Fiery Little Thing: Chapter 13

I don’t know if there’s a medical condition that could diagnose the gymnastics my brain is doing right now. Because firstly, what the fuck?

Secondly, seriously, what the fuck? I’m going to have to punch a wall or something to stop myself from blushing.

The man I framed for arson grazed my tit and carried me a whole fifteen minutes to the med bay because I have a sore foot, and here I am, avoiding eye contact because my heart is doing stupid little somersaults over the plainly chivalrous act.

Not to mention, when he went all serious and foreboding after our rather… unexpected conversation, his stoicness was almost pleasant.

Scratch that. My idiotic heart fluttered with the deluded prospect that he was being protective of me. Add that to the fact that he was holding me to his chest like I was special and not a piece of rotten meat to discard; my ovaries were having a party. The part about Kiervan is believable, the rest of the things he said to me has to be a blatant lie, but I’m just getting all giddy about it because I hit my head, and it felt scarily nice to be in his arms.

I’m not entertaining the touch starved theory to my reaction, because that issue can be bought and fulfilled by exchanging one thing for another.

Kohen carried me without expecting me to spread for him by the end of it. But I refuse to believe he did it out of the kindness of his heart. He’s going to retaliate over the fire somehow, and I just have to be ready for it when it happens—which, right now, would be a very inconvenient time for it to happen. Not to sound dramatic or anything, but I think my ankle might be broken.

Dislocated, maybe.

Or a bad sprain—twisted sounds too mundane, but substantially more accurate than the other two. I think.

I’m no doctor, but if I can still move my foot around it’s not broken, right? Who the fuck knows. Even if a bone is sticking out, the nurse will probably slap a Band-Aid on it and kick me out. I want to say this is the life of a woman going to the doctor, but I think this is more a me issue.

Seraphic Hills’s selling point to parents is the school’s one-stop-shop aspect. It might be situated hours away from a town with a population of over one thousand and in the middle of a fucking forest, but life still continues for the students because everything we could possibly need is right here. There’s a semiretired doctor on retainer who lives close by and drives over if there are any cases beyond Dr. Van der Merwe’s skills, as well as a helipad to fly people out for any significant issues.

I’ve never been to this part of the medical wing. I knew this place had an examination room; I just didn’t think it was this nice. Clean white walls, gray floors, LED lights, random health and anatomy posters around the room, and various plastic organs and bones along the shelves. There seems to be everything in here, even a portable ultrasound, defibrillator, and a blood-test-checker-machine thingy. I’m honestly not sure what type of qualifications a psychiatrist and a retired general practitioner must have to operate all this machinery.

Oh, and I can’t forget about the lovely ECT a couple rooms over.

The side of my face prickles; it has ever since the nurse directed Kohen to lower me onto the bed and left us both to wait while my good friend Dr. Van der Merwe finishes his meeting.

Earlier, as the nurse rummaged around the drawer for anti-inflammatories, Dr. Kohen Osman stepped in and R.I.C.E’d the fuck out of me. I was on my back with an ice pack on my elevated foot faster than I could figure out what every word in the acronym stands for.

Internally sighing, I swallow my pride and say the words usually only reserved for customer service. “Thank you.” Then add, “For bringing me here.”

Yuck. It even tastes gross. If I have to admit that I’m wrong about something or apologize, I’m going to throw up.

His lips part, eyes widening in shock.

Nope. That expression has to go. “But you can leave.”

Good one, Blaze. Friendly, swift, to the point. Then I can go back to plotting how to ruin Kohen’s psyche while simultaneously avoiding Elijah.

I’m going to need to get better at my uppercuts if that hopped-

up fucker tries jumping me again. Or wait… guys love a damsel in distress—case in point, Kohen. Although, I thought he’d be inclined to add to my distress. There’s still time for that to change.

Kohen takes this exact moment to decide that he does, in fact, want to add to my daily stresses. He gets all up in my business, placing his arms on either side of my body to cage me against the bed—not like I was planning to go anywhere with my broken foot and all.

And it’s not like I can breathe with him this close. Or think. Or be any kind of functioning member of society.

Patchouli and mint smell even better in a sterile room. I should be a little more haunted by the fact that the place the doc tortured me in is nearby, but none of that seems to matter when I can feel his breath on my face… his lips are so close, and his hands are right there, so close to my—

No.

No.

I’m mad at him. I hate him. I am not thinking about those strong fingers brushing along my core. And I am most definitely not dreaming about mounting him for trying to stop the fight and then acting so attentively afterward.

God, I need to figure out how to get someone to smuggle a vibrator into this place. A Kohen-sized dildo would be a good alternative.

“Try to kick me out, and I’ll tell the nurse about the…” His hand skates up the side of my thigh, and I’m ashamed to admit that my legs fall apart ever so slightly. Then, in a move that disappoints me more than it should, he reaches into my pocket and pulls out the strip of tablets I nicked when I thought no one was looking.

