Break Me

I need to make a clean break and not give her any reason to seek me out. Old habits die hard, and she is a habit I don’t need to get tangled with again.

My phone blows up with call after call from Missy. I ignore each one. Breaking up is hard to do, but as much as this hurts her now, in the end, it is what is best for us both.

“Thanks for the help, man,” I say as Brock brings up my last bag.

“No problem. You really need to stay away from that one. She’s a viper.”

I smirk. “She’s something.”

“All that passion may be hot in bed, but, Jay, that shit is seriously dangerous in every other part of life.”

I run my fingers through my short blond hair and sigh. “That’s for damn sure.”

“Catch up later,” Brock says, laughing as he exits.

Laying down, I rest against the headboard. My mind doesn’t go to Missy like I would expect it to. After three years together, I should miss the woman I claim to love. After three years of creating something and thinking of a future together, I should mourn the loss or some shit. That’s not where my head is, though, not in the least. No, I can’t shake the blond angel in hospital scrubs.

She lives in a family home within a well-developed family neighborhood. Does she have a family? I don’t remember a ring. Then again, I should still be in the hospital. Maybe my mind isn’t seeing things clearly. Does she have a husband? Kids?

I smile, thinking of little blond, cherub-cheeked babies in her arms. Then I shake my head. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I can’t help wanting to know more about this woman. In time, I will visit her again: 415 Hollow Terrace. It stays with me, as if her house contains all the answers to every question I have about the stranger who saved me.

My body is healing, and the pain has settled after the adrenaline rush of fighting and leaving Missy. I close my eyes and find myself drifting to sleep with Lorraine on my mind.

I blink in rhythm with the beeping of the machine beside me. The light gleams around her as she leans over me.

“Beautiful,” I whisper, and she smiles.

Her fingers rest on my wrist’s pulse point. The simple touch has me building a tent out of the thin hospital sheet. There is shyness in her eyes, but there is also a hidden boldness wanting to come out.

With my free hand, I reach down and stroke myself.

She gasps, but then I see the fire in her eyes.

“I see you’re coming around,” she says softly.

“When you’re here, I’m definitely ready to come”—I wink—“around.”

“Is that so?”

I continue stroking. “I think I could use a sponge bath, Nurse Lorraine.”

She steps away and gets a basin with warm water and a sponge. I can’t help laughing. She’s really up for playing my game. Well, baby, so am I.

When she pulls back the sheet, I have no shame over the cobra I keep in my pants. With practiced ease, she removes the hospital gown and starts wiping me down, beginning at my neck. Her finger grazes my neck tattoo, and the beast inside me is ready to strike.

Squeezing the sponge, she drips water over my chest, causing my muscles to tighten. She licks her lips in appraisal, and I envision those same lips over my cock. With the sponge in hand, she slowly washes me, teases me.

At my hips, she traces the seam of my V, leading to the place I ache for her to touch.

“Baby,” I groan, needing relief.

I close my eyes, feeling her small hand wrap around my throbbing cock. She slides up, and I fight back the urge to thrust into her grip.

Up and down, she moves her hand. Then I feel the tightening of my balls.

Wrapping my hand around hers, I move her faster. Up and down, we slide over and over. I move to sit up as I release while she keeps stroking, working out every drop from me.

The wetness of the sponge hits me, and my body aches.

The pain wakes me from my dream. I am a sticky mess, and the open cuts on my hands burn from the contact.

Damn, I haven’t had a wet dream since I was a fucking teenager.

This chick has me all twisted inside. I have never been this caught up in a woman.

The pain is intense, but my need to have her still tops everything I physically feel. I pop an over-the-counter pain pill from my nightstand then go into the bathroom to shower.

When I lie back down, anger hits at the thought of my situation. I can’t believe I’m in a damn hotel without the luxuries of home while I’m laid up, broken and beaten. What a mess my life is, just like my fucking bed. Well, as the saying goes, I made it, now I have to lie in it.