“You want me. Take me.”
He watched her blink slowly a few times.
“I took you the last time. Each time. Now it’s your turn. Take what you want, Camille. You’re completely in control.”
He could see her react to the word control and knew that she understood what he was offering. She smiled and once again reached to touch his erection. No dilly-dallying for his girl. No soft touches of his nipples or maybe a brush of her hand against his stomach. Nope, she wanted the whole enchilada upfront and he loved that about her.
“That’s it. A little harder.”
She climbed on the bed then, between his legs. He spread them a little wider for her so she could touch his balls if she wanted that, too. Anything she wanted, whatever she needed. All of it would be hers. He would lie still if it killed him. Sure, it would be a sacrifice, he thought. But a man had to do what he could for the woman he loved. Right now she needed him to be a feast.
His eyes narrowed to slits as he felt bolts of pleasure running up and down his body. However, he managed to keep them open enough that he could watch her exploration. Watch her face when she slid her hand around the head of his erection. Watch her reaction when he couldn’t hold back a groan and she knew what she’d done had been especially pleasing.
He wanted to tell her to squeeze his shaft harder. He wanted to tell her to play with his balls. He wanted to tell her he needed her mouth. Craved it like a starving man craves food, but this wasn’t his show, it was hers. So he bit his tongue and let her stroke her fingers up and down. At one point she shifted her weight on her knees and he could see her breasts sway gently with the movement. This time he had to close his eyes or he wouldn’t have been able to keep his hands to himself. He wanted to feel her tight little nipples in his palms, then in his mouth.
Later, he promised himself. Later when it would be his turn.
“I’ve never…”
He opened his eyes and saw that her mouth was poised over his erection. He inhaled sharply, then calmly let out his breath. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I only want what you want.”
“I didn’t think I would ever be able…I had such a hard time with kissing at first.”
“I love the way you kiss me,” he told her. That reminded him that he needed her kisses, too. His tongue in her mouth, hers in his.
Later.
“I want to try.”
Oh goodness. Keep it together. “Whatever you want, baby. I’m all yours…ah.” An explosion of sensation hit as she took the head into her mouth. But it was enough. It was more than enough.
She pulled back and smiled at him. “How was that? I think I liked it, the feel of it. How did I do?”
“You did it really, really good.”
“I think you mean well,” she said as she bent over and again put her mouth to him.
Grammar. She wanted him to have correct grammar? She should be grateful he could grunt let alone speak. Because now she was doing something with her tongue and it was driving him insane. He couldn’t stop himself from lifting his hips, trying to sink more deeply into the wet softness of her mouth.
“Okay, stop.” Wyatt sat up a bit and put his hand on her shoulder, but she seemed far too into her task. “Please, Camille, stop. I don’t want to come.” And he wouldn’t, not in her mouth. For one, she wasn’t ready for that kind of intimacy and for another he wanted to be deep inside her body when he did. Nothing had ever felt as good as coming inside of Camille.
She lifted her head and lowered her eyes almost as if she was ashamed for having enjoyed it as much as she did.
“Don’t worry,” he teased. “I’ll let you do that again. Heck, every day if you want.”
She chuckled then and the soft noise made him feel good. The trauma of nearly being run down was gone from her consciousness. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold it at bay indefinitely, but for now they were enjoying each other. Laughing. Feeling good. This, he could give her and it made him feel like a king to do so.
“But now I need you a little closer.”
“Closer?”
“Hmm,” he said lying down again, leaving his hands free this time to cup her breasts. There were her nipples. Nice and tight in his palms the way he wanted. “Yeah, a little farther.”
Getting the idea, she straddled his hips. The soft hair covering her sex brushed his erection in a way that had him twisting his hips for more contact. “Is this close enough?”
She was teasing him. Great almighty, she was rubbing herself against his sex, wetting it with her own excitement and teasing him in the process. If he hadn’t loved her already, he would have loved her in that moment.
“Nope. Not close enough.”
She held him in place with her hand while she positioned her body over him, letting him press inside. “What about now?”
“Closer,” he squealed like a girl. And then she did it. Sinking down, she took him fully inside her body in one long, slow ride. He heard her gasp, felt her move her hips around to get better situated, and then she sighed with what he hoped was satisfaction.
“Better?”
“The best,” he murmured, pushing up in slow thrusts. Her hands fell to his chest to help her keep her balance. He remembered that this was supposed to be her show, and if he were really kind he would let her control the ride.
But a man only had so much kindness in him and what she’d done to him with her mouth had taken him too far down the path to let her enjoy an easy pace. Gripping her hips, he held her steady while he pumped into her.
Confident she had the rhythm down, he freed her right hip to trail his hand up to her breasts. He could feel them and see them bouncing with each of his thrusts and it was erotic as hell. Then he let his hand drift down her body, over her pale belly into her nest of curls. Setting a knuckle right on the spot where she needed him, so that each time he moved within her his knuckle stroked.
Four or maybe five strokes into it he felt her squeeze her body all around him and a wash of red color ran up her breasts and neck and cheeks. He wanted her to scream. Wanted to hear his name being shouted out, declaring that he was the one who had given her ecstasy. But instead she held it all inside, her body jerking a little with convulsions.
