A/N: Hello rockin' readers! This story was my entry into the Bodice Rippers contest and won First Place Voter's Choice, judge LilyJill's choice, Most Romantic, and Sexiest Guy. I was blown away by the response and hope those of you who didn't read will join me for this one. I have to warn, it's angsty and will (hopefully) make you cry. I promise it will all make sense in the end, and it is not a cheat fic, despite how it may seem. There will be six chapters and an epilogue, all prewritten. There is the possibility of a future take. I'm happy to answer any questions that don't give away the plot.
I have to thank my awesome betas, SassySue (chayasara) and Wendy (wmr1601), for wielding the sparkly reds and smoothing out my bumps. There aren't enough thanks for my awesome prereader, Aleea (aleeab4u). Aleea digs in there and asks the hard questions, causing me to make revisions. Her input is invaluable. Mwah!
Okay, let's dive in.
oOo
Chapter One
~In Too Deep~
Edward's fingers trail across the heated skin of my navel as his mouth works me expertly. I claw fistfuls of silk and writhe against his face without shame. Throwing my head back, I give in to the sparks flaming through every nerve ending as his lips and tongue draw me so high, all coherent thought is lost.
My cries mingle in the air with his soft moans. Edward seems to derive the greatest pleasure when bringing me to the brink of ecstasy and beyond.
I shiver, my sweat-damp body craving the heat and weight of him on top of me. Scrabbling at his shoulders, I encourage him to leave the cradle of my thighs. "Want you . . . inside me."
Edward slides up the bed, holding himself above me. The crisp fabric of his untucked dress shirt tickles my skin.
I slide my hands between us and start undoing the buttons. "You're overdressed."
He grabs my wrists and pins them above my head, leaning in to kiss me.
When Edward kisses, it's an all-consuming experience. He nips at my bottom lip, teasing and playing before licking across it slowly. The burning emeralds of his eyes watch me with an intensity that used to make me uncomfortable, but I crave it now.
With a muffled groan, he flexes his hips, the edges of his shirt rasping across my tender skin in tantalizing contrast to the soft caress of his gabardine slacks. I latch my legs around him and dig my bare heels into his ass, lifting my pelvis to meet the downward grind of his. At the same time, I twist my upper body in an attempt to escape his hold; I want my hands free to undress, to touch, to slide yearning fingers into the chaotic softness of his hair.
"Slow down, Freddie," he whispers against my mouth just before his tongue slides inside to join with mine.
I'm lost the moment his tongue fills my mouth; all thoughts of escape or rushing slip from my desire-hazed mind. His lips go from barely there to commanding and everything in between. On some level, I feel his body grazing mine, his hand caressing my face, but it's distant compared to the sensations originating from our kiss. I almost come again, just from the tang of myself mingling between us. I give myself over, like always, allowing Edward to set our pace, to decide how far we go.
He turns us, landing on his back with me straddling his clothed body. He guides me over the bulge of his erection, my sensitive flesh awakening instantly.
"Oh . . ." My head tilts back involuntarily, long hair swishing against my ass, sending delicious shivers up my spine.
Edward's hands leave my hips to span my ribs. His thumbs circle the tightening buds of my nipples, causing a shower of sparks to ignite every place we touch.
I lean back and try to undo his pants, but he grabs my wrists with a shake of his head, tugging me back in place.
I gasp at the renewed sensation. "Won't last long . . . ."
Edward curls his upper body toward me and cups the back of my neck. "All over my tongue. I'll taste you all night." He kisses me hard, exploring my mouth. When he pulls away, we're both breathless. He brings our foreheads together, looking deeply into my eyes. "Ride me . . . Freddie."
And I do. Our gazes remain connected, one of his hands supporting my back, the fingers of the other tweaking a nipple or slipping between us to tease at my sensitive nub.
"Eyes open," he whispers when my lids flutter.
Edward has this compulsion to look into my eyes, especially at the moment of climax. It's difficult to override natural instincts, but I always fight for him. I rock against him, long and slow, releasing an incoherent moan as I gradually increase the pace. Our foreheads and gazes remain in contact, unspoken messages passing between our souls as we breathe harder, drawing ever closer to the edge.
I fall first. I always do.
Edward knows when I'm about to come. I see it in his eyes.
A blaze of rising ecstasy explodes in a starburst within me, outside me, around me. Everything disappears except Edward's gleaming eyes, greedy for the sight of me falling apart.
And when I can no longer maintain eye contact, he slants his mouth over mine and swallows all my sounds.
I jolt awake in the darkness, confined by the tangle of sheets. Alone. Taking a deep breath, I slip out of bed and pad from the room, using the soft glow emanating from the living area as a guide.
The loft doesn't have the empty feel it usually does after Edward leaves, and my heart speeds at the thought he might still be here.
Edward never spends the night. When this began, he was clear about the rules.
Be professional at work.
Keep the secret.
Don't get attached.
Meet only at the loft.
Absolutely no sleepovers.
