Claiming His Reunion Obsession: An Instalove Possessive Alpha Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 162)
Page 8
Very firm, every time I bring it up. There’s something about that damned dress, I’m not sure he’ll be able to walk down the aisle without a raging hard on.
“Alright, alright!” I finally concede, “but I have to have it adjusted… A lot…”
And dry cleaned…
Quinn kisses me hard, intently and with extra passion.
“What’s that for?” I ask him, not minding in the least. Every kiss is special, like our first, but every now and then he plants a real… well. A real ‘pow’ on my kisser.
“That’s for making me so happy, for wearing the dress I love you in on our big day. Even though you don’t seem to like it for some reason,” he quips, smiling to himself.
“It’s only because it makes me look-” but I stop short, seeing Quinn’s eyes narrow as he takes a sharp breath in, daring me to say it, daring me to invoke his scorn.
“It just rides up a little, is all,” I correct myself and we negotiate on the degree of alterations allowed in the Quinn universe versus the ‘what Chelle wants to wear on her wedding day’ actual reality. The world I live in.
Sliding his hand right up between my thighs, making me leap with instant excitement, he groans close into my ear.
“Because every time I see you in that dress, it makes me want to do this…” he tells me, and I feel his hand yank my panties to one side, making me instantly wet, which he uses to trace his thick fingers around my already twitching hole until I gasp his name, canceling wedding planning once again in favor of honeymoon practice for the night.
“All the dress stuff aside. Chelle. I love you, no matter what you wear. No matter if we’re married or trapped on a desert island with grass skirts. I’ll always love you,” Quinn says, and I melt into one of his kisses all over again.
“I love you too,” I say. “And I’ll hold you to that. If I have to wear a lilac prom sack on our wedding day, you have to wear a grass skirt, the next time we’re stuck on a desert island… deal?”
“Deal,” he says and I settle in for a solid night of honeymoon practice.
All this time, we’re actually pretty good at it by now.
EPILOGUE
Chelle
“I can do this… it’s what I’ve trained for…”
I puff and I huff. I swallow and bite down. I think of anything that isn’t about throwing up and I close my narrow metal locker.
My pink scrubs and matching hairnet, my equally matching pink stethoscope.
At least it’s not lilac, I tell myself on my worst days, which are thankfully few and far between.
Like my wedding dress, Quinn picked out my scrubs, which the hospital liked so much, they made them standard for all doctors in pediatrics to wear.
I got some sour looks when that was announced, but it wasn’t my decision.
“Well I’d like to meet whoever came up with such a ridiculous idea!” one senior doctor exclaimed, turning purple as he shouted the fact he wouldn’t wear them.
Until Quinn turned up the next day, happy to help him try them on, which he did and now wears them all the time.
After the wedding, Quinn saw to it I got every chance to finish my medical degree, which I did, choosing to specialize in pediatrics.
Obstetrics? Nah. I’m a walking example of that these days, plenty of baby making going on at home. I don’t need to bring that to the workplace, but I love working with kids. Helping them, and their parents when they get sick.
I’m Doctor Michelle Quinn now, but the kids, they can call me Dr. Chelle.
I’m making my way to my rounds, wondering how morning sickness can last right up until the day it feels like the baby’s already halfway out, which she isn’t. I know she isn’t, but it sure feels like it most days lately.
Quinn did his best to order me off work while pregnant for the second time. Jason, our first, was a quick and easy birth, I still tell Quinn. Standing up all day, it was only a matter of time before gravity helped Mother Nature along.
But today, I feel something else, like a hunch doctors get. Cops have their intuition, their ‘gut’ and apart from having one of those, I also have what I call ‘knowing,’ when I just know something’s gonna go down on my shift.
Or rather, something’s gonna go out.
The day is long and it’s nothing too exciting. The days I should be on my guard most, those quiet times in a hospital, they’re usually always calm before a storm. But today, I’m hoping for a storm-free finish and almost counting the minutes until Quinn comes to pick me up.
