The Power of Salvation

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The Power of Salvation Page 13

by Passarelli, Caterina


  “Don’t be disappointed,” Luke whispers into my ear, taking my hand leading me out of the elevator, “I have something planned for you.”

  We head straight to the living room, the one with the floor-to-ceiling windows, where I notice a blanket laid out on the floor alongside a tray full of fruit and a pot of chocolate fondue.

  “This is for me?” I ask, kicking off my shoes and taking a seat on the blanket, in awe of how ridiculously sweet this is from a man who doesn’t scream ‘sweet’ at all.

  Hot, sexy, insanely masculine—yes.

  Luke mimics me kicking off his shoes and joins me on the blanket. He pours us both flutes of champagne and turns on the pot over the chafing stand. As the chocolate heats up, we catch each other up on how our days went. It makes me happy to have someone to talk to about what’s going on in my life—even the little details that aren’t all that important. I normally keep this crap to myself, not wanting to bother anyone else. Serena and Drake have way too much to deal with themselves.

  “I think it’s ready,” Luke says, spearing a long-stemmed fork into a plump strawberry and then into the warm milk chocolate. “Open up,” he says, airplaning the strawberry towards my mouth with his hand under it to catch dripping chocolate.

  As the fruit nears my lips I open my mouth and bite into the strawberry causing juice to dribble down my chin. I don’t have any time to clean myself up before Luke puts down his fork and leans in to trail his tongue along my chin where the juice is running. He makes his way to my mouth and plants a deep kiss. I moan, feeling my nipples straining against my scrub top in need. I want to rip these things off and ravish this man besides me. But I control myself. Chocolate first.

  Pulling us apart to catch my breath I say, “It’s your turn for some chocolate now.”

  Grabbing the fork I scan the fruit tray, deciding on a slice of banana. Dipping it into the chocolate, I swirl it around before turning back to Luke who’s staring at me with a pair of dark hazel eyes, watching my every move. He parts his lips, swollen from all our kisses, as I bring the fondue closer. I put it in his mouth but not without smearing a small dab of chocolate next to his lips across his cheek.

  “Oops,” I tease, shrugging my shoulders, “let me get that for you.” Leaning into him I ever so slowly lick the chocolate from his cheek to his lips. As if the tease didn’t turn me on, Luke grabs the back of my head, pulling my mouth down into his. We are both hungry for much more than dessert.

  We become a tangle of limbs as we fall back onto the carpeted floor, me straddling on top of him. When I manage to break free for air, I look down at this man laying beneath me staring up into my grey eyes so intensely. I want him inside of me now.

  Pulling my shirt off over my head I unclasp my bra, revealing two very alert nipples. He licks his lips as he takes in my sight, slowly scanning my body. Luke dips a finger into the milk chocolate and then rolls my nipples between his index finger and his thumb, massaging me with the warm chocolate. Tilting my head back I moan as I circle my hips onto his—even through our pants, this feels divine as I rub my nub against his erect manhood.

  Luke leans in to suck the chocolate away before squeezing my nipple between his teeth. When I don’t think I can take much more before I orgasm, he pushes me to the side and quickly strips off my pants and underwear, losing his next. He lies back down on the floor and pulls my hips back on top of him.

  “I want you to ride me,” Luke commands in a raspy voice laced with sex and need.

  This is the only position I’ve been in with the few other men I’ve had sex with. I had an unspoken rule—I had to be on top. I needed to be in control of what was happening. The first time I had sex after I was raped I was on the bottom and I started to have a panic attack. Sexual trauma is what my therapist called it. It took many years to work through that.

  “Get out of that head of yours and just move. Let yourself control your pleasure. Your body knows what to do,” Luke reassures me as he brings me back to the present moment.

  Leaning down, I kiss from his earlobe to his chest. When I’m so desperate I don’t think I can last much longer, I slide his cock into my wet sex. Luke and I both let out moans of absolute pleasure as I sink down on him, letting his manhood fill me up completely. I let my body adjust to him, and then slowly rock my hips and bounce myself up and down on top of him.

