Cynda and the City Doctor: 50 Loving States, Missouri (QUARANTALES Book 1)

by Theodora Taylor

  He cuts off with a shake of his head. Looks away from me. Mutters, “I don’t forgive you. I don’t.”

  “Okay,” I say quietly. Submissively.

  Then I raise my eyes to meet his.

  And he….

  He grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me in for a kiss.

  I kiss him back desperately. Scratching at his chest because I want him so bad.

  He picks me up and presses me into the wall, just like he did that one time in the on-call room….

  We’d had conflicting shifts all week long and had run into each other when he came into sleep just as I was leaving for the day.

  One glance was all it took. He’d pressed me into the wall and taken me hard, with barely a pause to lock the door.

  There’s no one to walk in on us now or clothes to remove, so he doesn’t even wait that long.

  He wraps both my legs around his waist and pushes into me with an angry grunt.

  “Why did you leave like that? Why did you…?”

  “I’m sorry!” I cry out. Taking his dick, taking my punishment. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry is not enough,” he growls. “Go back to Ingrid you told me…do you know how mental you made me? How many women I fucked trying to get you out of my head? Ones that looked like you. Ones that looked nothing like you. And now here I am.”

  He grabs a hold of one rock hard nipple. Tweaks it with a ruthless twist.

  I cry out. The pleasure and the pain are both spiking and my brain doesn’t know what to do with it the duality of such acute sensations.

  He thrusts into my core, his hot and heavy body driving in an out of me with relentless force. “I will fuck you. I will fuck you until I can forget you. And only then will I accept your pitiful apology.”

  Something’s uncurling inside of me. This is the punishment I deserve. The only thing I crave. Somewhere to finally put all my pain. I’m not going anywhere, pinned as I am between him and the glass. But I hold on tight to him, taking my punishment, whispering sorry in his ear.

  Until I feel the crest inside of me.

  “Rhys,” I moan right before I explode.

  And then suddenly it’s gone. The pain. The sorrow. The worry. It’s all gone, and there’s only the bliss of coming.

  “Not enough,” he’s still insisting. But then he cuts off with a guttural groan.

  His dick spasms and he floods into me.

  It feels so good. So good!

  So damn good, it takes me a long, long time to come down… and realize, “We didn’t use protection.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  So yeah, the rest of the day is pretty awkward after that.

  No more hand holding after that crazy shower sex. Rhys gives me a pair of boxer briefs and another Raines Jewish t-shirt to wear. Then we cobble together some sandwiches for lunch.

  We just finished eating when the hospital calls with an update. The good news is that they’d gotten Mavis on a ventilator and her oxygen levels were up. She isn’t out of the woods yet but the prognosis is looking better than when she lost consciousness on the way to the hospital.

  The bad news is that the sample that some brave nurse drove all the way out to the test site in Columbia came back positive. Mavis is officially Guadalajara’s first Covid-19 case.

  “Poor Mavis,” I say, shaking my head when Rhys is done telling me the news.

  Then I find myself in the weird place of having to ask him, “Is it really okay if I stay here? I can quarantine in my room at the big house, but then that means I won’t be able to use the kitchen and I’ll have to depend on the twins for everything.”

  He folds his lips like he’s considering all the ways he could tell me hell no. But in the end, he says, “Yes, it would be best for all involved if we both stayed here.”

  I blow out a quick breath of relief. “Thank you.”

  “No, actually, thank you, Cynda,” he says. He grits out the words as if it’s paining him to say them. “If you hadn’t insisted on going out to see Mavis yourself, she might have died. You were right about that, and I was wrong. You blame yourself, but I would have been the one to blame if Mavis had died alone on her farm. I should have listened to you.”

  I’m….

  I’m not sure what to do with that. There’s probably no such thing as a woman who doesn’t love being told she was right. But in this case… “I wish I had been wrong. I wish there hadn’t been any reason to go out there.”

