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His hand slides around to cup the back of my head and he pulls me to him once again, this time with more force, the passion between us causing a soft moan to escape from my lips.
“I’ve imagined kissing you for so long,” he says as he trails hot kisses down my throat. “I can’t believe it’s happening.”
My hands that were resting gently on his massive shoulders work their way up and I grip his face, smiling against his lips as I pull him in for another searing kiss. My hands rake through his thick hair, and I finally live out every daydream I have ever had as I use the thick locks as leverage to push myself into him. Rising on my knees, I lean my full weight into him, relishing in the feeling of his hands roaming my body, finding their home on the top of my ass.
I categorize everything at this moment. The smell of him, the scrape of his scruff against my skin, the hard planes of his body underneath me. This might be the only time we do this. He might wake up tomorrow and decide I’m not worth it.
He might realize there are other women out there who don’t carry the weight that I do.
His hands leave my ass to rustle between us, shaky fingers trying to unbutton my coat but fumbling and he growls, pulling back, “How many fucking buttons does this thing have?”
I swipe my fingers across the smooth buttons with one hand, shimmying the peacoat off my shoulders and letting it fall to my waist. The reduced layers leave less to the imagination, driving me wild as his hands find their way under my shirt. His tongue licks into my mouth as warm fingertips dance their way up my spine, tickling the bare skin over my hips, daring to move towards dangerous territory.
A knock on the driver-side window breaks the haze surrounding us as some college kids whistle and holler at us to get a room.
Ryan chuckles, his head falling to my collarbone as he pants. My vision clears, and I look around the cab noticing every window has fogged.
We sit in silence for a moment, both trying to recover from the kiss that put every other kiss I’ve ever had to shame. My brain is telling my body to get off of him, but my heart is fighting it, surprising me with how much I physically want him.
I swallow hard and clear my throat.“Well, I should probably go inside.”
“I’ll walk you to the door.”
I nod in agreement, but neither of us makes the effort to move. As one of his hands casually twirls a lock of my hair, I debate bringing him upstairs. I could bring this man to my bed and have the greatest sexual experience of my life, something to revel in when I’m an old lady, alone with my cats and a dried-up vagina.
Pulling back, I adjust my sweater, and do my best to clean the smeared lipstick from both of our faces before sliding my jacket back on and shimmying over to the passenger seat.
As promised, Ryan walks me to my door, my hand enveloped in his. He kisses meF goodbye, a singular, chaste kiss compared to how I practically dry-humped him a few minutes ago.
Once I’m in the safety of my apartment, with several doors and floors between us the realization hits me.
I like him.
I really,reallylike Dr. Ryan.
Chapter Sixteen
Lainey
“We want to choose an insertion point at the upper border of the rib, one intercostal space below the top of the effusion.”
I nod along, hands nearly shaking as I hand Dr. Ryan his supplies.
When he said we could do the thoracentesis at the bedside, I wanted to jump into his arms. I’ve drained plenty of pleural effusions through a catheter, but normally, the placement procedure is usually done in a specialty unit during the day. Somehow, over my six years of nursing, I have never been a part of the actual placement process.
Night shift doesn’t have the luxury of other departments being open, and when someone can’t breathe because of the fluid surrounding their lungs, they do what they have to do to fix it.
Thank goodness Dr. Ryan is still in the nightshift mindset.
As I watch deft hands carefully insert the needle into our patient’s back, I can’t help but let my mind wander back to Friday night. Besides a few flirty texts over the weekend, andblushing smiles this morning, we haven’t revisited our heavy make-out session.
Yet.
“How was your weekend?” he asks right on cue as he threads the drainage tube on and begins to drain the excess fluid surrounding our patient’s lungs.
“It was fine, I guess. And yours?”
His hands stay impeccably steady as the corner of his mouth ticks up and his eyes briefly flick to mine. “Just fine?”