He blinks. Stares at the pills. “Laxatives? Really?”

Is that what those things were? I mean, you can’t put a price on a functioning stomach.

I snatch the medication from him and tuck it back into my pocket. “I have IBS.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Excuse me? How would you know?”

“That depends. Do you want to question how private your medical history is?”

Son of bitch.

The breath rushes back into me when he steps back, and his eyes follow the line of my body with more intensity than I can handle. He shifts his weight when he makes it down my leg. It’s odd watching him blink hard when he gets to my foot, like there’s some internal battle he’s wrestling with.

Kohen clears his throat. “Take off your sock. I want to check your ankle.”

I frown, both because that’s a ridiculous request and because it makes me feel unreasonably special that he cares about me even when I’m trying to screw him up. “You’re not a doctor. Plus, you aren’t looking at my feet for free. This shit is a hot commodity.”

Kohen cuts me a blank look. “Stop talking, Blaze.”

Ugh, fuck it. Choose your battles and all that. Before I can play my independent-young-woman card, his hands curve behind my calf. The agonizingly slow speed in which they travel down my leg to remove my sock, is enough for me to start thinking about old people so I can stop imagining things involving the hard object tenting his pants.

Is it just me, or has he been getting hard a lot recently? I also think this room is getting unseasonably hot. And I’m wearing far too many layers. So is he. Maybe he could move his hand a little higher to—

Nope. Not thinking about that.

“Does this hurt?”

“What—ow!” I jolt up, slapping his hand away from my very red, very swollen ankle. “Yes, it fucking hurts. What did you think would happen when you go poking at a sprain?”

“It could be partially dislocated.”

“Okay, Doctor,” I mock.

When I bend my knee to get my foot away from him, I don’t expect him to grab my other leg and bend it too, causing me to be too dumbstruck to do anything about it. The ibuprofen must be getting to my head; that’s the only explanation as to why he’s doing exactly what I was fantasizing before. One second his hand is around my leg, the next, both hands are at my hips pulling down my shorts—and, shit, the whiplash is sending a rush straight to my core.

Somehow, some way, I manage to stop thinking with my vagina for more than a millisecond to shove his hands away. “What the fuck do you think—”

“Shut the fuck up. I need this.”

I’m not sure whether it’s his words or how the gold in his eyes has turned into bronze embers against the poisonous green rings, but he manages to stun me into silence. He looks like he’s about to explode. The pyromaniac takes my silence as an opening to yank my panties and shorts down my thighs in one single move, and I screech.

“You’re—”

I’m bare from the waist down in the next heartbeat, barely able to breathe from the depleting oxygen in the room. I snap my legs closed, and the movement immediately sends a bolt of pain through my ankle. Still, I keep my thighs tightly shut so he doesn’t see what his barbarian attitude is doing to my nether regions.

Kohen’s eyes flare, and he sounds like he’s skating the line of losing it. “I’m two seconds away from lighting a man on fire—if you don’t spread your legs for me right now, I’m sending us both to prison.”

It’s a leg workout with how hard I’m squeezing my thighs together, and it makes the examination sheet crinkle beneath me. “I’m not doing shit for you.”

“That’s part of the problem, isn’t it?” He pulls me down the bed, and I let out a pathetic little yelp when my shirt slides up with the friction. “You don’t need to do a goddamn thing, and my dick is constantly hard as a brick for you.”

My mouth falls. “What? Are you on drugs? What the fuck are you talking about?” By my count, I’ve seen this man hard twice. And if he hadn’t been turned on by me riding his leg, I would have been offended.

“I’m talking about how you take center stage in all my wet dreams, and I can’t go a single day without coming to the thought of you.”

I blink twice. “Come again?”

There’s no way I heard that right. Sure, I get that he recently developed some weird, deranged interest in me after deciding he doesn’t like it when I’m around other guys. But his delusion can’t be so bad that he’s in his room every day, touching himself while thinking about me.

Now that I think about it, it’s actually quite flattering.

My brain doesn’t compute the blur of movement until one of his hands cradles the back of my neck, and the other wraps around the column of my throat, lifting me so our lips brush against each other. A shiver skates down my spine as I barely stop myself from sealing the deal.

You hate him, I remind myself. He burned your house and got you medically tortured. You H-A-T-E him.

“You’ve stolen my every waking thought since the day I met you, Thief. I’ve been wanting to feel your pretty pussy for as long as I can remember. I’m done waiting.” I don’t notice that his hand has left my neck until his fingers brush against my core.

It’s like I jolt awake, fighting back the need to grind against his hand by clawing, hitting, and releasing the occasional kick with my good leg. His fingers stay precisely where they are, rubbing against my clit every time I move.

