“Sex?” was her throaty guess.
“Not yet. Powerful.” He didn't wait for any more responses, making a beeline to his bedroom, where he lofted her onto the new comforter.
“Constant.”
“The North Star?” she guessed as he unbuttoned his shirt.
He fixed this image in his mind, her spread out on his bed, ready to be used by him. “Endless.”
“Love?”
“Cruel.” He dropped the shirt and unbuckled his pants. Two seconds later, he shucked his pants and boxers together.
Her eyes darted to his rigid length. “Lust?”
“Wrong.” He advanced on the bed, hooking his fingers on her soaked lacy panties and stripping them off.
She gave him a mischievous grin and unclipped her bra. “I surrender. Use the hard thing to pound me.”
“Good girl.” He fell on her, his dick fitting into her wet quim.
She met him thrust for thrust, as starved as he was. Their lips met in time with their bodies, unable to get close enough. One of her gasps signaled her capitulation to pleasure, and he lost control amidst her cries of ecstasy.
In the aftermath, she used his shoulder as a pillow, the way she tended to do, and giggled softly. “That was a good reward. What was it?”
His brain hadn’t caught up yet. “What was what?”
“The word. I didn’t guess it.”
He searched her face for the shadows he’d hoped to banish. All he saw was his adorable girl, maintaining her sense of humor and fun while still committed to ridiculous, sexy Taboo.
This mission must have been successful, and he wondered how he’d thought he was fine before he’d met her. Life had been ‘okay,’ but with her in his arms, it was outstanding.
“The word?” she repeated, breaking his train of thought.
“It was the tide.”
“Good job.” She nuzzled his face, continuing to beam at him, sunshine, no darkness. “Ocean waves. Quite powerful.”
“Constant. Endless. Forever.” He kissed her lips and promised that he would keep her smiling in every way he could.
CHAPTER 14
By the final days of March, Roan decided he hated call days more than he hated sitting through a twelve-hour spinal fusion surgery.
“Is it time to get up?” Clarissa breathed into his chest from her position on his chest.
“Shh, go back to sleep.” Roan pulled the pink and turquoise quilt over her shoulders. They were in his office, stealing time together in the relative quiet of the space between 0600 and 0700 at the end of her heme-onc call. The night shift nurses usually didn’t page often before their shift change.
Whoever was in charge of creating the pediatric call schedule clearly didn’t care about the survival of his relationship. If he hadn’t readjusted his schedule to meet up like this, they ran the risk of becoming ships passing in the night. Not only was she sleeping every fourth night in the hospital, but his day schedule prevented him from driving her home after her 0800 lecture. More exhausted every morning, she semi-slept-walked to her rowhouse to collapse there.
It gave him no comfort that he’d whisk her to his place on her two non-call days. A bunch of her clothing and scrubs had migrated into his closet and three of his dresser drawers. Their nights together barely took the edge off his ever-present craving for her.
Ever since Simone had mentioned her concerns, he had continued his quest to ease anything he could for Clarissa outside the hospital. Whether they’d been together full-time for their MetroGen sanctioned six weeks or since their first night in June, somehow, her needs had become central to his life. He’d surrendered without a fight and would have been willing to open a vein for her to make her smile.
Hilariously, she was so astoundingly low maintenance that almost anything he did worked. Sex was easy, but the way she beamed about the simple act of him ordering pizza or reheating dinner was priceless and cheap at the same time.
She shivered, and he placed an experimental hand on her forehead, even though he knew scientifically tactile temps were useless.
