Page 59 of Bad Bishop
Chiara: I’m sorry, honey. I have a terrible headache. It shouldn’t be too bad. Just do as the doctor asks.
Bullshit. She knew how triggering this was for me. Knew how this pregnancy came about.
Trembling, I reached for the zipper in the back of my dress. It took me three attempts to remove it. I picked up the hospital gown and examined it. It was missing a part. Front or back, I couldn’t tell. But one side was purely made out of strings.
Which way was the right one?
Tears collected on my lower eyelids. Since they were going to check my belly, I guessed I needed to wear the gown with my front exposed. I quickly tied the strings beneath my breasts and around my stomach. What a stupid design for a hospital gown! What was even the point of it?
I laid on the examination table, realizing to my chagrin there were stirrups on either side of it. I pressed my thighs together tightly. I didn’t want to be touched. To be seen. To be prodded like an animal.
It was the absence of Tiernan that made me realize I trusted him more than I cared to admit. Not with my heart, or with my happiness, but with my body. It was more than I could say about any man other than my brothers.
The door opened and Tiernan stepped back inside. I quickly swathed an arm over my breasts and pressed a hand to my groin to hide myself. Despite my mortification, I was relieved to have him back. He closed the door and swiveled my way, his gaze landing on my exposed skin.
The ice in his pupil snuffed, replaced with something else. Heated and urgent. It was the first time he looked…bothered. By something. By someone.
“What’s this?” His lips moved around a tight jaw. His gaze was trained hard on my face, refusing to travel lower.
I tossed him an incredulous glare that said,What does it look like? I’m waiting for my examination.
He pressed his lips together, and I had a horrible, devastating feeling he was suppressing a laugh. The door opened a crack again, and he turned around, slamming it shut.
What was happening?
Panicked, I scooted to the edge of the table, watching as he ate the space between us with one step. His palms were splayed where I could see them, lifted in surrender.
“Not gonna touch you without permission.”
Why would he need to touch me atall?
Oh,God. The gown was the other way around, wasn’t it? My face flamed cherry-red, down to the tips of my ears.
“Help?” he offered.
I nodded. My ears were on fire.
“I’ll have to touch you.”
My heart nearly raced out of my chest. I jerked my chin in a second nod.
He grabbed me by the waist and lowered me to the floor with gentleness that made me question if he touched me at all.
Shame swirled in my stomach. I was humiliated and mortified.
“Close your eyes if it’s too much.”
He reached for the tied strings at my front, tugging them free without touching my skin. The heat of his body, of the masculinity he radiated in electric pulses, made my nipples pucker. They stood on end, pink, sharp, and needy. So needy. It felt like his body spoke to mine in a language only they understood. I fought the urge to press against him, to lean my body against his.
I worried if he touched me somewhere,anywhere, I’d combust. It felt like I was on the verge of experiencing something big and foreign and exciting.
His expression remained inscrutable as he slid the sleeves off my shoulders.
The soft caress of the air between us made my stomach dip and my nipples harden even more.
They now grazed the expensive fabric of his dress shirt.
Gasping, I covered them with my hands. I stared at my feet to hide my blush.
