“She doesn't,” I said. “She can't.”
“Why?” he asked. “Does she already have someone in her life?”
“No,” I admitted reluctantly. “They broke up.”
“So then there's nothing to keep you from finding out.”
“She won’t want me, Father,” I said, trying to keep the bitterness from my voice. “Look at her and then look at me. She deserves someone she can be proud to stand beside. Not a monster.”
“Xavier Hammond.”
Shit. The full name. That was never good.
Father O'Toole's voice was sharp as he continued, “You are no monster. I will not have you talking about yourself like that.”
I brushed the words aside. Nothing I could say or do would convince him otherwise, so there was no point in arguing. “It doesn't matter,” I said. “Because I look like this, and this isn't a fairy tale.”
There was silence for a moment before the father spoke again. This time, his words were quiet, but they hit me hard nonetheless. “You're doing that girl a grave disservice, thinking that she's so shallow she'd reject you simply because you have some scars. Maybe you're right. Maybe she deserves someone who thinks better of her than you apparently do.”
His words echoed in my head long after our meal was done and he was gone.
Dammit.
I really hated when he was right.
Chapter Eleven
Nori
I'd tried not to feel rejected when X told me that we were finished for the night. We were doing this whole thing for him anyway. This wasn't a true Dom / Sub relationship. It wasn't a relationship at all. My wants and needs didn't matter.
But that wasn't what bothered me. I could control myself. After all, Tanner had spent hours teaching me all of the finer points of self-control. I'd learned how to hold back an orgasm until it was almost painful. How to keep myself quiet when all I wanted to do was moan and scream. I'd knelt until my knees ached, given head until my jaw cried out, all the while ignoring the pulse of desire between my legs.
It wasn't the denial of my desires that bothered me.
It was the fact that I shouldn't have been desiring them in the first place.
X wasn't mine to want. I knew that. I'd known that from the moment I'd first seen him. He'd become my patient then, and no matter how many times I wanted to justify my actions, I'd never actually quit taking care of him. What I felt for him wasn't right. I shouldn't feel it.
Except that was easier said than done. The one thing people could never actually control was emotion. We could control our actions, what we did with our emotions, but not how we felt.
Which meant I had no way to stop myself from wanting X. I could only control my actions.
So I spent all day Tuesday doing just that.
Controlling my actions.
After an awkward breakfast, I decided the best way to do that was to stay upstairs. I could hear X downstairs whenever I ventured into the hallway, though I had no clue why he was roaming around. It was good, I supposed, that he was moving around, doing things. I was pretty sure I'd even heard the back door open.
I should've been happy that he was getting better, doing more on his own. That was the whole reason I'd come out here, after all. To make sure he got better.
I just hadn't thought beyond that point. I had no idea what I would do once X didn't need me to dress his bandages. Since it seemed he wanted to move about now, I didn't think getting him to do his physical therapy on his own would be that difficult. Which meant there'd be no reason for me to stick around. Not unless I wanted to go from being a nurse to being a housekeeper and a cook.
Which I didn't. I'd gone into medicine because I wanted to help people. I wasn't entirely sure if I wanted to go back to nursing, but I knew I still wanted to help. If X didn't need my assistance anymore, then my job was done. That meant I should use the next couple weeks to figure out what I really wanted to do.
Except I couldn't think about anything except the way it felt when X had put his hand on my back, when it had slid around my side. If his kiss had thrown me, the incident with the yard stick had freaked me out. Not because it'd hurt or been too kinky. No, it freaked me out because of how much it turned me on.
By Wednesday night, I was thoroughly frustrated, both emotionally and sexually. While I couldn't do something about the first, I could about the second.
I stretched out on my bed and closed my eyes. I was wearing pajamas meant more for comfort than for seduction, but it was easy to imagine that I was in something sexy. A silk negligee, maybe something a deep blue or rich green. Something that would show off my curves.
I ran my hands down my sides, and then over my stomach, up to my breasts. I cupped them, ran my thumbs over my nipples.
Even though I knew it wasn't a good idea, I let my imagination take over. If I couldn't have what I wanted, and I couldn't stop wanting it, I might as well get something good out of it.