Page 60 of The Doctor

She whimpered. She moaned. The girl gasped and pleaded and begged me for more.

I couldn’t deny her.

I never could say no.

So I flipped her off me, tossed her on her back, and covered her slick body with mine.

My dick twitched as I moved inside her, and as she screamed out her release, I picked up my pace. Lightning zipped across my spine and my balls pulled up as my dick swelled.

Clara held me close as I spilled every last drop of my cum into her. A roar tore free from my throat as she cried out into the space between us. And as I floated back down to earth, I found reality shifted.

Where once this girl had been the one person in the world I cared about most, now this woman, this beautiful, smart, infuriating woman, was the one I loved more than anything else.

21

Zeno

Paulo was still sitting at my dining table after I let Santini out the door, wine glass in hand as he pondered the state of my patient. “He seems better, mentally,” he said without bothering to look back at me.

“Does he?” I regained my seat, though all I wanted to do was bury my head in my hands.

“He’s talking more.”

“He barely said a word.” Paulo smiled and amusement played across his face. I shook my head, grabbed my wine glass, and threw back the rest of my drink. “Okay, fine. He talked more for Santini.”

The man never talked unless he was comfortable. Even back when he was a kid, when Paulo had just sprung him from juvie, back when I was still in school. Paulo had come to me with his concerns for the boy. But there was nothing I could tell him at that point. Because, physically, Santini was fine.

Mental health had never been my strong suit.

How could it be, growing up in this world?

It wasn’t until Jet befriended the kid, until the two broken boys Paulo had taken in began talking to each other, that we realized Santini was just a quiet boy.

Now, a quiet man.

“Perhaps he felt the need to make up for your silence.”

I dropped back against my chair, fingering my empty glass and wishing it was full.

“It’s been a long couple of days.” Days of worry for Clara. Days of guilt at what I’d done. Guilt for what I wanted to do again.

Her healing was my main concern. I couldn’t sacrifice her security just to get my dick wet. Not after what she’d been through. Not after what she told me she’d been doing for years.

Stealing Daphne’s pills. Trading completed homework assignments for cash so she could go out and buy her own. Sneaking into Stephano’s club, not so she could drink and party and dance, but so she could meet with her dealer and get more drugs.

Drugs so she could focus. So she could calm the screaming voices in her head.

So she wouldn’t tear her skin from her body or get lost to a thousand little rituals.

Paulo didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. I was well aware of where this conversation was going to go, long before he and Santini showed up on my doorstep for our weekly dinners that were part of Santini’s treatment plan.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Paulo.”

He hummed quietly. “I’m sure you don’t. Unfortunately, Berto is demanding answers that I don’t have.”

Scrubbing a hand down my face, I looked at the door to the kitchen, wishing I could disappear through it. I wanted to get back to Clara. To make sure she was okay.

“I don’t know what to tell you.”