Page 13 of Possessive Doctor

I take out my thumb and replace it with my mouth. The kiss starts slowly at first. But she clutches my collar and pulls me closer to her. With a groan, I ram my tongue into her warm mouth, earning me a moan and whimper. I’m firing on all synapses, and I have to physically lock my muscles down to stop myself from going further.

An alarm sounds on my phone, and I know it’s time for her medication. We break apart, trying to catch our breaths. I get her pain medicine and bring it to her with a glass of water.

“So much for our conversation. This stuff makes me pass right out,” she pouts.

“That’s alright. It’s early. You can take a nap and we’ll finish later.”

After eating, I throw the containers in the trash and carry her back to bed. It’s almost imperceptible at first, but her eyelids begin to droop, and she yawns. I turn to leave, but she calls out to me.

“I know you aren’t ready for bed yet, Andrew, but when you are, you can sleep in here with me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I don’t like sleeping alone.”

“Alright. Now, get some rest.” I lean over and plant a kiss on her forehead before I turn off the light and leave the room.

I spend the next few hours sitting on the sofa and staring up at the ceiling. Today could have gone a whole lot worse. She could have called the hospital and reported me for taking her personal things. She could have searched the little dipshit I saw earlier and asked for his help. She could have pushed herself physically and went to her old house.

I let the relief sink in. She has given me a chance to prove myself, and I’m not going to take this for granted.

Now that she knows the truth, winning her trust is more important than ever. So even if her memory returns, it won’t matter anymore because her life is with me. Just the way it’s always been.

6

AMY

It’s around one o’clock in the morning when I feel Andrew’s weight on the bed.

I try my best not to move or make a sound. My mind has been racing with thoughts about him—how he brought me here under false pretenses and what his motive for it all might be. I’ve thought about myself as well. I may not have my memory, but I don’t think I’m an impulsive person.

I can’t see myself as someone who jumps right into sexual situations, either. Yet, feeling the weight of his body beside me makes me yearn for his touch. If he knows I’m awake, he’ll want to talk to me and I simply don’t know what to say. I’m a jumble of messed-up emotions with no idea what the future holds for me. I wonder if I’ve ever felt this vulnerable before.

Andrew lies on his side, and I can feel him looking at me. I keep my eyes closed tightly and wait breathlessly to see if he’s going to touch me. He doesn’t. He rolls onto his other side and turns off the bedside lamp.

I try to ignore my frustration because…why? I have no idea where this desire comes from. It’s only been a few days, and we’ve already fallen into a rhythm too easily. Now that I know the truth, him being my husband actually makes more sense. Him being a total stranger doesn’t.

Maybe it’s the sense of safety I feel when he’s next to me, but something quiets my mind. I press my body against his back and drape my arm over his shoulder. He stiffens at first but he eventually takes my hand in his, and I fall asleep.

Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming.

Andrew told me we aren’t married, yet here I am in a billowy, white dress standing on the beach beside him. He’s in a black suit, with his thick, black hair slicked back. His tanned skin glows under the summer sun, but that smile… God, I can stare at his smile forever. And that's all for me.

A preacher pronounces us husband and wife, and Andrew kisses me. It’s long and demanding, I almost…

“Amy, wake up. It’s time for your medication,” Andrew gently nudges me.

I snap my eyes open and smile when I see his face.

“What’s that smile for? You must have had a very good dream,” he says as he hands me my pills and a glass of water.

I sit up and stretch, noting how his face darkens when my shirt rides up my belly.

“It was a good dream,” I say, popping the pills onto my tongue.

“Was it a memory?”

“No. Not a real one, anyway,”

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