  We share a moment like we used to, back when we were both working in the Emergency Department and understood just how hard it was to make all the decisions that could mean life or death for our patients.

  But then the moment is done.

  Rhys rises from the table. “I should start canceling all of my appointments for the next two weeks.”

  I awkwardly clear the dishes while he sits at Grandma’s old rolldown secretary desk and gets to appointment canceling.

  I’d forgotten how DIY he was. Other than the one time with Dr. Rahjeen’s chart, he’d never asked me for anything outside my expected duties. Which had made it hard for me when I’d received his first 360 evaluation right after Ingrid showed up at his apartment. But I’d done the right thing, grudgingly admitting that he was efficient and capable and a good communicator—basically all the things it took for an Emergency Room Physician to be good at his job.

  I join Rhys in the living room after the dishes are done. While he messages his patients at Grandma’s desk, I sit on the couch and break the news to E.

  Then I answer her many questions about who is supposed to do what.

  “Do I have to cook and clean for A or does he have to start doing all that stuff himself? You know he’ll leave that game room a mess and be like it’s clean enough for the whole time you’re gone. He’s so gross.”

  “I’ll have a separate conversation with him,” I assure her before texting her to bring over a few things.

  “So how’s it going with ur Quaranboo?” she messages after receiving my list.

  That was the one question I didn’t answer.

  But I did make us dinner a few hours later. If I were in a better position, I’d of course offer to pay Rhys back for his hospitality by waiving a few weeks off his rent. But I’m not, so I guess I’m going to have to make myself as useful as possible for the next two weeks.

  By the time dinner is done, we’re both kind of dragging. It’s been a while since either of us were in the ED, and we’re no longer used to the huge adrenaline spikes that come with life or death scenarios.

  “I’m knocking off,” he says when I come back to the living room after washing the dishes.

  “Me, too,” I agree with a huge yawn.

  So we’re in agreement about bedtime too. This is off to a good start. Other than some ill-advised shower sex, we’re getting along and being reasonable and maybe that means the next two weeks won’t be so bad.

  Friends…

  Maybe we’ll actually come out of this situation as friends. Yeah, maybe if I play nice, my friend, Rhys, will agree to stop being bitter and give me my job back.

  “I’ll sleep on the couch,” I immediately offer, warming up to the idea.

  He casts me an unfathomable look. “That sofa is only a love seat. It’s much too small.”

  “Okay, the floor then. If you get me some blankets…”

  “Cynda?” he says, his voice irritated.

  “Yes?”

  His hand closes around mine. “It’s been a long day. Let’s go to bed.”

  Just like that, the adrenaline is back. He’s holding my hand. Holding my hand and guiding me to bed.

  I follow him, docile as a lamb.

  And I guess I’m not as tired as I thought. After we’ve crawled into bed, I lie there for a long time in the semi-dark.

  It’s been three years since I allowed myself to feel anything for anyone outside of a select few family and friends.

  And I hadn’t chosen Rhys to be among those select fe
w. I shut him out. And considering what had happened between us over the past few weeks, leaving him locked out of my fortress seemed like a good idea.

  But my emotions—the ones I’ve been trying to shut down since my mother died…they’re a swirling. Again. Because of Rhys. And I don’t know what to do with them now, just like I didn’t know what to do with them back then.

  I’m stuck with Rhys, whether I want to be or not. And this time, I can’t run away. At least not for another two weeks.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Will you tell me if you’re pregnant or will you run away again?” a voice asks me as soon as I wake up the next morning.

  Considering that I’d been asking myself that very same question since yesterday’s shower slip up, it would’ve been easy to think the voice was coming from my own head.

  But no, it’s Rhys. He standing beside the bed wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. And he’s holding the tray my grandma used to serve me sweet tea on when I was a little girl. But in this case, it’s filled with two breakfast plates.