  Luke takes my hands and places them on his strong chest. Leaning forward changes the angle of my body, causing his cock to slam up into me. My pussy tightens, making me feel dizzy with desire—I’ve only ever felt this the last time we had sex. I know now how people can get addicted to this.

  Luke palms my right breast in his hand as the other finds its way to my clit and circles it with his thumb.

  “Luke!” I gasp out in between breaths of pleasure. “Oh my god, please don’t stop. Please.” The way his thumb circles the wetness around my clit paired with his length sliding in and out of me—I know I’m on the verge of exploding.

  “I love hearing you beg,” Luke growls as he circles his finger faster and faster around my nub. Thrusting my hips to match his pace, I lock eyes as we both cling onto each other, me falling into this arms holding on for dear life as we ride out our orgasms as one.

  Our breaths slow down and I sit myself up with him still inside of me. Looking down into Luke’s eyes, I’m lucky to have someone like him show me what this is supposed to truly feel like.

  This?

  This as in sex … This as in making love … This as in being in love.

  What the absolute fuck am I doing? I am a woman who loves her freedom, who vowed never to let a man stop her from doing anything she wants, who promised herself she’d never trust anyone because it only ends up in despair and heartbreak.

  Heartbreak is inevitable when you are broken and when you are making love to a broken man. I don’t know all of Luke’s story. I won’t push him to share before he is ready, but whatever it is, it haunts him.

  I notice Luke staring up at the ceiling with what must be the same expression I have mirrored on my face: confusion, pain, worry, and love.

  What a fucked up pair we are.

  But damn, that was nice.

  My hospital shifts seem to fly by lately now that Luke is in my life. I don’t want to act all lollipops and sunshine because I hate those types of girls, but knowing someone is waiting to spend his or her time around you is a wonderful feeling. I have never had that before. After what happened with Allen, nothing was ever the same with my family. If I were to have turned invisible my parents would have been happy. I know they seemed relieved when I said I was going to Chicago for college—the looks on their faces were all I needed to know that I made the right decision to leave Florida.

  “Are you going to pull your head out of your ass and do something around here?” Ben asks, snapping me out of LaLa Land as he shoves a medical chart into my chest.

  Okay, he’s right. I can’t have Luke clouding up my brain when I’m trying to make a name for myself in this hospital. A good name, I don’t ever want to be known as that resident: the one who cried on the operating room floor, the one who threw up at the sight of blood, the one that turned into a character from The Walking Dead because she just couldn’t pull her shit together. I will never be that resident. Dear god, don’t let me be that.

  I flip the chart open and head to the computer station to see where I’m needed. Handing the chart over to Katie, she tells me to head to room 502 because there’s a little boy who needs some stitches. Easy enough.

  Before I swing open the door I hear hushed voices from the other side and then crying.

  “But I don’t want to say that,” a little boy’s voice pleads.

  I have a feeling in the pit of my stomach that something wrong is going on behind this door, something I’ll try to solve but that’ll get me in trouble. No, I cannot do that. Again.

  Pushing the door open, I throw a fake smile on my face that I quickly lose at the sight of this little boy. His ch
art tells me his name is Charlie and he’s nine years old. He has red hair and a small patch of freckles line his cheeks—he’s adorable. But if you weren’t an ER resident, you’d never be able to see this adorable boy; you’d probably have to hold back tears. This little cutie has a deep gash down his cheek paired with cuts up and down his forearms.

  “Hi Charlie, my name is Dr. Bellisano, but you can call me Ariana. How are you feeling?” I ask the little boy even though I should ask the woman sitting in the chair near the hospital bed. She’s clutching her fingers tightly around her purse straps. Her knuckles look white. Is she afraid of something? Possibly what Charlie might slip up and tell me?

  But Charlie doesn’t say a word. Instead, he looks down at his feet, little feet much too short to come anywhere near the floor. They just dangle off the side of the bed swinging back and forth.