Another thrust and he was with her. Holding himself deep inside her, feeling his seed spurting out into her. He wanted to make her pregnant. Knew it was impossible with her on the pill, but still he wanted it.
She fell onto his chest, her face pressed into his neck where she placed gentle kisses. He wrapped his arms around her and thought about what they might have together once all this was behind them.
True love. Each other. Kids. A family. He needed to convince her it was possible. He needed her to know there could be more to a family than abandonment and grooming.
What he really needed was for her to love him.
Chapter 15
“Is this wrong?”
Wyatt took his eyes off the slice of pizza he was about to bite into. Camille was already chewing a sizeable mouthful of dough, sauce, cheese, sausage, meatball and pepperoni. It had taken him a few minutes to convince her that pepperoni was essential to a real meat pizza, but eventually he wore her down.
Now she was sitting crossed-legged wearing one of his T-shirts and he was in a pair of sweatpants—only because he had to open the door to the delivery person. They were still in bed eating meat pizza after amazing sex. It was his dream come true.
“What could be wrong about this?”
“We should have called the police. We need to give them a description of the car. I’m certain it is the same one that passed me the other day on the way to your house.”
“Yeah, I figured. Strange thing, too, is I think I’ve seen it before. The tinted windshield isn’t something you see a lot.”
“After we eat?”
Wyatt looked at the clock. It was going on eleven at night. It was Sunday. “If we call now we’ll get some shift worker. I say we wait
and head to the station tomorrow morning. We’ll speak with the sheriff directly. There is nothing anyone can do right now.”
“So we’re going to eat pizza and go to sleep?”
At that moment Aphrodite chose to join them, hopping up on the bed to inspect the box. Wyatt lopped off a piece of meatball and dropped it in front of her.
“Don’t give her any pepperoni,” Camille warned.
“Why?” The cat seemed pretty happy with the meatball.
“It can’t be good for her digestion.”
Wyatt didn’t argue, not knowing much about cat digestion. “Anyway, to answer your question, no, we are not going to eat pizza and go to sleep. We are in fact going to eat pizza, then have sex again, then go to sleep.”
“Oh.”
Wyatt looked up at her and could see the small smile that played around her lips.
“Can I do that thing again with my mouth?” She was going to kill him. In the best possible way.
“Absolutely. Only if I get to do that thing with my mouth, too.”
“Okay…I mean, if you insist.”
That was his girl.
“Don’t forget we still need to pick up my loaner car from the hospital. Plus my purse and everything is still in my locker. God, my locker. I remembered those pictures from yesterday. I should file charges against Logan. I can do that, can’t I? For invading my privacy?”
“Abso-freakin’-lutely.”
They had parked across the street from the police station. Camille was chattering to hide her nerves, but Wyatt didn’t seem to mind. In fact he seemed to encourage any thoughts she had regarding taking action against Logan.
She came around the car and stopped. Suddenly crossing the street took on a whole new level of scary.
Wyatt held out his hand and she grabbed it.
“I haven’t had to hold anyone’s hand to cross the street in a long time.”
“Yeah, well, you’re holding mine from now on. We see a black car and we’re getting back in the Jeep.”
But there was no black car. In fact, early on a Monday morning, past normal morning rush hour there wasn’t much traffic on the main street.
Together, they made it across. Once inside the police station they found an officer minding the main desk. Behind him, Camille could see that there were hardly any other officers milling about.
“We’re looking for the sheriff,” Wyatt said.
“He’s working on a case.”
He scowled. “Yeah, I can pretty much bet you this is bigger.”
“I doubt it,” the young man in uniform said.
“Look, can you tell us where to find him,” Wyatt pleaded. “We need to update him on some new events that took place relating to the murders going on at Physicians’ Memorial.”
“Uh, he’s at Physicians’ right now.”
Camille felt dread flood her system at the officer’s words. Was he making an arrest? Had they found the proof they needed against Delia?
“Come on, Wyatt. We need to go.”
Not arguing, he took her hand and they sprinted back to the Jeep. The trip to the hospital seemed like an eternity, but really Wyatt had gotten them there within minutes. Cop cars with lights flashing blocked the main entrance. It appeared people were being stopped before being let through the doors.
“This seems a bit much if they were going to arrest her.”
Wyatt, too, looked puzzled. “Only one way to find out.”
They approached the two officers who were checking identity and Wyatt stepped forward. “What’s going on?”
“Sir, there is a crime scene in the hospital. I’m going to have to ask you what your business is in the hospital.”
“I’m Dr. Holladay, this is Dr. Larson. We work here.”
“You can go in. But please know the top floor will not be accessible.”
Wyatt turned to her. “The administration floor.”
The dread and sense of surrealism Camille had been feeling earlier doubled. This wasn’t happening. Crimes happened in dark alleys in big cities. Not in small suburban America. Not in hospitals where people came to be healed.
“Wait.” The other officer who had been checking ID stepped forward. “You said you’re Dr. Larson? Dr. Camille Larson?”
