Page 45 of Wild Tides
He dropped his fingers to my clit, tracing gently down my opening.
“So I see.” He said it so smugly that I wanted to smack him, but there were more appropriate punishments for a man who didn’t know his place.
I clicked my tongue, shaking my head as I drew a finger across his lips. “‘Look pretty’ means be quiet.”
“What if I want to whisper filthy nothings in your ear?”
“Murphy, if you can still summon language, I’m not doing it right.”
Indolently, I arched, spreading my thighs and making him disappear inside me, inch by torturous inch. His eyes rolled back, eyelids fluttering, lips softly parted. I exhaled, a deep “ha” sound emerging as he slid home, the sound long and low. He filled me to the hilt, no air between us.
I gripped his shoulders, using them for leverage. Clenching my thighs, I moved, rotating my hips, tilting until our bodies aligned perfectly. Every nerve ending was on fire. I wanted to simultaneously move and stay there forever. Full and aching, but in the best possible way.
I’d dreamed about this for years. Not just the sex, but being seen – wanted – like this by him. Every inch inside me felt like a claim, like he’d finally stopped holding back.
A coil of tension built inside me as I rocked on Lee, sliding up and down, building friction. Greed made me go faster. I wasn’t just chasing release, I wanted to prove I could take him. Holdhim. That he belonged here with me, not hiding behind guilt or friendship.
His hands gripped my buttocks, digging deeper with every thrust. My thighs quivered with the effort, lactic acid building in my muscles as I strained for the finish line. One long stroke. Two, and stars burst behind my eyelids, raining down my spine in wave after wave of orgasm. Lee grunted beneath me, one last thrust taking him over the edge.
I collapsed on his shoulder, my breath coming in heaving gasps against his neck. I should have felt too exposed, but instead I felt whole. Like the empty spaces had finally been filled, body and soul.
I wasn’t sure how long we stayed like that, chests expanding and contracting in rhythm. Gently, he lifted me off his lap, disengaging and pushing to his feet. He returned a few minutes later and dropped to the sofa beside me, pulling me into his arms. I snuggled against his chest, not ready to face reality yet. Not wanting to see his guard snap back into place.
“Violet Fenwick, you were one hundred percent right.” He murmured the words softly, sounding stunned. Because we’d been together? Or because we’d been so good?
I squinted, opening one eye. Lee looked the most relaxed I’d ever seen him. Fair, since my orgasm had pretty much taken my head off.
“About what?”
“There are no words.”
Chapter 22 – Lee
Dr. Underwood’s magazine selection was underwhelming. I’d forgotten to charge my phone, so that left me with nothing to do but eavesdrop and daydream. My two most marketable skills. I closed my eyes, pretending to sleep while I listened.
Vi had dropped me off with a promise to run a few errands in town and swing back once I was done. Arguing would have been silly, but after last night, it was difficult to let her go, even for a few minutes. I’d woken with her wrapped in my arms, her hair tickling my chin. Pretty much my idea of the perfect morning.
Instead of pulling away and finding privacy to reset, I’d snuggled closer, my heart ricocheting around my chest when she murmured softly in her sleep, nestling into my shoulder like she belonged. At least in her sleep, she seemed to sense what I already knew: I was hers. Maybe I wasn’t done proving it to her yet, but if I had anything to say about it, she’d never doubt me again.
The office door chimed softly, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Hey, Lanie. I’m here for my follow up,” Leona Marks called, her voice soft and familiar. Her name snagged my attention. I’d seen it before, in the gallery’s sales records, tied to one of the art pieces that Lucy had flagged as a suspicious transaction.
Leona didn’t look sick – not unless you knew what to watch for. Thin to the point of frail, shoulders slightly rounded from coughing and throat-clearing. Her laughter carried a soft wheeze, but she never held it back. She worked part-time at the bakery and always greeted me with a smile. It struck me as deeply unfair that she’d been managing this disease for so long. And yet, for someone living with cystic fibrosis, her symptoms were surprisingly subtle. Praise pharma.
I’d only done the most basic research into CF and the therapies available for a book, but it made me curious. The big drugs for the disease carried equally hefty price tags. Specialty clinics usually managed them. Then again, maybe Dr. Underwood was only doing her regular bloodwork.
“Great, Leona, I have you all checked in.”
I filed Leona’s arrival away for later, listening as the office staff checked in three more patients. The rhythm of the office was oddly comforting – efficient, personal, just busy enough to seem normal. If someone wanted to hide something in plain sight, a quiet rural medical practice wouldn’t be a bad place to start.
“Lee? We have an exam room ready for you now.”
I followed Dr. Underwood’s nurse back to the scale. She scrawled my current weight in my blue file folder and ushered me toward an exam room. “Just take a seat. Dr. Underwood should be with you shortly.”
Counting to ten, I eased the door open. Shuffling down the hall as quietly as my boot would allow, I noticed a red folder tucked into the acrylic rack on the door to Exam Room 3.
Leona Mark’s file.