It was easy at first, but I seem to be having trouble with numbers three and five.
I round the corner of the bedroom, the only walled-off area of the loft, continuing past my "office" to enter the living room. Empty. A heavy stone of disappointment sits in my chest.
Then I spot the lone figure standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, naked from the waist up, forehead resting on one bent arm. The coppery glow of the sodium lights from outside paints his torso a rich bronze, contrasted by deep shadow, but his hair—which is a bronzy tangle of reds and browns—appears black.
I wonder what he sees as he stares out the window, so still and silent. He could be a statue. I often wonder what resides behind Edward's carefully constructed façade, what thoughts live behind his eyes.
I move slowly toward the windows. Part of me is afraid he'll disappear in a puff of smoke. It's not a frivolous thought. He might not vanish into thin air, but Edward is great at disappearing acts and keeping me at arm's length. There are moments he doesn't think I'm watching where I get a glimpse of the unnamed guilt and pain he carries.
He senses my presence. "What are you doing up?" The softly asked question holds concern, not censure.
Instead of telling him I often wake and can't go back to sleep on the nights he slips from my bed, I rest my palms against his bare back and inch them up to his powerful shoulders, placing a kiss on the small tattoo decorating his left scapula: a caduceus topped by angel wings, inscribed with the words Do no harm.
Edward groans softly and faces me, catching my hands in his and bringing them up around his neck. The light from outside tips his tousled hair with a fiery halo, but the shadows claim his face, leaving me unable to discern his expression.
Once my arms lock around Edward's neck, he slides his hands along them until his fingers tangle in the back of my hair. Soft lips press to mine, his tongue flicking my bottom one. Desire effervesces through my system. I'm addicted to his kisses and the complete attention Edward pays when touching me, as if I were a goddess he's worshiping.
"I love you in my shirt," he whispers against my lips before delving his tongue inside my mouth. He slips one hand inside the unbuttoned shirt to cup a breast.
I'm not even sure how I ended up wearing the shirt since I don't remember Edward undressing tonight. He always wants me naked, but sometimes he remains fully clothed. It's almost as if he feels undeserving of pleasure.
Edward's hand leaves my breast, traveling over the flat plain of my stomach and lower, lower until he sinks two fingers inside me. My nails claw at his shoulders, and he groans into my mouth, pushing in and out of me slowly.
I weave my fingers into his hair and tilt my head back. He sucks on the tender flesh of my neck, swirling his tongue and nipping with his teeth. The rhythm of his hand never falters; the man knows how to multitask.
"I want your cock . . . so deep."
He removes his magic fingers, and we fumble our way across the room. Edward spins me away from him and bends me over the back of my leather couch. "Leave the shirt on." The command comes husky and breathless.
My mouth waters with anticipation when I hear the clink of his belt buckle. He guides himself inside me, his hands grabbing my hips, pulling back as he pushes forward. I wish I could see his firm, tight ass as he drives into me, watch his face as he loses control. Edward's harsh breathing and involuntary moans indicate how much he's enjoying this. It's the best I'm going to get because he rarely lets go face-to-face.
It doesn't matter that I've already had two orgasms tonight; my body craves his like a drug and clenches around him. I dig my nails into the buttery leather and cry out to him. Edward slams into me over and over, sending me tumbling into an intense climax that seems to go on forever. Even after he cries out his own release and collapses against me, delicious aftershocks continue to radiate.
"Oh my God." I breathe out, loving the weight of his chest against my back. The warmed leather feels sensual against my nipples. I could lie here just like this forever.
A shuddering vibration comes from the coffee table. Edward's phone. Shit timing.
"Fuck." He groans, pulling out of me.
The lit screen is in the perfect position for me to see.
Incoming Call: Sunnyvale
Edward walks around the couch, his pants hanging low on his hips—hips that were just thrusting into me so hard. I bite back a moan.
He snatches up the phone. "Dr. Masen . . . Yes . . . When? . . . How bad was it?" He traps the phone between ear and shoulder, buckling his pants and hurrying over to the kitchen table to grab his wallet and keys. "Okay . . . Thank you. Yes, you were right to call me."
I wriggle off the back of the couch, following him slowly, my legs like jelly. "Sunnyvale?"
"Late stage Alzheimer's patient." His tone is brusque. He stuffs the wallet and keys in his pants and grabs his jacket off the hook by the door.
"I'm sure the nurses at Sunnyvale would love to get a look at your sculpted muscles, but it might be considered unprofessional to show up shirtless."
Edward's eyes widen, and he looks down at himself, muttering a low oath.
I step in close and let his shirt slip off my shoulders, catching it before it hits the floor, leaving me naked. I help him into the shirt, button it for him, and go up on tiptoe, pressing a soft kiss on his mouth. "My scent is all over your pants . . ." I cup his crotch, squeezing lightly. " . . . and your shirt smells of us. Every time the fabric brushes your skin, I want you to remember tonight."
