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Erika rolled over and groaned, unable—or perhaps the better word was unwilling—to peel her eyes open. Her head hurt. Not that she was surprised.
That’s what happens when you consume a bottle of wine.
Laying there, she let her thoughts play over everything that happened last night, her cheeks growing hot as she recalled not only showing Blake her sex toys but letting him use them on her.
Jesus. Christ.
She wanted to blame the wine, and in part, she did. It had certainly lowered her inhibitions because there was no way she would have engaged in a conversation about masturbation with Blake while sober. And there was no freaking way that discussion would have led them to her bedroom to do…what they did.
Holy. Shit.
She’d had what she considered decent orgasms in her life, but none of them held a candle to the two Blake had wrung out of her.
Two!
Erika was, and always had been, a one-and-done girl. Hell, most of the time, she was lucky if she got to one. She hadn’t lied to her sexy neighbor when she’d told him that her orgasms took work, and some of her past lovers hadn’t always expended that effort.
Of course, she shouldn’t be surprised by Blake’s mad skills. The guy liked sex, and he had enough of it that he should know what the hell he was doing in the bedroom.
Rubbing her brow wearily, she moaned, cursing herself.
What the fuck had she done?
They’d crossed one hell of a line last night, but even as she thought those words, she struggled to summon any actual regret.
Because…
Mother. Of. God.
It was the hottest sexual experience of her life. And Blake hadn’t even removed a stitch of clothing. Hell, she hadn’t even taken off her shirt and bra, she realized as she glanced down, now aware she was only naked from the waist down.
Erika forced herself to rise, throwing on the lounge pants she’d stripped off before crawling into bed. Tossing on some fuzzy socks, she made her way to the kitchen in search of water and aspirin.
Spotting the empty wine bottle on the counter, she blew out a long, slow breath.
It honestly felt like she’d had some sort of out-of-body experience last night because every single thing she’d done had been in direct opposition to how she usually handled things.
Usually, she was able to leave her work concerns at work.
Her wine consumption was limited to one or two glasses.
She didn’t discuss her sex life.
Her willpower had never wavered when faced with Blake’s undeniable sexiness.
She hadn’t lost a lot of patients in her career, but she’d witnessed more than a few deaths. None of them had rattled her quite like Sara’s. Not that she was surprised by that. Erika knew exactly why she’d let it get to her the way she had.
She’d seen herself in that young girl, recognized that fourteen years ago, it could have been her dying in that ER…all because of one very stupid, split-second decision.
Erika had looked at Sara’s parents and seen her own. Imagined how they might have reacted if Erika’s poor judgment had ended as tragically as Sara’s.
She hadn’t shared any of that with Blake because she wasn’t that girl anymore. A single night had altered her trajectory, sent her down a much different path than the one she’d been traveling. And while she’d been young at the time, there was still a sense of shame—even after all these years—that kept her silent rather than confessing to Blake why Sara’s death had shaken her so badly.
She’d appreciated his willingness to listen to her, and the compassion she’d seen in his eyes, the kindness, had comforted her. There was something about his presence that always steadied her and helped her find her footing. Perhaps it was because of his habit of taking care of her.
Erika considered herself an independent woman, one fully capable of handling her own shit…most of the time. She was assertive, confident, and comfortable in her own skin.
She didn’t need anyone to look after her, but there was a difference between needing and wanting.
