“Probably true,” she agreed, taking the pathway of least resistance.
“Don’t give me snark face. With one arm, I can bury the Jets. They suck, and I’m the one-armed man!”
“Yes, you’ve told me.” She found a light close by his locker and flicked it on. “Bowen! What are you doing?”
He had ripped open the scrub pants at the front drawstring. Possibly unaware that his football pants and pads had been cut off at the hospital. “Changing. My socks are weird.”
“They’re hospital socks.” The only piece of clothing that survived the ordeal were his football cleats. She could just see the edge of dark brown hair where the seam of Dr. Glazier’s second favorite pair of scrubs pants had been.
“I’ve got to pee and shower.” He sat down on the bench, trying to get the shoes off one-handed. “I need my other hand.”
“Stop. I’ve got it.” She knelt next to him, wishing she weren’t eye level with the open seam over his crotch. Naked guys were nothing new for her job, and she’d spent plenty of time in the locker room since July in their presence.
None of them were Bowen, though. None of them were staring at her as she untied their cleats. None of them had announced to the entire ER they were in love with her.
None of them had a visible erection.
“It’s the meds. It was the meds,” she mumbled, removing the first shoe and squeezing her thighs together, blaming the wetness on anything except him. They were a nothing, despite his constant stream of declarations today.
As she untied the next shoe, she prayed he wouldn’t touch her. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Her traitorous body had not forgotten their interlude in the supply closet.
“God. I think about this all the time. You on your knees,” he informed her.
She lurched back with the second shoe, landing on her butt. He didn’t reach for her, but his hand was moving down his abdomen to his waist and lower...
CHAPTER7
Licking her dry lips, she tried, “Bowen, you have to forget it.”
“Roy, I wish I could.” He shook his head, left fist inside the pants, partially hidden by the torn fabric. “Even porn isn’t fun. Anytime I jerk off now, I only see you.”
Her mouth was dry, her heart racing. This wasn’t happening. “You can find someone else.”
“I tried. After our kiss, I took that woman to dinner.” He closed his eyes, face tilted toward the ceiling, tendons in his neck pulled taut. “Went home alone to beat the bishop alone, calling your name, Roy.”
“It was one time,” she said, uncertain of which of them was confessing here. He was brave enough to admit how powerful their single encounter had been.
“I thought so too. Tried eight more times before I gave up. Every single time, I’d end up imagining you, lips around my dick. Naked and wet for me. Fuck.” Bowen’s hand moved faster, the hole getting larger, the wide head bumping against the edge of the fabric. “So eager. And mine. Just mine. Saying my name.”
“Stop,” she begged.. Her nipples were hard points, and the urge to obey him was almost overwhelming. She wanted to free him and suck his cock hard, watching him moan for her. This tattooed beast of a man would be hers, at least for the moment.
He froze mid-stroke. “Roy. Do you really want me to?”
This tattooed god needed her permission to continue. “No.”
The hand in the pants renewed its motion, and she’d never been so turned on in her life.
“Told you. I can’t stop. Don’t try to make me forget you. Please, Roy. Look where you brought me to. Gonna cum so hard.” His grey eyes were focused on her face. “Free me. Say my name.”
“No.” She pushed her hands onto the tile floor. If she shifted even an inch, there would be no going back.
“My name. Please. Roy. Say it.” The words were pinched with pain and heat.
“Not until you say mine.” She had no idea why she threw down that challenge.
“It’s not Roy? Oh, thank God. I’ve been so confused,” he panted.
“It’s Aurora.” Barely anyone called her that after middle school.
