Page 74 of Save Me

“Oh.” Micah’s face falls, and for a second, he’s frozen.

That look makes me feel cold and eats at me. Fuck. He looks hurt. Like, actually hurt.

Micah falls back into his seat. “Okay. Sure, yeah.” He glances around, then pulls his pants away from his body, grabbing his keys. “I’ll uh, see you at home, yeah?”

I don’t say anything. Then, he exits my car and leaves.

I stare. He doesn’t even slam the door. Just…leaves.

What the fuck? For a minute, all kinds of energy boils up under my skin. Why didn’t he do anything? Yell at me, whine, cry to put it in me? Say he deserves it? That I’m copping an attitude with him?

I stare as Micah sits in his car, feeling like my chest is going to explode. Nothing. He did nothing. Just let me take what I wanted and listened when I said no.

I feel sick.

I peel out of the lot, dick hard and all kinds of unanswered questions boiling in my head.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

“Mr. Parker?” I press the door open and step inside. Usually, he yells at me from his bedroom, but I haven’t heard anything today. Which is great, ‘cause I’m a tad late. Maybe he’s napping and hasn’t noticed.

Something is screaming at me to go home and finish what I started with Micah. I didn’t push him hard enough. Didn’t get what I wanted. If my goddamn dick hadn’t betrayed me, I could have kept torturing him. Kept pushing him until he was a blubbering mess and would answer me straight.

But as it is, I’m weak. Weak and unsuccessful. Because all I can think about is the way Micah let me pin him against the seat. The way his breath came hot and fast, and the way he gritted his teeth as I wrung pleasure out of him. And he let me. He fucking let me.

The armpits of my shirt are soaked, and the AC in his house makes them ice cold, but somehow I feel like I’m on fire.

“Mr. Parker?” No cats dart in front of me as I walk into the bedroom. I see him lying on the bed. He must be napping, although that’s a bit odd for him this late in the day.

“Hey.” I round the bed, and that’s when I see he’s staring up at the ceiling, mouth open, and not moving. His fingers are blue.

The back of my neck tingles.

“Mr. Parker?” Pressing my fingers to his neck, I check for a pulse. I know what I’m going to find, but I do it anyway.

His neck is cold.

Fuck.

There is no pulse.

For a moment, I just stare at Mr. Parker. Then, all the things flood my mind, but the first thing I think about is Micah. What would he think of this? This will just go on the list of things he can use to make me feel bad. My patient literally died under my care.

I’m flooded with thoughts of all the paperwork I’m going to have to do. I’ll have to call my boss, who will have to call Arthur…

Fuck. I step back, clenching my fists, my adrenaline dumping. Can I get in trouble for this? Surely not, right? I was only like ten minutes late.

What if he died in those ten minutes, and I could have prevented it?

My breathing picks up, but I stop myself, glancing at Mr. Parker’s arms. Sure enough, there’s some purpling toward the parts that are touching the bed, and his fingertips are blue.

No. Mr. Parker wouldn’t have lividity within ten minutes.

The next part of my day is a blur. I call first responders, call the family, call the home health agency, wait for everyone to get here, and try my best not to lose my mind. I’m not in trouble. Arthur won’t try to spin this on me. How could he? I didn’t do anything wrong. Mr. Parker had a heart condition. He was old. Death is what happens.

Still, the death sits heavily on my soul, along with the voice in my head that says I’m fucking it all up with Micah. That I’m not doing it right. That I’m somehow losing while trying everything I have to win.

The thought of going home makes my cheeks burn, while simultaneously the thought of seeing Micah and his hot body and those pretty eyelashes makes my dick hard.