I growl, trying to fight him off—or maybe because it feels sublime whenever my hip buckles. Either way, I’m appeasing my mental and physical needs. The feelings are enough to make me forget all about the pain shooting through my foot.

Anyone could walk in right now and see me practically throwing myself at him—because no one will believe that he’s jumping me. They’d slap a chastity belt on me, zap me with a lightning bolt, and tattoo slut on my forehead.

That should fill me with more motivation to throw him off, yet I don’t, even though I could be risking it all just to get off. But isn’t this just who I am? A junkie for the thrill of the danger.

Kohen grips my hair. “Fight me if you want, Thief. The only way you’ll get me to stop is by mentioning another man.”

I glare at him. Motherfucker gives me an out, and I can’t bring myself to take it. Worse yet, this might seem like a win-win situation to some. But as I see it, I’m using him to get off. I’m his scapegoat in exchange, and his balls will be left blue. Ergo, the win goes to me and the loss goes to him .

Maybe it’s a convoluted way of justifying why I’m pausing my crusade, but hey, orgasms feel better than drugs—one leaves me dying, and the other leaves me sated.

I scoff, putting up a half-assed fight as I sneer in his face. He thinks the act is from rage, but frustration might be more accurate.

There’s a thick layer of desperation to how hotly he says, “Stay still and let me take care of you.”

My brain short-circuits.

He can’t say shit like that to me.

Take care of me? What the fuck? Those four words are all it takes to get me to fold for this lunatic? I’m meant to be a stronger woman than this. I don’t need anyone to take care of me, but my body becomes jellylike and compliant as he guides my injured leg onto the stirrups that are built into the bed. Even though his eyes are viciously set on me, his shoulders soften as if caring for me relaxes him. The movement is so gentle; if I were more emotionally fraught about my altercation with Elijah, I’d get teary-eyed.

I didn’t realize that a lifetime of aggression and fighting men would lead me to become broken by the concept of something other than pain. Kohen hates me just as much as I hate him. Why else would he go around choking me, cutting my hair, or doing what he did to my house? Hatred and loathing are the foundation of our entire relationship. How long do I need to wait until the punch line? Affection isn’t possible without pain. Love doesn’t exist without hurt. So when will this crumble?

I keep waiting for him to suddenly grip my ankle or say something that will make me regret letting my guard down, yet he doesn’t.

Each of his minuscule movements goes against the years of bad blood between us. I can’t reconcile the mutual animosity with how tenderly he’s treating me, checking that my leg is sitting comfortably on the stirrup, tying the ice pack to my foot, making sure it’s not too cold on my skin, and then moving to the other leg.

It’s wild that he’s doing this while I’m butt-ass naked—not that he’s forgotten about it with how he keeps eyeing me with a sideways glance at the space between my spread legs. Any second now, the zipper on his pants is going to burst open, and I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t excited about the prospect.

Trepidation fills my lungs when he turns away from me to a table at the other side of the room, leaving me exposed and wanting. Dare I say it, I’m having to stop myself from panting. My muscles spasm in agitation and frustration from the position and need. I wonder if he’s intentionally making me wait as a form of torture to see if I’ll get any wetter from the tease.

Or if I’m just overthinking it.

I wish I could see what he’s looking for in the various drawers. The sound of tape ripping and metal clinking causes anxiety to worm into my marrow. Is this the part where the hurt finally comes?

I’ve never caught him out on a lie before, and I guess realizing his words are all fake would be the thing that shatters the illusion of his niceties. It might also be exactly what I need to stop my traitorous heart and body from melting all over him.

I bite the inside of my cheek when he slams the drawer closed, and I glance up at the door like it might be wide open. He doesn’t spare me a look as he rolls the heart rate monitor next to the bed, and places the trolley next to me.

While he’s inspecting the items on it, my legs slowly fall closed. It’s an odd combination of being frightened and turned on by my curiosity, but I flinch when he moves to lock the door .

Everything about him seems dangerous, like he’s a second away from blowing up. But when he tugs off his tie, tosses his blazer onto the computer chair, and shoves his sleeves up to his elbows, I damn well almost come from how sophisticated he is in his distress—and those forearms.

Jesus Christ, those veiny forearms.

I try to fight him off for a little over five seconds when he tries taking my shirt off, then again when he unclasps my bra, folding both into a neat pile on the seat a few feet away from the examination table. The cool air kisses my skin, perking my nipples into points sharp enough to key a car. I’ve never been self-conscious about my looks or how much skin I show, but right now, I want to fold my arms across my chest because I know if he looks too long, he’ll see what everyone else sees.

That I’m inadequate, a mess, a pariah. He’ll remember that I’m better off dead in a ditch somewhere, and not someone he should spend his emotional energy getting jealous over.