  I raise to a seated position and put on my fanciest voice to trill, “Ooh, The Fine Prince himself is serving me breakfast in bed this morning. What did I do to deserve this?”

  He throws me a look, half-annoyed, half-exasperated. “I can’t say I’ve missed your cheeky tone.”

  I laugh, mostly out of relief because he’s letting me get away with not answering his question. “Boy, you moved to small town Missouri. The only three settings we got are friendly, cheeky, and show me the receipts. I suggest you get used to it.”

  He makes a non-committal sound and sets the tray down. It’s piled with what I used to call the Rhys special. Bacon, toast, and hard-boiled eggs.

  “Sorry, love, that’s pretty much the extent of what I know how to make breakfast wise.”

  He’d been apologetic back then, but this morning he throws the tray down like a prison guard would. You get what you get.

  I eat my breakfast silently with all the thoughts swirling around my head. We had sex yesterday. The kind of balls deep wall-pounding sex we used to have when Rhys actually liked me and I was still on birth control.

  But this morning it’s like we’re two strangers. Reluctantly sharing the same space.

  Which is probably a good thing. It’s better for us to be reluctant and awkward than sexy and confusing. Right?

  My phone vibrates with a text before I can mentally answer that question.

  I pick it up. “Ugh! They’re already squabbling. It’s A, demanding that I tell E to make him some pancakes.”

  “He can’t make his own pancakes?” Rhys asks.

  I grimace. “Technically yes. But the twins had a weird dynamic when I first arrived. A acted all helpless and E did everything for him like she was his mom. I’m proud of E for standing her ground though. A needs to learn some personal responsibility.”

  “Then why are you answering him?” Rhys asks, taking the tray with my empty plate and standing up.

  I stop texting A and look up at him. “What?”

  “If E has stood up for herself and A needs to learn to take personal responsibility, why are you getting involved in their argument? It sounds as if E has everything well-handled.”

  I tilt my head to the side, not sure how to take that question. “First of all, it’s not interfering. I’m their guardian.”

  “A told me he was eighteen, is that not true?”

  “I mean, yes, but…”

  Rhys raises an eyebrow. “Then perhaps it’s time for you to let them solve their own arguments. You know, take care of themselves.”

  “I mean, that sounds good in theory, but I’m not even sure they can do that without me.”

  As if to punctuate my point, A texts. “Now she’s telling me I have to clean up my game room!!! Can you tell her she can’t tell me what to do?”

  Before I can answer, Rhys plucks the phone out of my hand. “Let’s find out then. I’ll keep your phone for the next thirty minutes. If they’re still texting after that, you may interfere.”

  “Again, it’s not interfering,” I start to correct as he deposits both my phone and the tray on the coffee table in front of the couch.

  “And while we wait, you’ll answer my earlier question,” Rhys says, ignoring my protest. Then he comes back to the bed to ask, “Will you tell me if you’re pregnant or will you run away again?”

  So I guess I hadn’t completely gotten away with not answering his question after all.

  Which is tricky because I haven’t quite answered that question for myself. I mean, I already know I’ll keep the baby if it turns out I’m pregnant. Like that Halsey song, I’m bad at love, but taking care of other people? A+. I’ve loved my time with the twins and I could totally see myself as a mom.

  However, my stomach roils with several emotions at the thought of being pregnant with Rhys’s child. Anxiety and fear and something softer that makes the other two emotions that much worse.

  So how should I play this?

  Cool Cynda it is. I shrug and ask, “Where am I going to run to? You’re living on my property.”

  His expression shutters. “We were practically living together when you left me, and that didn’t stop you.”

  No…no it didn’t. But…

  “Exchanging keys isn’t living together. And I said I was sorry about how I ended things. How many times do I have to say it?” I ask him, my voice more defensive than I want it to be. Cool Cynda never cared when guys got salty after she ghosted them. But the truth is I’m struggling with all this hate coming off Rhys.

  “As many times as it takes,” he answers.

