been as clinical as scrubbing in for surgery. Never been like this. Never has it stirred any emotion in me.
Nothing’s gripped my heart and yanked as much as hers does.
Nothing.
Possessiveness. Desire. A need so dark I can’t put a name to it.
They all pulse in me while I listen to her.
Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom.
