Torrid (Sordid 2)

“Vasilije,” she cried.

The sharp way she said my name made me freeze. I stared at her with concern. “What?”

“You’re going to leave me? With this strange man, who’s . . .” Her eyes accused me of betrayal. The fight in her was gone, and her voice was broken. “Who’s . . . going to touch me?”

Oh, fuck.

I hadn’t even thought about it. An invisible hand wrapped around me and squeezed, sending all the pressure to my head. I stepped into the room, closed the door, and moved toward her. My voice was uneven. “I thought you’d want privacy.”

It was a bullshit excuse. I hadn’t been trying to leave to make her comfortable, I’d been doing it to avoid it being awkward for me. A strange sensation twisted inside my gut. What the fuck was it? Guilt?

And why did she want me to stick around? The idea she was more comfortable with me inside the room instead of outside it, made everything upside-down. Even more bizarre, I sort of liked how she wanted me near.

The relief that swept through her caused a pinch in my chest, making it hard to talk. Which was fine. I had no idea what to say. I stood beside the bed as she sat down on the edge of it and pushed up the sleeve of the robe, bunching it at her shoulder.

Amit donned his stethoscope, wrapped the pressure cuff tightly around her bicep, and began to take her vitals.

“Are you on any medication?” he asked, squeezing the balloon, and the needle on the gauge leapt upward.

“No.”

“Do you smoke?”

“No.”

“When was your last period? Are you regular?”

Oksana’s gaze was fixed forward, staring at nothing. “A week ago, and yes.”

Well, fuck. Here was another thing I hadn’t thought about, because I didn’t have a mother, or sisters, or even a serious girlfriend. Women had periods, and they needed stuff for that. Maybe Addison had left some girl shit in the house after she and Luka moved out. I made a mental note to handle that situation later.

Amit watched the needle fall slowly on the gauge and then pulled the cuff off with a loud, scratching rip of Velcro. “Excellent. Any medical history for you or your family I should know about? Blood clots? Strokes?”

“No.”

“Good.” He dipped the head of the stethoscope between the V at the top of the robe and listened to her heart. “Deep breath.” He moved the stethoscope to a new spot. “Again.”

After a pause, he seemed satisfied.

Amit straightened, pulled the stethoscope from his ears, and slung it around his neck. It was a gesture he’d been doing for thirty years, and the last twenty of it for my family. Was Addison, studying at Johns Hopkins, doing this same thing right now? It was good she and Luka got out when they did. My uncle would have forced her to work for him. He’d love to have another doctor in the organization to make late-night house calls. One who would treat gunshot wounds without filing a state-required police report.

“Very good,” Amit said. He gave Oksana a pleasant smile as he picked up the latex gloves and began to put them on. “Now, miss, I need you to move back, lie down, and open your robe.”

Her breath left her in a sharp burst. She shot her hand out and latched it onto my wrist, where her grip was ferocious. Her gaze stayed forward, not looking at anything as she lowered down, and it exaggerated how rapidly she was breathing. How violently she was trembling. I had the ridiculous idea she clung to my arm, as if holding onto me might make another man’s touch bearable.

Something inside me cracked.

When Amit’s hands reached for the knot of her robe, her grip tightened and it squeezed the word from me. “Stop.”

He froze at my command.

My mouth was dry and my tongue felt too big, but I got the sentence out. “We’ll skip this part.”

The doctor blinked with confusion. “But downstairs, you said you wanted—”

“I changed my mind,” I snarled. Goddamn it. I scooped my free hand under her and lifted until she stood in my arms. I had to wrap both around her because she was too startled to stand on her own. Her chaotic blue eyes reeled around and found mine. I had no idea what expression was on my face, but hers softened. She was wordlessly thanking me for saving her.

I was a prick.

I tore my gaze away and stared at Amit’s forehead and receding hairline. “Are you finished? Can she get the shot and be done?”

I was all fucked up. A brat who wanted to make sure his new toy was legitimately new, and not just advertising it. Even after Amit had warned me it might be impossible to tell, I’d demanded he check her virginity. He’d lectured me about the misconception of hymens and how often they broke or wore away, sometimes years before sex, but I still insisted. I wanted proof. I wanted to know if I was going to claim her virginity like a sick trophy.