I smiled. "How did that feel?"
"I only have one good hand right now, so don't bite off my fingers." He scowled.
"You won't listen to me. I had to get your attention." I glared at him.
"You don't think you have my attention? I'm completely focused on you and only you. I'm focused on kissing you. Touching you. Fucking you. Making you come over and over."
My breath hitched and my heart pounded. My body was pulling me in two. The brain that told me to run like hell and get out of Wes's apartment, and the fire raging in my veins that told me to give myself to this man as long as he wanted me. Nothing had ever felt so good as him.
His lips brushed over my mouth. "Tell me you want me, Doc. Tell me you don't want me to stop."
It was like lightning starting a fire. There was no way to put it out until I was completely spent in his arms. "I want you, Wes."
He slammed into me maybe three or four times, I couldn't count. We were both so high from each other the peak was only vibrations away. I clung to him, spiraling out of control as he sliced through me.
"Fuck," he growled in my ear.
I looked in his glowing eyes, wishing to hell this was all real, but knowing I was only his Sunday football distraction.
Eleven
Wes
I couldn't figure her out. But fuck, I'd never tried to figure a woman out before. I was in new territory. Overnight guests never stayed past lunch. It was dinner, the next day.
Lennon sat on the kitchen stool, twirling Chinese noodles on a pair of chopsticks.
"So, I have some questions for you, Mr. Quarterback."
She was still wearing my jersey and I fucking loved it. Her ass was firm and round. I couldn't get enough of it. I tried to focus on her words and not all the things I wanted to do to that ass of hers.
"I'm sure you do." I popped half an eggroll in my mouth.
"Longest relationship?" She poured herself a second glass of wine and waited for my answer.
"Relationship?" I was standing on the other side of the counter, wearing only my jeans. She had convinced me to put my sling back on with another round of ice for my hand.
"Yeah, as in a girlfriend."
"Oh, right. No, can't say that I've had one of those."
She sputtered on the wine. "No girlfriend, ever?"
I shook my head. "No, why?"
"Don't you think that's a little strange? You're not sixteen. You're not in college anymore. You've never had a girlfriend? Never lived with someone?"
"Never."
"Oh God." She finished off the wine. "Shit." She slid off the stool.
"What? I'm being honest."
She spun to face me. "I appreciate that part. But I don't know what I was thinking. I-I overanalyzed this entire weekend, and now I know I should have done the analyzing and the questioning before I got here, not after, and now I know what an idiot I am for just now asking relationship questions after we've slept together five times."
"Actually six," I corrected her. The floor had happened after the end of the last game.
"Right, six." She glared at me. "We slept together six times, and I never bothered to ask if you ever had a girlfriend before or knew the meaning of commitment or dating, or monogamy or … ."
"Hold on, hold on." I walked around from behind the bar. "What's happening in that pretty head of yours?"
"God, I'm an idiot."
"I don't think you're an idiot, Doc. You're a brilliant, hot-as-fuck surgeon."
She pursed her lips, and for a second, I thought she might try to slap me. "Thanks."
"Come on, we had fun."
"And that's it?" she taunted. "I go back to work tomorrow. You go to your game tomorrow night?"
My chest started to pound. I felt an uneasy, sinking pit in my stomach. "Yes."
She lowered her eyes. "All right. You told me. The only person I have to be mad at is myself."
"What are you mad about?"
"This," she screamed. "You and me. What we did. How you made me feel."
Her shoulders tensed as I moved within inches of her. "I have never asked a woman to stay with me the next day." I stared into her stormy blue eyes. "I have never left a woman in my apartment while I went to work. I have never rushed home, praying to God she'd still be there when I got back. I've never cared if she came more than once. I've never given her my jersey to wear. And I sure as hell have never spent twenty-four hours with her." I tipped her chin upward. "I've never spent a night like I did with you. That's what I'm trying to say."
Lennon's arms flew around my neck, and she drew me toward her, kissing me softly, but with more passion than she had before. I breathed against her, drowning in her, falling for this woman I barely knew, but somehow knew was mine.
I pressed my forehead to hers. "I'm not going to lie to you, Doc, I'm a fucking bastard, but please stay. I want you to stay."
She nodded. "I don't want to go."
"I have no idea what I'm doing," I groaned into her ear. The words she said had scared the shit out of me. I didn't know anything about relationships or commitment. But what I had told her was the damn truth. I wanted her more than I wanted anything, and that meant she had to stay.
"First thing tomorrow, you're getting a new doctor."
"All right. If you insist."
"I do." Her hands slid over my shoulders.
"And then there's no conflict with the hospital?"
She smiled. "No conflict."
"So I can fuck you whenever I want?" I grinned greedily.
"You promise?" Her hands slid between the waistband on my jeans. I felt her fingers rub against my cock.
It was the first time I had promised anything to a woman, but this one was easy. "Oh, I promise."
Twelve
Lennon
I walked into the hospital the next morning feeling like the world could see it stamped on my forehead: Wes Blakefield's sex slave. But the nurses acted perfectly normal, and no one even looked up when I entered the doctors' lounge.
"Good morning, Dr. Ashworth."
"Oh hi." Dr. Evans was pouring a cup of coffee. His timing couldn't be better. "Dr. Evans, I was wondering if I could discuss a patient with you."
"Sure. But I'm headed into a surgery."
"Me too," I added. The older man liked the rest of us to know he was still active on the surgical team.
"Maybe we could walk together," he suggested.
"Of course." I hurriedly grabbed my coat and stethoscope and followed him out of the lounge.
"What's the consultation?" he asked.
"Oh no, it's not a consult." I slowed to match his pace. He had a bit of a limp in his walk. "I was wondering if you would take over a case for me. I completed the surgery last week, so it's only a couple of follow ups."
"And why do you need me? My schedule is really full. I doubt I have an opening."
This was the part I had tried to figure out. What was I going to tell any doctor I asked to take Wes as a patient? Please take him, the sex is too amazing for me to keep him on my patient list. Please take him, I'd rather him rip my clothes off than be a respected surgeon. Or maybe I should say please take him, he's the best fucking rock star in bed and if you don't take him, I'll quit my job to be at his beck and call. I closed my eyes, realizing I'd lost all self-restraint and respect. I was basically a quarterback's whore.
"Well, to be honest, sir, I heard you were a big Wranglers fan and I thought you might want to work with Wes Blakefield."
The older surgeon stopped in the hallway. "Are you serious?"
I nodded. "I don't really know that much about football. and I know you do." I was losing IQ points by the second.
"Do you have any idea what his passing record is? Or his quarterback rating?"
I shook my head. "Not a clue, and that's why I thought this case might really mean something to you. You could give him the kind of care maybe I can't."
Dr. Evans adjusted his glasses. "I see. I see that you're putting the patient's interests ahead of your own. And I think that's the right decision." He nodded. "Yes, I'd be happy to add him to my list."
I jumped. "Oh great! I can't wait to tell him."
His brow furrowed. "I think I can have my office call and schedule with him."
I dropped the smile quickly. "Of course. You're right. Thank you so much, Dr. Evans. I know he'll be in good hands with you. And if you have any questions about the surgery, please page me."
"Will do. Thank you for thinking of me, Dr. Ashworth."
I headed for my OR prep room. "No problem."
Step one of unchaining myself from my doctor-patient ethics was complete. I reached for the soap and started scrubbing under my nails as I prepared for surgery. This morning, I was reattaching a torn knee ligament.
I wondered how Wes's morning was going with the team. He had mumbled something this morning about trying to get plays changed. I still didn't know what that meant. With only one crash course in football and most of that spent naked on the couch, I wasn't sure I had retained much of what he had said.