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88
Donovan
Otto goes home after a couple of days.
They keep me hostage for four days longer.
By my last day, I’m ready to break out. I hate being on this side of things. I feel like I’m keeping warm a bed that would be better suited for someone else. Anyone else. I have patients who need me. I want to see Otto running around. I want to shower in my own bathroom and sleep in my own bed.
Luckily, on my final day, they loosen the reins a little. I’m allowed to shower. Get out of the hospital gown and into my own clothes. At this point, I’m almost completely unplugged, save the heart monitor on my finger and the IV drip in my arm which dispenses morphine if I need it. I’ve ignored the line as much as possible, but the first couple of days, the pain was blinding. And then, when the pain got better, something worse seeped in—an ugly, black depression.
Not about the surgery. Something else. Being in bed like this, helpless…it brought up too many bad memories. Memories of watching my mother fade away. Memories of when I’d decided enough was enough. Memories of my father plucking his own IVs out and growling in that deep voice of his, “Screw it, if I’m dying, I’m doing it in my own damn home.”
I’ll admit it—when the thoughts got loud, I hit the morphine a few times just to knock myself out.
Boredom will kill you. Silence. It’s the top reason retirees kick the bucket, and I know if I don’t leave here soon, I’ll lose my mind.
My cry for help is met by a familiar face. The door opens and Kenzi steps inside.
“Happy discharge day,” she says.
“Happy, happy.”
Then she locks the door behind her. And pulls the curtain around us.
I knit my eyebrows. She answers the question in my expression with “Just checking to make sure you’re fit for discharge.”
A smile twinges at the edge of my mouth. “Are you a nurse now?”
“I am today.” She climbs into bed with me and cups my face in her hand, drawing her thumb across my cheek. I’ve been clinically pawed at by nurses and doctors, but I haven’t been intimately touched in over a week, and the warmth of her palm makes my heart pick up speed. “Hmm…bright eyes,” she diagnoses. She runs her hand down my chest and rests it there. “Strong heartbeat.” Her fingers trip downward, until they hug my growing bulge, and she smiles. “Ah…seems that all your organs are in working order.”
She kneads me through my jeans, and my lonely need quickly swells. I expel a hiss. “What are you doing?”
Those green eyes meet mine. “Something I’ve wanted to do for over ten years.” She takes off her shirt and lets it drop to the bed. Her breasts hang free—beautiful drops of creamy soft skin across her chest. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Not for a second,” I say, and I can hear the catch in my own voice.
She kisses me, and our tongues collide.
Something unlocks inside me. A deep, bottomless well of need, and I pull her into my lap and ravish her with my tongue. She sighs into my mouth and unzips my pants, tugging my cock out. I’m unbearably hard for her, and she slips me between her legs, grinding on it first so I feel the slippery heat of her folds. She’s slick, and then I’m slick with her, and she slides me inside of her, gasping loudly as I fill her.
“Oh fuck,” she whispers, her head bowing against me as she lowers herself onto me, slowly, until I’m completely sheathed in her.
“Fuck,” I agree, because she’s so tight, so hot, and she feels better than I could’ve possibly imagined.
There’s an annoying bleeping in my ear, and I’m so swept up in Kenzi that it takes me a second to realize I’m the annoying thing beeping. My heart rate, that is, rocketing upward on the monitor. I growl and, frustrated, use my teeth to tear the tape around my fingertip, snapping the monitor off.
Now the monitor screams. I fumble—one arm trying to hold Kenzi in my lap, the other arm wrestling with the monitor. I punch in a couple of buttons to shut it up, but I’m too forceful with it, and the whole thing upends, clattering to the ground.
Kenzi’s hand flies to her mouth, and she breaks into laughter.
“Fuck it,” I say. “They can add it to my hospital bill.”
“How long do we have before someone comes to make sure you’re not dead?”
“I’d give us five minutes.”
“Hmm, what can we get up to in five minutes…?”