Kohen falters when his heated gaze rakes over my body like a drag of a match, cataloging every inch of me with bated breath. The hardening in his pants makes me wet my dry lips, but at the same time, I realize that if his plan is to degrade me by leaving me naked on a slab, it’s working. The vulnerability of it all is unnerving, just as it is alluring.

Another shiver rolls down my spine when he drags his finger along the side of my body until he reaches his station, hazel eyes transfixed on the trail of goosebumps pebbling my flesh from his touch.

“What are you doing?” I ask hesitantly when he puts the stethoscope on .

“A checkup,” he says simply.

“You’re not a doctor.”

“Practice.”

It makes even less sense than before, but the term curiosity killed the cat was made for me. I know I’m into foreplay, but am I into roleplay too? I guess I know the answer now.

“Breathe in.”

Whatever, yeah. Okay, I’ll let Kohen play his game, but if he pulls out a speculum or needles, I’m tapping out.

The cold surface of the bell makes me flinch. Come to think of it, this might be the first time I’ve had this done since I turned fourteen. Every time I’ve been sick, Grandpa labeled it a hangover and told me to suck it up.

“Hold.”

I do as Kohen asks, stuttering when the chilled metal brushes over my nipples.

“Breathe out.”

He’s really taking this seriously, getting me to breathe several times, grazing my nipple each time he places the flat base on a different part of my chest. And much to my disappointment, not once does he touch me with his hands.

Surely, he’s doing this longer than necessary. If I had to guess by his blown-out eyes, his focus is on my nipples and spread legs, not the sound of my lungs.

Kohen pulls away, placing the stethoscope back on the tray. The tendons in his forearms ripple; his veins move as he slips the pulse reader on my finger and the blood pressure cuff around my arm. Deep rivets form between his brows as he pushes random buttons on the heart rate monitor. He steps back once the first line jumps on the monitor, and the cuff tightens around my arm.

Keeping his stare firmly on me, my lips part as he grabs a pair of gloves off the wall. Do I have a latex kink, or does watching this male model snap on gloves do it for me? Also, what in God’s name does he need with them?

His gaze drops down to the two gadgets reading me, then quickly to my tits, and back to the monitor. My heart rate must be astronomical right now—being anxious and horny and all. The machine beeps twice, and he nods approvingly as he reads the screen. Does he know what he’s looking at, or is he a weirdly good actor when it comes to roleplaying? A hundred over sixty sounds high to me.

He takes the cuff off my arm and leaves the pulse monitor on, glancing at it smugly when it spikes as he reaches for something on the trolley. As if double-checking the data corresponds, he shifts his attention down to my wet pussy, and he nods to himself again. The Velcro sounds as he brings the cuff closer to my throat.

“No,” I growl and he halts. “If you put that shit anywhere near my neck, my knuckles are going to be kissing your balls, lover boy.”

Hands, I can fight off. Limbs, I can break. A machine? Something inhuman that won’t listen to reason? No. No way. That type of shit can stay far the fuck away from me. It’ll be like drowning without any water in sight.

When the tubing comes into view, my breath stutters.

“Yeah, no.” I’m out. I don’t like anything that might involve that.

“Hands,” is all he says.

Ignoring my protests, he grabs both my wrists and ties them together using the plastic tubing.

I change my mind; maybe I do like things involving those. The evidence of exactly how much I like it is dripping between my legs. Kohen knows it too, evidenced by a single gloved finger catching another droplet before it lands on the medical-grade sheet, and I arch my back when he pushes it back inside me.

Who knows what else I’m agreeing to by doing this. Actually, I don’t give a shit. As long as I get to come, I’m all game.

Kohen makes a sound at the back of his throat that makes the muscles in my core spasm. “You’re so fucking soaked for me, Blaze.”

Biting my tongue to stop myself from mewling, I squeeze my eyes shut to imagine literally anything else but what the latex-clad fingers feel like on and inside me. If Kohen’s goal was to keep from dirtying the sheets, he’s doing an excellent job of it. However, he’s making an even bigger mess of me.

I grip the bedsheet with my bound hands when he slaps my pussy hard enough for me to feel the delicious pressure on my clit, but not enough to sting. He does it again, this time watching the monitor to see my pulse jump.

“Such an excited little whore,” he muses in the same way a doctor does when analyzing results.

The term might be an insult when said by anyone else—anyone who isn’t making my naked body flush and legs quake with need—but when Kohen says it, my hips roll into the pleasure he’s giving me. I have a funny feeling that if he added my at the start of it, my eyes would roll to the back of my head.

I can go back to plotting his downfall once I leave this room. For now, I’m his whore as long as I get what I want at the end of this.

Kohen’s eyes track the heavy rise and fall of my chest, and then he messes with something on the trolley that I can’t see, pushing me back down with a solid yet soft push when I try to sit up .

“Don’t touch me,” I snap.