Three days off and we have a private suite in our own penthouse booked solid, just the two of us, and Jason of course.
It’s twenty to the hour and I find myself thinking about Quinn, about how Jason always smells of crayons and formula when I come home, Quinn telling me there’s been no crayons eaten and no drawing done with Jason’s formula, which I often doubt.
Then the code comes. ER, not my problem. Happens every day.
Then it’s all doctors available to the ER.
After that my pager’s buzzing and I spin on my heels, making my way to the elevator, down to the place I never go to unless I really have to.
It’s never pretty.
And today isn’t any different.
“Oh great! Pediatrics… we need a goddamned surgeon here, we got multiple…”
I step into the cubicle, gloving up, silencing hysterical intern doctors with my look first and then my belly second.
“What am I looking at?” I ask.
“MVA, crush trauma to the chest, BP dropping ECG’s all over the place… suspected double pneumothorax…”
Being around someone who’s about to lose their mind from lack of sleep and way too many things to remember is the easiest way to stay calm.
But today, I get a jolt. I get a test from the universe. A surprise visit from the past, and if karma ain’t a bitch.
“Cindy Sanders,” I announce absently, hesitating for just a moment before I take over myself.
“You know her?” the young intern asks, and I nod. I realize instantly, that no matter how bad a person might be to others, how cruel or unkind they are, they’re still human beings and right now, this one needs my help.
Young doctor Doolittle here has jumped the gun on a number of things, but she’s not too far off her preliminary diagnosis.
“Get a surgical consult in here, stat. We’ve got extra-capsular rupture of implants… we won’t know it’s pneumothorax until we intubate, shit! Hold on, what’s this?” I ask, looking down her throat, which is swelling up. She’s stopped breathing.
“Help me sit her up, get her up!” I shout and she helps me to lift her, just long enough for me to get behind her and holding both my arms tight around her sternum, I pull them back towards me with force, and hear the sound of something shooting from her mouth, sliding down the wall.
“Try now,” I tell the intern, who’s standing looking on in amazement. “Well intubate her! She’s not gonna breathe on her own, is she?”
“No, ma’am,” she says, and gets the tube in first try. In seconds, Cindy’s breathing with our help, her body stabilizes quickly. She’ll make it. More help arrives and within seconds the cubicle’s crowded with all those magicians who keep people alive and bring them back from the brink every single shift, all shift.
Cindy Sanders will make it though, I know she will.
People like her always do, but it’s my job to help them, whoever they are, whenever they come through my hospital.
Plus, those silicone fun bags? They probably saved her life, acting like silicone air bags, stopping her heart from being crushed.
“Surgical consult is on his way,” the intern says, “I panicked back there… thanks a lot! I’m Denise.”
“Chelle,” I tell her, holding out my gloved hand to hers and making way for the other team to move in and take over.
“Denise?”
“Yeah?”
“Get a wheelchair, my water just broke. I’m having my
baby.”
“Oh shit!”
EXTENDED EPILOGUE
Q uinn
“Because I’ve told you, Randy. No kid of mine’s getting on your damned boat, not until they’re twenty-one and divorced us as parents, meaning it’ll never happen.” I say.
I hate to burst his bubble, but I just won’t have the kids on that boat. I won’t allow it.
I’ve put my foot down.
Randy puffs his cheeks and goes out onto the balcony, looking down at the pier. Down at the boat he thought would bring us all together as a family.
Chelle’s sigh. I can hear it from the kitchen before I see her coming out, pink rubber gloves on and a turkey baster in one hand, a hammer in the other.
“Okay, you got me, mommy… what the hell’s going on in there?” I ask, not being able to stop myself from smiling.
“Your hammer, Daddy,” she announces, strolling over to me and handing it back. “… doesn’t live in my drawers, you’ve got a basement for this stuff, haven’t you?”