  I get out some of my supplies to clean up his wounds. Once this blood is cleaned up, I’ll need to decide if we should call in a plastic surgeon or if some stitches will work. I’ll ask him one more time to tell me his side of the story before I have to ask his mom. This must be his mom—she’s got matching red hair.

  “You want to tell me what happened to get those cuts? I’d like to know before I clean you all up,” I say, placing his tiny chin in my hands as I start cleaning up his face. He grimaces but doesn’t say a peep. I’ve seen grown men cry when I’ve cleaned their open cuts and this little kid is acting like a champ.

  He’s done this before.

  Finally I turn to his mom who looks frazzled beyond belief. Now that I’m staring at her, really staring at her, I notice she’s got a few bruises on her arms too. She sees me eyeing her and pulls her shirtsleeves down to cover her arms.

  Someone is abusing them.

  “Would you tell me what happened?”

  Letting out a shaky breath, Charlie’s mom says, “He was playing outside and he fell out of his tree house into a pile of sticks and shrubs.”

  She doesn’t even look convinced by her own statement.

  “Playing outside … in the winter?”

  I don’t mean to grill her, but I want answers. To say she gave me a deer-in-headlights look would be an understatement. There’s no way that a kid would be outside in Chicago this time of winter playing in a tree house that’s covered in snow and ice. Unless he wasn’t being watched?

  And just like that she flips her shit. “What are you … the cops? Listen, my kid needs medical attention, not to be questioned. Can you fix him up or should I leave so this bullshit interrogation ends?”

  I don’t mutter another word to her but focus my full attention on Charlie. I go about my business getting him ‘fixed up’ and try to make small talk to get this kid to crack a smile at least. I’d hate to see him leave with this sad and scared look on his face.

  “You like The Avengers Charlie?”

  He looks up at me with wide green eyes—now I’m speaking his language.

  “I love The Avengers!” he exclaims, and I hear the hospital gods sing. He spoke!

  “Who’s your favorite?”

  Without even a second to think, he shouts, “Iron Man!” and then he lets me put in the final stitches before politely asking me who my favorite Avenger is in return.

  “Hmm … that’s a great question. I think my favorite is … Captain America because he’s so cute,” I joke.

  Charlie’s mom laughs from her corner of the room as Charlie makes a grossed out look on his face. “Ew! That’s disgusting.”

  “Why is that disgusting?”

  “Because girls are cute,” he says as his little feet pick up speed swinging back and forth.

  “Then what are boys?”

  He pauses to think, “Boys are … awesome!”

  Bless his heart.

  “Well I think both boys and girls can be cute and awesome.”

  “Whatever you say lady.”

  Now it’s my turn to laugh. I let Charlie know he’s all set but that the physician overseeing my cases will need to come in and take a look at what I’ve done. As I’m heading out the door to get Dr. Horton, I stop Charlie’s mom to whisper, “If someone is hurting you, you should call the police or reach out to an abuse hotline. Neither of you deserves this.”

  She doesn’t say a word and just nods her head.

  I find Dr. Horton near the computer stations and let him know about my most recent case. As much as it hurts to watch him do this, we call Child Protective Services because someone needs to interview this family. Becky, the CPS worker in the hospital, says she’ll be right down.

  A few minutes after we part ways I run into Dr. Horton in the hallway with a sad look on his face.

  “Bellisano, no one was in that room when I went to check on them. The family left.”

  I probably scared her off with my talk about calling the police. I try to hold it together because I don’t want to cry in front of one of my attending, so I dash into the nearest bathroom.

  Why did I have to open my big mouth? I sent this scared mother and son back out into the world to get beat up again.

  “Bellisano! Stop hiding in here, we’ve got cases to cover!” Ben shouts into the bathroom. Why does this guy always know where I am? It’s like he has a tracker on me somewhere.

  The rest of my shift goes by in a whirl of commotion. I’m back on top of my game after I convince myself that speaking up to the mother was the right thing. I hope. Ben doesn’t need to tell me twice to pay attention, oh hell no. By the time I walk out through the big double doors I spot Luke waiting by his car yet again. He didn’t even text me—he just showed up, and I am so grateful to see him.

