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I was coming hard.
Inside of her. Filling her up so full that she would have me leaking out of her for the rest of the night.
God. Damn.
I grunted in her ear, unable to stop the sound from leaving my throat.
If there was anyone close to us, there would be no doubt in their mind what we were doing now if they heard that.
I continued to rock inside of her until the last seconds of the song throbbed to a stop.
My balls were spent, my dick was still hard, and my breath was coming slightly faster than a person who worked out regularly probably should admit to.
When my eyes opened, and my forehead pulled back from hers, it was to see her staring at me with clearer eyes.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered. “You’re a doctor. Respectable.”
I snorted. “Whatever. Let’s go home.”
She didn’t deny me that.
And she didn’t complain when, instead of taking her to her home, I took her to mine.
Where, hopefully, she would stay until the end of forever.
CHAPTER 22
You work harder than an ugly stripper.
-Text from Coreline to Tide
CORELINE
Two weeks of bliss.
Two weeks of living the life I’d always wanted to live with Tide Crow.
Two weeks of being happy.
It was bound to happen.
Nothing in my life ever went the way I wanted it. The way it was supposed to go.
I didn’t have a mother.
From a very young age, I’d had to learn all of the ‘girl’ things the hard way. Either by asking a friend, a friend’s mom, or asking my good friend, Google.
And a lot of times, Google led me down a rabbit hole.
A rabbit hole that, might I add, wasn’t helping me much today.
It was only pointing to the fact that I was dying.
“What are you even looking at?” Tide asked with amusement.
His lips pressed against the exposed skin that my sleep shirt revealed, and I shivered.
I groaned and closed my phone, tossing it onto the bed beside me.
I rolled over and over until I was in Tide’s arms, and he was pressing his mouth to mine.
But the smell of his breath was making me nauseous.
“I don’t feel well,” I admitted when I pulled back. “And your breath smells like the bottom of a barf bag.”
He grinned and closed his eyes, making no move whatsoever to get up and brush his teeth. Ugh. The nerve of the man.
“That’s what happens in the morning,” he admitted, sounding amused. “Breath smells.” He paused. “Why were you on Dr. Google this early in the morning?”
I thought about not telling him for a whole two point five seconds before I thought ‘fuck it’ and blurted out what was going on. “I’ve added a new symptom to my two-week-long headache. Nosebleeds.”
His eyebrows rose, and that’s when I realized that at some point, he’d turned on the lamp and I’d been too consumed in Google to realize that he’d done so. Or was even awake.
He made a humming sound and said, “I still think that your head’s aching because you are having to deal with now owning a business, among other things. But the nosebleeds are a small bit concerning, especially if you’ve never had them before.”
That’s what I thought, too!
“When’s the last time that you…”
He went into doctor mode then, asking me questions, thinking it through, and ending with the fact that I needed to go see two doctors. My PCP—primary care provider—and an OB/GYN to get all of the essentials checked—like my uterus. For a baby.
As in, he was curious to see if I was pregnant or not, seeing as we’d had more than one slipup over the last few weeks.
That wasn’t where my mind went, however.
My mind went to a brain aneurysm.
I didn’t feel any different, other than the headache from hell that wouldn’t go away for anything.
And now nose bleeds.
“Umm…” I hesitated. “I’ve never actually been to an OB/GYN before.”
His eyes narrowed, and he looked at me like I’d just spouted gibberish… or spoken in tongues. “You’ve never gone to get any of that checked out?”
The incredulity on his face would’ve made me laugh had he not been so seriously awed right now.
I shrugged. “I’m young still. And no… I haven’t.”
Nor had I had the time, or the inclination, to take my pants off for some stranger when I really didn’t have to.
He sighed. “That’s something that needs to happen once a year. A lot can change from one doctor visit to the next. Let alone in years where you never looked at it once. Those should start at the age of eighteen. If not earlier, in my honest opinion.”
He did have a point. I mean, had my mother been around, I’m sure I would’ve been going since I was young. But telling your dad that you needed to go to the vagina doctor when you were a teen was intimidating and embarrassing.