“I think it’s your dad’s…” I start to say, but change my mind, “…I’ll put it downstairs, I will honey.” And I lean up from the couch to peck her cheek as she bends down to accept my apology.
“And that?” I ask, looking at the turkey baster.
“For the next man who puts his hammer in my drawers,” she warns me with a wink and I shiver a little, because I know she’s serious.
“And will you go tell Dad we’ll go on his damned boat. Stop being such a wimp,” she challenges me, cutting me right to the quick.
Of all the things I fear most, it's water. I can’t stand it. Hate it. It’s also the one thing Randy doesn’t know about, we somehow managed to get through life inland without having to ever face my fear together.
“Daddy! Daddy! Look what we made!” Jason screams, tearing into the living room and rescuing me. From Randy, from water and from rogue turkey basters.
God bless you son!
“What did you make son?” I ask, scooping him up as I stand, holding him at arm’s length with one hand over my head, growling like a bear until he’s nearly crying from giggling, begging me to let him down.
Mommy goes back into the kitchen, just long enough to grab Jason’s sister, Claire and comes back in and settles down on the couch opposite me.
“It’s Claire’s feeding time, I almost forgot,” she says, and I have to prepare myself. I have to steel myself for what follows next.
For some time now, Chelle’s been feeding Claire either when I’m not around, which is almost never, or in the company of others, like little Jason here, or even Randy, but only at a pinch.
Reason?
Well, I can’t just have my woman getting out my two favorite accessories of hers and having them on display without wanting some action myself, can I?
So rules are rules now. Feeding time is a public spectacle in our household, which is fine for the kids and Mommy, even grandpa. But he usually always finds an excuse to leave the room.
Me, I have to distract myself and little Jason’s just who I need right now to do just that.
“What did you make, sport? You wanna show me, or just tell me about it?” I ask him, only glancing over at Chelle, long enough to see her flash me, making me growl before I focus on my son again.
“I made a growth chart… so I can count the days until I’m as big as you, daddy.” He chimes excitedly.
“A growth chart, huh? Sounds cool,” I exclaim, grimacing a little when he’s not looking. I know my son well enough, and when he makes something, he sure does make it.
“Show me then, champ. I wanna see,” and I crouch down a little, taking his tiny hand in mine and we go up to the end of the hall, where Chelle can still see us both and there it is, in bright red permanent marker.
All the way up the wall, and a good sixteenth of an inch deep, like he’s somehow carved it into the woodwork of his door frame.
“Son!” I announce, “It’s beautiful, but I’d like to see you grow taller than that! Best way to make sure you do? Maybe ask for some help before taking on such a big project, huh?” I ask him, not even thinking about getting upset with him.
“Jason! You’ve inspired me. Let’s make a taller one, maybe one as tall as me, okay? Then we can put it up and you’ll be able to chart your height, long after you get only this high,” I whisper to him, getting in nice and close, and he readily agrees.
It’ll also buy me some time to fix the door frame…
We get to work, and in around fifteen minutes we have a fine example of a personalized chart for both Jason and Claire to use, and it should hide the ‘damage’ underneath, which I plan to leave there anyway.
Talk about permanent family memories, and way better than any paper chart, we just might give Mommy a few days, maybe a week before we tell her about it.
“What are my two favorite men up to?” she asks, letting me know it’s safe for me to show myself, that she’s ‘decent’ again and I’m in no danger of wanting to have my way with her.
That comes later, when the kids are asleep and Grandpa’s gone home, or out on his boat.
“Jason’s made a growth chart and I think he wants to go see Grandpa’s boat, Claire looks like she needs a nap too, don’t you think?” I ask, listening to Jason whoop and holler as he races off to find grandpa, the mere mention of the boat exciting him to near hysteria.
Claire is yawning, and Chelle gives me a suspicious look.
