Page 8 of The Doctor

That would have to wait for when I didn’t have my last two finals of the summer semester to deal with tomorrow.

I jabbed a finger into the buttons on the remote until the picture popped up and the movie started to play. Then I settled back, leaning against Zee as I ignored that scritching, scratching animal in my brain. Other than getting up to grab our drinks off the tray on the edge of the ottoman, and once more to get the blanket Zee had tossed on me on the other side of the couch, I didn’t leave his side. Not when he handed the popcorn bowl off to me. Not when he set his drink on the table at his side.

And certainly not as his eyes started to close, his body sank into the deep cushions on the couch, and his breathing quieted.

Only then did I move. I put the popcorn and my drink safely out of the way, then reached for the button on his pants.

He couldn’t sleep in his trousers.

He couldn’t.

I tugged them down his long legs, then draped that blanket over him before climbing in next to him and wrapping his arm around my waist. Then I watched the rest of the movie before drifting off into the most marvelous, peaceful sleep.

4

Zeno

The birds chirping outside my window woke me from the deepest sleep. I stretched my legs, squeezed my pillow closer to my chest…

And fucking stopped.

My pillow wasn’t my pillow. It was soft yet had a firmness to it no pillow had ever had. And it smelled like the most delicious treat I’d never allowed myself to taste.

I flexed my fingers. Squeezed once again.

Then froze as my pillow groaned.

My eyelids were heavy, but I forced them open and blinked away the grit in my eyes.

A head of blonde hair was tucked under my chin, and it was that, those long locks, that smelled so damn good.

For one fraction of a moment, I allowed myself to fall back into my dream. My fucking nightmare. Where I’d pulled Clara close to my body. Rubbed my aching dick against her hot, soaking flesh. Pushed so deep inside of her I thought I’d be lost there for good.

But my pillow squirmed in my hands, and that dream was my fucking nightmare.

It was Clara’s breast I held in my hand. Clara’s body weighing down my arm.

Clara’s back my aching dick was pressed against.

And it was her hand coasting along the outside of my leg, which was draped over her hip, pinning her to the bed.

“Zee.” Before I could make sense of where I was or see anything but the barest outline of the room—my den, not my bedroom; my couch, not my fucking bed—Clara spun in my grip.

Then it was her back I was holding, her stomach my dick was pressed into.

Her hands skimming up my bare chest.

She kissed me. Pressed her pouty lips to mine. And for a moment, I was sure I was back in my dream.

Nothing felt right.

Nothing felt real.

How had this happened? How was I wrapped up around Clara Vinci when I’d done everything in my power to stay away from her for the past five years?

She’d bloomed later than most her age, but my God, when she did?

Un-fucking-believable.