His jaw ticks, and his expression grows murderous again, but he doesn’t look at me, continuing with whatever it is he’s doing.

My eyes widen as my blood chills by ten degrees when he turns to me with a pair of forceps or tweezers—whatever the scissor-looking things are called. Cotton pads are taped down with gauze tape on each pointed end of the metal. Nothing betrays his expression as he lowers them down to my chest. Is he… Holy shit, he’s going to use them as clamps.

He twists one of my nipples between his pointer finger and thumb. My body reacts on its own accord, pressing my head back against the table and pushing my tits against his hand to urge him on. Like the cruel asshole he is, Kohen doesn’t work me harder, continuing with the leisurely, clinical pace he’s set, rolling it around like it’s a game.

I squeeze my eyes shut to focus on the sensations he’s eliciting and keeping silent. A moan bubbles up my throat before I can stop it. Curses spill from my lips when his mouth wraps around my nipple. There’s something almost… hesitant or uncertain about how he circles the aching points with the tip of his tongue before taking them between his teeth in a near-vicious pull. The way his mouth moves is wet and messy, but each flick still sends shockwaves through my body. I buck my hips upward, begging for the slightest bit of friction to alleviate the building ache.

Who would’ve thought this man would know what to do with his tongue? Actually, he doesn’t deserve that high praise when he’s such a prick. Still, it doesn’t stop me from grabbing onto his shirt—which the stupid heart rate monitor makes awkward, but I’m barely aware of it beyond wanting his mouth to stay there so he can continue lavishing my breasts like he’s been waiting a lifetime to do it.

“Greedy little thief,” he murmurs against my skin after I yank him back when he tries to stop. “You get what you’re given.”

Legs? Spread.

Back? Arched.

I almost roll my eyes. If that were the case, Kohen would’ve pried my hands off and continued on his merry way. But here he is, doing half of what I want.

Kohen alternates between sucking the left and right tit, giving the other attention with his fingers when his mouth is preoccupied. My hips roll against the bed in search of relief. If he doesn’t start touching me properly soon, I’m going to take matters into my own bound hands.

This time, when he pulls away, I let him—groaning as his teeth drag against my nipples. He almost looks proud of what he’s done to my painful points. They’re so sensitive it feels like they might rip off from a breeze.

I scowl at him as he holds my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “For the first time in your life, you’re going to be a good girl for me and stay very, very still.”

“Get fucked,” I choke out as he lets go of my chin.

He ignores me, grabbing the forceps and bringing it to my chest. Out of instinct, I latch both hands onto his leg and dig my nails into the stiff muscles. This is going to hurt.

“Relax,” he rasps.

All I can muster is a breathy, “I’m going to fucking kill you,” followed by a hissed, “Asshole,” when the forceps clamp around my nipple. The pain zaps to every corner of my psyche and sends a wave of desire straight to my core. The hiss becomes a whimper for more as I get used to the sensation.

“You can try.” Cockiness laces his voice, but I couldn’t care less about what he has to say as the second one pinches my nipple.

“Fuck.” I jolt when he lets go, making both forceps swing, adding more pressure to my already hurting nipples. This time, the sound that leaves my lips is a starved moan. Every muscle in my stomach convulses, needing release more than I need air. Every breath moves the forceps, and trying to stop myself from mewling is hopeless.

I’m soaked beyond comprehension; worse than the frenzy I was in the night I fucked his leg. The sheet is entirely saturated, and I still feel myself dripping onto the bed. I’ve never denied that I’m attracted to Kohen’s appearance; I just never thought he’d be the one to get me into a state where I’m swollen to the point of pain. I’m so raw, the still air feels like a gentle caress, sending pleasure up my spine.

If he isn’t going to make me come, then I’ll do it myself. I’m so worked up that it won’t even take long.

My hands fall to my core, and the first draw of my fingers over my clit has me cursing. Kohen snatches my hands away before I can find out what sound I’ll make on my second. The angle of my arms above my head makes the forceps drop lower and pull on my nipples.

“Don’t you dare. You come when I let you.”

I bare my teeth at him. I feel fucking feral. I could bring down a mountain, fight God, or become Him with how much pent-up frustration Kohen’s injected into my bloodstream. I’ve hungered for things before—itched like it’s the only thought that consumes my mind. There’s never been a desire that my body, mind, and soul have ached for.

“Someone’s going to get me off, and I doubt you’ll be able to do it.” Lie. Something tells me that he’ll make up for what he might lack in skill with enthusiasm and size. I haven’t tested it out, but he could cover my face with his hand. Having those monstrous-sized fingers inside me would send me to heaven and back before my untimely descent into hell.

The combined pain in my tits and the ache in my pussy is dizzying. He could barter with me, make me sell my soul, and give up everything I’ve ever wanted in life just so I orgasm hard enough to black out on this sterile bed.