“That’s right.”
“Sheriff Mooney is upstairs. He tried to contact Dr. Holladay this morning.”
Wyatt immediately reached for his back pocket. “My cell. Damn it. I must have left it at the house.”
“I’ll call up and let him know you’re on your way.”
Camille knew her legs were moving forward. She knew Wyatt was pushing the up button on the elevator. She knew she was heading some place she didn’t want to go. Her brain wanted to rebel but her body kept moving forward.
“It’s going to be awful,” she whispered as the doors opened to the administration floor.
“Let’s wait and see.”
Yet another fresh-faced uniformed officer stopped them before they could proceed down the hallway. He pointed them to a series of chairs that had been set out against a wall, letting them know they couldn’t move past that point.
Beyond the chairs was Ruby’s desk. Beyond that Delia’s office. Camille could see the activity inside. There were people inside talking. All kinds of movement. Someone taking pictures.
What could they be taking pictures of? What was happening behind that door? Camille felt an intense desire to leave before anyone could say anything and make it real.
“Oh, my God. Dr. Larson!”
The door to the ladies’ room closed behind Ruby. Her face was a horrible color. As if her fake tan had been replaced by a fake sunburn. Her eyes were swollen and red, streaks of mascara ran down her face. Her teeth chattered and her hands shook as though she was freezing cold.
“Oh, it’s so awful. It’s so awful.” She choked on her tears.
Camille moved toward her and patted her back in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. She angled her to one of the seats and encouraged her to sit. Fearing shock, she looked to Wyatt. “We’re going to need a blanket.”
He nodded and went in search of a linen closet.
“What happened?” Camille asked gently.
“I came in and found her like that. I was, like, ‘Morning Ms. Marsh.’ That’s what I say every morning. She’s always in before me. She’s, like, a workaholic. I’m always saying she shouldn’t work as much. I’m always saying that.”
The elevator dinged and Camille looked up to see Wyatt returning. He carried a thin hospital blanket and shrugged, knowing it wouldn’t provide that much warmth. But anything would help. Camille wrapped it around the young girl’s shoulders and used her hands to try and help her circulation.
“What did you see, Ruby?”
“Her,” she said. “I saw her. She was hanging there. It was like something out of a horror movie. I kept waiting for her to lift her head up and be all, like, monster zombie or something like that. But she didn’t move. She hung there. Her shoe fell off.”
Sickened, Camille closed her eyes. She stood.
“Don’t, Camille,” Wyatt said. “You don’t need to see that.”
“I have to,” she whispered, although she wasn’t sure he heard. She had to know. She had to see what Delia had done.
The door was ajar. The people inside were still taking pictures, still having low conversations with each other. Before anyone could stop her, Camille pushed the office door and watched it swing open.
There, over the desk littered with papers the way it always was, Delia hung from the ceiling. Her face was swollen, her body still. Ruby was right, Camille thought, her shoe had fallen off.
Instantly the officers in the room reacted, pushing her away from the scene. Wyatt got there, too, turning her around, forcing her to look away, burying her face in his shoulder.
But it was too late. She’d already seen her.
“She’s dead.”
Wyatt didn’t have to acknowledge that statement.
“Dr. Larson. Dr. Holladay.”
Camille gulped the nausea in her throat. She looked at Wyatt and took a deep breath before turning around. “Sheriff.”
Sheriff Mooney’s face was grim. Lined with more than age, it was clear to her now that he’d seen too many things in the course of his life. Delia’s body was one more.
“Let’s have a seat.” Deliberately he pulled the chairs away from where Ruby sat. The girl had her face in her hands and was rocking back and forth. One of the uniformed guards stood over her, a helpless expression on his face.
Wyatt took Camille’s hand and the two of them faced the sheriff, waiting for his explanation.
“I’m sorry. It appears that sometime late last night Delia Marsh committed suicide.”
Camille shook her head. “She wouldn’t have done that. She wouldn’t have done that before she heard about the grant money. I’m sure of it.”
“Camille,” Wyatt said gripping her hand.
“Of course,” she muttered. “I’m being ridiculous. There she is, in that room, hanging there. I can’t believe…”
“She left a note.” The sheriff shifted his chair closer. “I can’t show it to you. The crime scene specialists are in there now collecting evidence and taking prints. Once we have everything we need we’ll take the body down. But I read the note. In it she claims responsibility for the deaths of Donald Morose, Samuel Ross and Janet Hamilton.”
“No.” Camille couldn’t believe it. Even though it made sense. Even though she’d felt Delia’s anger and…insanity, she didn’t want to believe that a woman who had dedicated her life to building a hospital would destroy it with death.
“She says she was in love with Dr. Logan Dade. She discovered that he had feelings for you. Feelings that because they weren’t reciprocated made him seek other employment. It was odd. In a way, she blamed you for not loving him and causing him to leave. As if you had control over what this other doctor did. She wanted to destroy you. Professionally.”
“Not professionally,” Wyatt interjected. “We came to the station this morning to report an attempt on Camille’s life.”
The Doctor's Deadly Affair Page 15