“How convenient, sleepy baby… busy grandpa and son… what are Mommy and Daddy going to do?” she asks, her smirk turning to a sudden look of arousal, her narrowing eyes and teeth biting her lower lip the green light for a little afternoon delight.
“I’ll just put Claire down,” she tells me, a restrained urgency in her voice.
“And I’ll tell Randy to set sail. Jason’s always wanted to go on that boat…Two conditions, Randy.” I tell him directly, “Lifejackets on and no further out than we can see you.”
“Meaning?” Randy asks me, looking just as suspicious as his daughter did just now.
“Meaning, gimee an hour and knock before coming in when you get back,” I tell him.
“Oh…” he says.
“How is married life treating you, Quinn?” he asks, giving me a sideways glance.
“I dunno… I think it always helps to have the right teacher when learning anything new.”
“Dad? What are you still doing here?” Chelle asks, suddenly appearing in the doorway, looking very flushed.
“I was just going, darlin’… I’ll see you in an hour, maybe two… Quinn just said you need some time… for Claire to have her nap so we can all go out on the boat together, isn’t that right old buddy?” he says heading out the door.
“I thought you hated the water,” Chelle asks, scrambling to undress both of us as we know the clock’s ticking once we hear the front door close.
“I do, but it looks like your dad’s having his revenge. I get you all to myself, but he gets me out on the water.”
“Raw deal?” she asks, and I hold her face in both my hands.
“I love you, Chelle, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for the moments we have like this.”
“Moments?” She quips, “I want a solid half hour from you, water boy or you’re swimming home.”
We kiss and it’s like the school reunion, our first night together plus the feeling when we had both our children, all rolled into one exquisite sensation.
“And I love you, Quincy Quinn.” She moans.
“Then here’s to the afternoon delight!” I cheer, biting her neck.
“And all who sail on her…”
NEWSLETTER
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A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS
Book 1: Baby Lust
Book 2: Veteran
Book 3: Built
Book 4: Bambino
Book 5: Rescued
Book 6: Leader
Book 7: Professor
Book 8: Burned
Book 9: Worldly
Book 10: Pistol
Book 11: Policed
Book 12: Driven
Book 13: Lucky 13
Book 14: Lumberjacked
Book 15: Protector
Book 16: Carpenter
Book 17: Italian Stallion
Book 18: Gardener
Book 19: Budapest Billionaire’s Virgin
Book 20: Billionaire’s Babysitter
Book 21: Cocky CFO
Book 22: Fireman’s Filthy 4th
Book 23: Mechanic
Book 24: SEAL’s Secret
Book 25: Police, Pooch, and Smooch
Book 26: Fireman’s Fake Fiancée
Book 27: Billionaire’s Virgin Ballerina
Book 28: Bitcoin Billionaire’s Babysitter
Book 29: Veterans Day Daddy
Book 30: Cowboy’s Christmas Carol
Book 31: Police Officer’s Princess
Book 32: Statham
Book 33: Bodyguard
Book 34: Greek God
Book 35: Billionaire Single Dad's Babysitter
Book 36: Mountain Man
Book 37: SEAL’s Justice
Book 38: Royal Romance
Book 39: Doctor Mountain Man’s Special Delivery
Book 40: Crocodile Dan D
Book 41: Mountain Man’s Secret Baby
Book 42: Doctor Bad Boy’s Secret Baby
Book 43: Cop’s Babysitter
Book 44: Nanny for the Cop Next Door
Book 45: Small Town SEAL’s Saving Grace
Book 46: Cop’s Fake Fiancée
Book 47: Billionaire’s Nanny
Book 48: Cowboy’s Babysitter
Book 49: Steamy
Book 50: Brother’s Best Friend
Book 51: Possessive Professor
Book 52: Firefighter’s Babysitter
Book 53: Soldier’s Secret Baby
Book 54: Ward’s Independence Day
Book 55: Doctor Next Door
Book 56: Possessive Policeman
Book 57: Coached by the MMA Fighter