Kohen straightens, letting go of my hands. His lips turn downward with a sneer. I didn’t bring up another man, but questioning his abilities is just as bad, I suppose.

If there’s something I know about Kohen, he’ll rise to any challenge I throw his way.

He reaches for something off the trolley, keeping it out of sight as he throws another glance at the heart rate monitor. “Stick your tongue out,” he orders. When I keep my mouth clamped tight in defiance, his nostrils flare. “Do it, and you get to come.”

Now that is how you negotiate. I couldn’t stick my tongue out quicker if I tried.

A brown stick comes into view, and I gasp, momentarily disarmed. That’s not exactly what I thought he had in mind.

Kohen presses the compressor down on my tongue, looking down his nose at me in intrigue. Something wildly innate in me has an uncharacteristic urge to be the best possible patient I can be. It makes me push my tongue out and open my mouth as wide as I can.

What the fuck is this man doing to me?

The tongue compressor doesn’t stay there for long before his fingers replace the wood. The rubbery scent fills my senses and settles over my taste buds as he rubs his fingers up and down my tongue. He goes all the way back when I don’t expect it. My body reacts, closing my throat around him as I rear back and sputter a cough.

Kohen makes a sound of disapproval that makes me want to both lash out and cower. “You can do better than that, Thief.”

The glare I give him doesn’t go very far because his fingers are in my mouth before I can speak, going just as deep as before. Undeterred by my choking, he does it over and over again, going further back each time, almost as if he’s training me. He tips his head to the side as if calculating whether my reflexes can handle him. The prospect of having his cock in my mouth does the opposite of sicken me and, for the first time in my life, I actually want this while being stone-cold sober.

His cock.

It’d be like a treat for being his good little patient.

“Suck them,” he orders.

I try to do as I’m told, but I’m unable to because Kohen chooses that exact moment to finally—finally—push his other fingers into my aching core. And it feels like I just found God, Mary, and fucking Zeus. I visit every version of heaven there is just from the slide of his digits. It’s divine ecstasy.

Bucking up into his hand, I quietly moan around him just so he doesn’t get the satisfaction of hearing the full extent of my pleasure. Also, if I let myself make all the sounds I want to make, someone’s going to call security, and I can’t promise myself I won’t be charged with homicide at the end of it.

Kohen pulls his fingers out of my cunt, and my eyes snap wide open.

How dare he stop? I’m going to fucking kill—

“Suck,” he says, his voice low enough to vibrate in my veins.

There’s no snarky comment I can make when my lips are wrapped around his glove-covered fingers in a game of tonsil hockey. If I buck my hips in search of his hand, he wins the round, but if I move my top half, pain will slice through my chest from the clamps. So we enter into a stare-off, with him still in my mouth and my core dripping and swollen.

I’m going to break first. He knows it. I know it. There’s no point to the quarrel, but boy does it feel good to see his eyes turn to stone when I wrap my tongue around his digits and play with them languidly, just like he did with my nipples.

It’s a sweet treat. A lollipop. It’d be a crime not to taste every inch of it.

The tip of my tongue runs along his latex fingers, pushing in the seam between them to give each the deserved attention. I pull back, kissing them, devouring them, acting out everything I would do to Kohen’s cock. He’s forgotten that he’s not the only one who can be thorough.

His breaths come out heavy as he zeroes in on my tongue’s ministrations. The same power I felt that night in my room flows through me as his hand closes the distance to my pussy.

That’s right, Pyro. You’re my bitch too.

He teases me just like I’m teasing him, skirting around my entrance and skating his latex-clad hand over my clit. The rubber adds an extra layer of pleasure I didn’t think was possible. I mimic the move with my tongue, this time dropping my attention away from his hazel eyes down to the dent pushing against his pants. Just as I’m about to give in and behave like he wants, he pulls his fingers out of my mouth and uses them to breach my entrance at the same time he slams his lips to mine to swallow a silent scream .

The kiss is as bruising as it was the first night, except I’m needier and angrier, and his kiss feels desperate.

The same desperation tinges his voice when he slips out of me to discard his gloves on the table.

“I want to feel you when you come,” he pants.

A low groan rumbles through his chest when he sinks his bare fingers back into me. My eyelids flutter at the warmth of his skin directly against mine. Something about the direct contact makes the touch more sensual and intimate as if this is not just a onetime thing, but rather the start of a bond. His rough, calloused hands waste no time pummeling me like we’re about to get caught, and he wants to finish the job with flying colors. The metallic taste of blood blooms on my tongue from biting it to keep from making a sound. Anyone could come knocking on that door, and only one of us is naked right now.

If all doctor visits were like this and from men who look like Kohen, I’d be making weekly appointments.

He makes the act of fucking me with his fingers seem so medical, with his flattened brows and the hawklike focus in his eyes.