  “As many times as it takes for what?”

  Instead of answering, he crawls into bed and kisses me again.

  His kiss is so hot and heavy, soon I forget the question. Rhys is still good at kissing down my walls and melting all of my defenses.

  Then he pulls back and holds up a condom. “I had a box of these delivered this morning.”

  “A box,” I repeat with a laugh. “How much sex do you think we were going to be having? I’m only here two weeks.”

  He doesn’t laugh with me. “Take the condom, Cynda. And put it on.”

  He sits back with a very noticeable bulge in his boxer briefs. “Like you used to.”

  His tone brooks no argument. And that’s alright because in that moment I have no arguments to give.

  I rip open the foil package and remove the condom. Then I let the blanket drop as I shift to my hands and knees.

  I pull him out of his briefs. He’s rock hard and pulsing, but he continues to regard me with a cool stare. I start to roll on the condom.

  “Like you used to.” His clipped command stops my action and makes me look up.

  “But you’re already hard,” I point out.

  “Make me harder,” he answers.

  Nice. I’m totally happy to stop talking and pull out my old bag party tricks. I take the part of his dick already covered in rubber in my mouth. Then I start scrolling the condom down. I hollow out my throat and bob my head, taking him deeper into my throat the farther down the condom goes. My version of super sexy safe sex.

  He sucks in a breath and I can feel how much he likes what I’m doing by the way he swells even thicker underneath the condom.

  But then he demands, “Like you used to.”

  I stop bobbing. This is exactly how I used to put a condom on him. I don’t understand.

  Until suddenly his hand finds the top of my head and strokes it so rough, I have to look up.

  As soon as our eyes meet, he starts pumping himself into my mouth.

  “Yes, that’s right look me directly in the eye as you knob me off like you used to.” The words should sound crude. But the way he says it, his voice cracked, his eyes angry and desperate ….

  He makes me feel powerful. Like I’m blowing his mind.

  “Make yourself ready,” he commands. “Make yourself ready for me to take you.”

&nbs
p; I reach down beneath the hem of the Raines-Jewish t-shirt he gave me last night and rub at my clit while looking him in the eye.

  I’m just following his commands, but his head falls back like I slapped him in the face. “Christ, this is too much. Come here.”

  I do as commanded and begin to crawl up his body. But I must not be going fast enough. He grabs me under my armpits and drags me the rest of the way like I was lollygagging.

  No more commands after that. He flips me over on to my back and wraps one of my legs around his waist before thrusting into me.

  I let out a long, ragged groan, welcoming The Real Prince back into my soaking core. And he drops down so that we’re chest to chest as he starts to take me.

  The drag of him between my legs, rubbing at my core as he pumps in and out…it’s more than I can stand. What can’t even be five minutes later, I shove my mouth into his shoulder to muffle my scream as I explode beneath him.

  He comes soon after. There’s no rush of semen this time, but his body goes rigid. And he pushes in even deeper before collapsing on top of me.

  Just like he used to when we were better than this.

  “Oh, baby…” I sigh.

  Blame it on the surge of endorphins. I wrap my arms around him and hug him like I never would have before. When I was Nurse America, the woman who peaced out at any sign of adversity.

  For a few moments, he lets me hold him. But only for a few moments. Then he stiffens and pulls out of my arms. Oddly, I feel bereft at his withdrawal.

  He was heavy on top of me, but I miss his body weight when he’s gone.

  He tucks himself back in and disposes of the condom with precise, deliberate movements.

  “I need another shower. And then I have a day filled with paperwork. Feel free to watch television if you need to entertain yourself.

  I believe him. Paperwork is never ending, and I know a lot of doctors push it all off to the weekend, so as not to split their focus.

  But something makes me sit up in bed and ask, “Rhys?”

  “Yes?” He’s over at his dresser now, pulling out clothes to wear when he gets out of the shower.

  “What was that?”