Kissing My Dad's Friend

His words ignite me. I arch up against him, unable to resist, savoring the feel of him, and the way he makes me feel when he talks like that. I want that to be true. I want to be his, now and for good.

For once, for tonight, I can forget about all the ifs ands or buts. I can just be with him, here and now. I can just be his.

And for this one night, it’s enough.

10

A few days after our sleepover—one I explained away to my parents by pretending that one of my friends had come back from her trip to South Africa with little notice—I still can’t get Russ out of my head. We spent the whole night barely sleeping, waking up again and again just to touch each other, as if both checking we were still there. And then those touches would turn into more, with him slowly exploring me, his hand slipping between my thighs and stroking me over and over, sliding inside me to find my G-spot, until I came undone with a cry.

By the morning, I was aching and sore, especially since we woke up only for him to roll me on top of him, letting me ride him slow and steady until we both came at nearly the same moment.

But now, it’s been four days since, and I’m dying to touch him again. I want to have nights like that more often. Hell, I want all my nights to be like that, safe at his side. Knowing I can reach out and touch him whenever I want to, and that he can do the same to me. I want him to whisper commands in my ear the way he loves doing, telling me exactly what to do, where to bend, how to move against him.

I want him to teach me everything he knows about my body, and I want to explore every inch of his too. But we can’t. That beautiful one night together is fading behind us, and we’re back in reality. Back in the daily grind of desperate kisses when we can steal them, and longing stares when we can’t.

Hell, for the past four days we haven’t even been able to steal enough time together for a quickie in the stairwell or to make each other come in the break room. I feel antsy, jittery. It’s like Russ is a drug I never knew existed, and now that I’ve tried a few hits—and then some, really—I can’t go without it. I’m addicted to him, I’m pretty sure. I’ve always read about how chemical attraction can be as addictive as some drugs, but I’ve never believed it until now. With guys I’ve dated in the past, I enjoyed the hookups, but I never craved seeing them again. I never missed them every second we spent apart.

My phone is filled with texts from Russ, some just asking about my day, others explicit and dirty, dirty enough that when he texted me this morning I had to duck into the bathroom in the nurse’s area and lock myself in a stall for some alone time.

But it looks like any alone time I’d be able to steal has come to an end. Because when I step out of the bathroom, somehow still jittery and anxious even in spite of the fact that I just fingered myself to orgasm thinking about Russ’s hands on my body, the whole wing is in an uproar. I stop one of the passing nurses—Lionel, who’s still angry at me, I think, but at least he speaks to me on occasion now.

“What’s going on?” I ask. Without thinking about it, I start to follow him, automatically, toward where everyone else seems to be rushing.

“Emergency,” he manages. “There was some kind of train accident a few blocks away. They’re bringing about two dozen patients in now with smoke inhalation damage, blunt trauma, all kinds of stuff.”

My face pales. Shit.

Lionel is jogging now, and I keep pace with him. When we reach the main area where our nursing staff director passes out assignments, it’s flooded with people. Everyone on-call or not already attending to patients who require immediate attention seem to be here. Our boss starts to bark out assignments. When my name is called, I dart out to receive a clipboard and my assignments.

For once, I’m given just as much work as anyone else. It doesn’t feel good, this time, though. Because right now, so many people are hurting. But I’ll do whatever I can to help save as many as we can.

I spend the next few hours on high alert, rushing between patients and rooms. The hospital is flooded—normally we don’t have this much room for people, but we make do, the way we’ve been trained to in events like this. I don’t envy Russ right now. Down in the OR, he’ll be dealing with a lot of the more grievous injuries. Up here in pediatrics, we don’t get as many of the life-or-death cases. A lot of the kids with smoke inhalation damage, though, who need stabilization, and families with broken limbs and minor concussions. Things they still need to be treated but that won’t kill them, as long as we do our jobs.