Actually, maybe medical isn’t the right word. Methodical. Critical. An experiment to figure out what makes me tick and what makes me scream. Kohen’s probably writing mental notes of his findings, and planning the next phase in his kinky clinical trials. It’s the face of a man with a goal in mind, and every intention to succeed beyond measure.

The lewd sounds of his fingers vigorously pumping into me fills the air. It makes me preen knowing he wants to study me and become familiar with every facet of my body so he knows how best to treat it.

A different kind of pressure builds in the base of my stomach—a feeling I’m not familiar with.

“You think Kiervan or Elijah could make you feel this good?” Kohen flicks my nipple, and I bite down a scream, making the heart rate monitor go berserk. “I asked you a question.”

“Better,” I snap, even though the thought of going near either of them makes me sick to my stomach. They both deserve to rot for all the shit they’ve done.

Kohen curves his fingers just right, hitting the spot that makes white light dance behind my vision. The buildup of pressure doesn’t just ease, it falls over the edge and crashes into the water below. I cry out, throwing my head back as warmth gushes out from between my legs and soaks the sheet. The sudden motion causes the clamps to create delightful pain.

“Shh, not so loud. We wouldn’t want someone to come in and see you like this.” He covers my mouth with his hand, his sinister, teasing voice wrapping around me to make my toes curl. His attempt at silencing me doesn’t do much other than muffle the sounds. “Figures my klepto would be a squirter.”

The first thought that goes through my mind is to bite him. And that’s exactly what I do; I open my mouth and sink my teeth into the tender flesh of his fingers, using them to stifle my moans.

“Fuck,” he growls, keeping his hand exactly where it is, and his fingers curled to make the pressure in my core soar higher.

Now I understand why women want vocal men. I hurt him—on purpose—and he sounds like he’s going to reach a violent ecstasy. The same ecstasy I’m chasing to new heights. It hits faster than I realize because my teeth come down harder as I choke on a scream. Scrambling for his chest or the sheets of the bed with my bound hands, anything to keep me grounded as fireworks explode through every cell in my body so savagely I think I might pass out.

Kohen frees his hand from my bite the second I go lax, his other sliding out of me with a loud, wet noise. The next thing I know, his belt is off, along with his shirt, pants, and underwear, until he’s standing before me in all his naked glory.

Adonis. The word perfectly describes him, and his perfectly chiseled abs, to the sprawling line of his chest and torso. There isn’t a single inch of him that hasn’t been molded into a masterpiece. His bronze skin looks artful under the fluorescent light as he grabs something else from the trolley.

The tattoos on his chest are perfectly symmetrical: two coiling snakes that wrap around his back.

The real showstopper is the thing saluting me from his hips. I had no intention of letting this go beyond my own orgasm, but now that I see his cock outside of his pants… I guess it’s one hell of a way to die. Charlie better get her eulogy ready; there aren’t many hills I’m willing to die on, but as of today, there is a mountain I’m willing to conquer—and I’m no hiker.

Fuck it. Today, I’m all about trying everything at least once.

For my sanity’s sake though, I put on a show of fighting him as he positions himself between my legs, condom rolled on already—Jesus, it really is one size fits all. The heart rate monitor goes flying off my finger in the scuffle.

He wrestles my wrists above my head with a single hand, stationing himself right against my entrance. For some reason, the fury in his eyes hasn’t dissipated. He looks like he despises himself for wanting to do this. If that’s the case, then even if he comes, I’m still a winner because he would have hated every second of it.

My lips fall on a silent gasp as he pushes himself in. He’s only put the fucking tip in, and I think I’m about to see Mother Mary. I continue thrashing against his hold, moving my hips in the process to feel the sheer girth of him stretching me to the point it stings.

Cursing under his breath, he moves and places the full weight of his trembling upper body on the hand beside my head. He lets go of my wrists and withstands the onslaught of my fruitless fighting while trying to adjust our hips.

My breath stutters as he releases the forceps from my nipples, never once slowing in his descent. Sensitive isn’t an apt enough description of the state my nipples are in. It’s so bad I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from groaning when his chest brushes against mine.

Increment by agonizing increment, he pushes himself into me. The heat of his stained gaze never once leaves my face. It’s like he’s trying to remember every part of this—every part of me—while loathing me all the same.

Kohen traps my arms between us as he sinks the entirety of himself inside me, reaching so far back that I swear I can taste him in my throat.

“Fuck,” he says, voice hoarse. The arms beside my head shake as if this is the most difficult thing he’s ever done. “You feel unreal—so goddamn good.”

My cheeks heat at the compliment. He had been imagining what I felt like. The ache that radiates through my center has me tensing up, ready to push him back out. But instead, he flattens his hips with mine, giving me more when I thought there was nothing more to give. I squeeze my eyes shut to focus on something other than the pain.