Edward hovers in the doorway and cups my cheek. "I won't be able to forget." He slides the door closed, and I press my forehead to the cool metal.
His words should make me feel good, but they come across sounding more curse, less blessing.
There's no chance of sleep after being bent over my couch and then dealt the one-two punch of being interrupted by Edward's job and his potential displeasure over the fact he has to work in clothes that smell like sex.
I brew a cup of tea and pour a dollop of brandy in it. I'm too restless to sit, so I toss a robe on and stand by the living room windows, looking out over the river.
I met Dr. Edward Masen at Braden University Medical Center during my nursing program. I've never been attracted to older men, but something about the way his green eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled caught my attention. The man is gorgeous and has the groupies to prove it, but traditional good looks have never meant much to me. There has to be something more, a soul-level connection, and Dr. Masen met all the required elements.
We'd just finished with orthopedics and were starting neurology. Angela had convinced me to go out drinking the previous evening, and we both hovered at the back, trying to hide our bloodshot eyes and compromised intellect.
A ripple of excited whispers did the wave through the room. "We're following Dr. Hot today!"
"Who the hell is Dr. Hot?" I responded automatically.
Apparently, the ability to use my inside voice was also compromised. Muffled giggles erupted. But that wasn't the worst part. No, that was when a guy in a crisp white lab coat with a fancy looking stethoscope hanging around his neck, emerald eyes, and a shock of wild, bronze hair leaned over and looked directly into my bloodshot eyes.
"I guess that would be me." He grinned, tapping his name tag: Edward Masen, M.D.
My mouth rounded into an O, and I nodded in an attempt to play it cool. Something transferred from his soul to mine, and then his eyes crinkled with amusement, removing the remnants of my filter. "Totally get the reference now."
Angela made a choking sound, and the rest of the nursing students laughed or rolled their eyes.
Dr. Hot didn't laugh—he blushed a deep crimson that crept up his neck to color his cheeks and ended at the tips of both ears.
I tried to avoid him; really, I did. He just kept looking hot and smiling shyly whenever his eyes met mine.
Angela tried to dissuade me. "He's ten years older and sporting a shackle on his ring finger!"
Indeed he was. The age thing I could overlook, but a married man? That was a line I'd never considered crossing before.
Neurology became an area of great interest. Every time Dr. Hot asked a question, I knew the answer. When he needed an errand run, I volunteered. I was smitten but pretending it was in the name of my career—and kept reminding myself (with waning enthusiasm) that he was married, not mine.
My antics were obvious enough that the other girls started whispering, "Fetch it, Freddie" whenever I helped Dr. Hot—er, Masen. Apparently, the nickname came from an old child's toy. Once an older nurse explained—and made comparisons to my behavior—it became the favorite new catchphrase.
Dr. Masen was choosing a small group of top candidates to observe rounds. "The following nursing students will begin making rounds with me and my residents. Cary, Angela, Joan, Freddie, and Lynn. Ladies, please come up for badges and instructions."
I was disappointed he didn't call my name, but I was thrilled for Angela. The girls huddled around Dr. Masen.
"We're missing someone." Dr. Masen emerged from the group, his green eyes scanning the room. He looked directly at me. "There you are, Freddie! Join us," he said with a wave of his hand.
Laughter broke out. Dr. Masen looked down at his lab coat. "Am I wearing part of my lunch?"
I flipped the bird at my fellow students and strolled over to Dr. Hot. "It's me they're laughing at."
He tilted his head. "You? Why in the world would anyone laugh at you?" He said this with such seriousness.
That made me smile. "My name is Bella, not Freddie. They call me Fetch it Freddie, after—"
His eyes lit up. "The toy! I had one of those!"
Of course he did.
Something essential changed between us that day. Edward chose me often—to answer questions, go on rounds, and participate in special projects. He's never called me Bella, not once. In fact, everyone at the hospital calls me Freddie now; it's even on my name tag.
My brandy-laced tea is gone. Pale yellow light from the rising sun glints off the ripples in the river outside the loft. An entire night gone. I wonder how I'm going to make it through work today. I usually catch a few hours of sleep after Edward leaves, but things are getting complicated for me.
I don't want to be Edward's girl on the side, mistress, or fuck buddy.
Edward's life is apparently complicated. He's married but hasn't had a sexual relationship with his wife for several years. He loves her, but they don't live together. He claims to be in love with me, but Edward dies a little and guilt pours off him every time he utters the words. Many nights, he doesn't undress when we make love. Sometimes, such as earlier tonight, we dry hump. Those are the times the guilt radiating from his eyes is the worst. I can gauge the level of guilt by how much he takes off, if there's penetration, and how long he stays.
Edward refuses to explain other than to say he never intended to have feelings for me, can't seem to stop himself even though it hurts, and our arrangement must remain secret. If I can't accept the terms, we can't see each other.
I'm in too deep to say no.
oOo
A/N: Thoughts on Dr. Hot? Talk to me! Planning to post chapters weekly-ish. I may post another one this week. Let's see how things go.