  I rush over and throw my arms around his neck. He stumbles back upon my sudden impact but quickly regains his footing, wrapping his arms around my waist to hold me tight.

  “Boy am I glad to see you,” I say, planting a deep kiss on his mouth.

  “I could get used to this,” Luke laughs, “but let’s get in the car. It’s freezing out here. It’s in the single digits.”

  I let Luke know I need to go to my apartment for a change of clothes if he plans to keep me holed up at his penthouse again tonight. Not that I’m complaining. As he drives towards my place, I let out a sigh of relief and feel my body relax after holding all of my muscles so tense during this crazy shift. As much as I love it there, it feels great to be out of the hospital.

  “Rough night?”

  “I have a patient who’s still on my mind. I hate when that happens. It’s hard not to take them home with me.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  We are a block away from my apartment so I decide to make it quick.

  “A little boy came in with his mom. There were clear signs they are getting abused—his face all cut up, her with visible bruises. But when I tried talking her into getting help, she basically told me to fuck off. We were going to have CPS talk to the family but when they went in the room … the family was gone.” I sigh, feeling upset all over again. “What upsets me the most is knowing she won’t get help when there is some out there, like the charity.”

  After I finish spitting out my story, I glance over to see Luke’s hands clutching his steering wheel—he’s got a death grip on the thing—and he seems to be holding his breath. He doesn’t turn his head to look at me, instead keeping his eyes staring out at the road. They look like they’ve got fire inside of them. Was he even listening to me?

  “Are you okay?” I reach over to lightly touch his bicep and he instantly relaxes. What was that about?

  “Yeah, I’m sorry,” he mumbles out too quickly, “I just got upset hearing what you dealt with today. That’s terrible about that family. Was it just the mom and her boy that came in? No dad?”

  “No dad,” I answer.

  He nods as he pulls into the parking garage connected to my building.

  “Do you want me to go inside with you?” he asks. I feel like he’s asking out of respect, but he still seems a bit off. I think he needs a minute.
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br />   “No, I’ll be quick,” I say, leaning over to kiss his cheek. Something tells me he needs an affectionate touch before I dash out of the car and up to my apartment.

  I fly out of the elevator like a bat out of hell and crash into Serena and Jack. Serena’s purse goes soaring. I stumble back into the wall, falling off balance, and then we both bust out laughing at each other.

  “Whoa lady, are you being chased by a burglar? Slow your freaking roll,” Serena laughs as Jack hands her the purse that went tumbling, looking at us like we are crazy.

  “Yes, I’m sorry,” I laugh, “I was just trying to hurry. Luke is waiting out in parking garage.”

  “Luke, the guy with a tight hold on you?” Jack jokes while Serena lightly nudges him.

  Tight hold? What the hell is he talking about? Why is Serena nudging him to be quiet?

  “What’s the tight hold thing about?” I ask, sending glares to both of them, waiting for someone to explain the comment. They remain silent for much too long—I doubt if I even said it aloud. “Anyone? Bueller?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude,” Jack says, shooting me an apologetic look. “I was making a bad joke about how you ditched our dinner pretty quickly after Luke showed up looking angry.”

  Wow. I didn’t have that impression from our dinner night at all. I guess I can see where he’s coming from because I did leave the dinner to stand in this very same hallway in Luke’s arms for who knows how long. It blows my mind that while I was having a moment, I was being judged for the ‘tight hold’ my boyfriend has on me.

  “Hey,” Serena says touching my arm, “he didn’t mean anything by it even though it was a pretty dumb thing to say.” She turns to give Jack a smirk. “It’s my fault. I didn’t explain your situation with Luke very well when you went into the hallway that night. Let’s all blame this on me.” She tries laughing it off.

  Explain my situation? I guess I have a situation now and I’m not talking about The Jersey Shore kind.

  “Okay, no problem. I should head inside before Luke sends an emergency crew.” I give them a tight-lipped smile just to end this conversation.

 

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