This is it. This is when the hurt starts, where the final betrayal will happen, and Kohen becomes irredeemable.

He’ll hold me down despite how many different names I call out. He’ll grab onto my injured foot and pummel me into the exam table until my insides become unrecognizable. He’d do it all with a smile on his face, laughing because he finally broke my body.

Only he doesn’t do any of that. He stays right where he is, giving me time to adjust, rubbing circles over my clit to loosen my muscles.

Stay still and let me take care of you.

That’s what he said to me. He took the clamps off because they’d hurt when he thrusts. He took steps to keep my ankle free from added discomfort—demanded that the nurse give me ice and painkillers. He made me see God with his fingers before he gave me his cock.

Let me take care of you.

If this is all a game, it’s going to hurt when I lose. The betrayal won’t just impact him; it’ll be irreparable for the rest of my life. What other ending is there if I’m letting the man I hate in? If I sat still just because he asked?

I will realize I don’t hate him nearly as much as I thought. It isn’t soul-deep or life-altering. I’m angry—pissed—but here I am, letting him tie my wrists together and strip me bare when anyone could barge in.

Even though I know he’s holding on by a thread, he hesitantly pulls out of me just as slowly as he went in. His ragged breaths brush my skin as he moves his fingers from beside my head to press his thumb against the pulse point in my neck.

Maybe some innate part of me trusts him enough to do all this because I know his rage is as vast as mine. I pulled the trigger; it was only a matter of time before he retaliated. Yet here he is with vehemence in his eyes, the same look he’s harbored since the first day he met me.

He’s fucking me with so much tenderness it almost feels like he cares about me. His hips thrust into me, the type of rolling motion that doesn’t shake the bed or jolt through my body. Nothing about it is forceful or harsh.

It’s gentle.

I don’t deserve gentle.

I don’t deserve the care he’s expressing, even if it is all fake.

Someone like me doesn’t get love or the dashing young prince who will save her from the big bad dragon. I was born alone, and it’s already been written in the books of life that I’m meant to die alone, never knowing anything but carnage and emptiness.

In drugs, I could find that solace. I’m less alone in the company of blankness or colorful sounds.

Right now, I hate him not for what has happened in the past, but because this is the cruelest thing he’s ever done to me. Giving me a taste of what I will never have. I’ll spend the rest of my life yearning for an idea that was never real.

I squeeze my eyes shut when they start to sting.

Then Kohen kisses me.

Oh, he kisses me.

His lips move like they have finally found their counterpart. They taste like lost dreams. I savor it because if all of this is a sham, at least when I die, I’ll know what it feels like to be important to someone.

So I kiss him back because I want to know what it feels like to have someone genuinely matter to me. While we kiss, I’m struck with the agonizing realization that I could get used to this; the feel of it all, consuming me completely until I tip over the edge and into a hangover I’ll never recover from .

Hazel greets me when I open my eyes, staring back into my empty abyss. He always watches me even when I don’t want him to. It’s another thing I could overfill myself on; having someone’s eyes on me and only me.

Kohen drives his hips into me faster, pushing me out of the spell of my own mind to swallow down each moan he forces out of me. Gently, he takes my legs off the stirrups to deepen each thrust. There’s something almost… uncertain about the way he moves, as if he’s trying to figure out whether he’s on the right track.

The painful ache in my core is gone. All that’s left is the fierce desire to find the high I had felt before he treated me like I was something to be cherished. He keeps circling my clit, drawing the pleasure through me.

“What happened to rest, ice, compression, and elevation?” I pant out the acronym for R.I.C.E, not sure he can understand the words I’m saying.

“That’s why your legs are on my shoulders and not shaking against the bed.” His next thrust comes exceptionally hard, paired with a frown of concentration.

I reach for the wall above my head to stop the bed from hitting the wall and alerting everyone to our tryst. He doesn’t falter in his brutal pace, driving into me with desperate vigor.

The orgasm is forced from me without warning, shooting stars all around us as I tighten around him and cling to the top of the table. In an ungodly feat, he moves faster, hitting me harder with each thrust until he drops his head against mine, releasing a groan that fills the room.

“Fuck,” I whisper as my body convulses with the aftermath of my second orgasm, and I unintentionally lurch forward when he pulls out after a few heated seconds of heavy breathing.

A sheen of lust covers my vision as he pulls off the condom. My brows pinch momentarily as I try to make sense of the fact that he isn’t getting off the bed or throwing it away.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I screech. My hand flies out to swat him away, but it’s too late.

“You fucked up.” The warm liquid of the emptied condom slowly drips from my pussy. A grin works its way across his face as he pushes his come back into me with two fingers. “You fucked up bad, little thief. You’re mine now.”

“You fucking asshole.”

He nods toward the trolley where a packet of birth control awaits me.

How romantic.