Cormac takes me harder than any man has taken me in bed. Rough. Slamming into me, our skin slapping. Our grunts and curses and pleas echo in the room.
“Christ.” He gives one last, deep thrust.“Fuuuck.”
I’m still trembling when he pulls out and collapses on top of me.
He turns my face gently, so our eyes meet. “That was incredible.” He kisses me. Hard. Claiming.
Then he gets up and tosses the condom in the trash can. Facing away from me, he puts his clothes on.
I don’t know if that took minutes or an hour. I’m dazed, staring out of the window when he comes back to the side of the bed, fully dressed and with the cup of water.
He gazes down at me with piercing green eyes that are darker now. Brushing hair from my eyes, I notice his hands are slightly trembling.
“Drink the rest of this,” he says.
“Okay,” I say, taking the cup.
“Thank you. I really enjoyed that,” he says and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Goodbye, Scarlett.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
Chapter 7
Scarlett
My EMS station in the Bronx sits wedged between a deli and a pet store. Puppies are a great mood equalizer, and the owner lets us come in any time to hold them and soak up wet kisses.
The station’s bay, a brick bunker, smells like rubber and exhaust. The company’s two available ambulances sit waiting to race out and save lives, their taillights pulsing like tired red eyes.
As I climb the narrow staircase to the station kitchen, my duffel over my shoulder, the scent of burnt coffee grounds wafts down to me. The scent gives the place a special, unique aroma.
An emergency waits for no man’s java.
Securing my baseball cap to hide my bruise, I wave to two of the dayshift guys playing cards. The rest of the gang for this shift lounge on the leather sofas, scrolling through their phones and watching television.
Finn, a cool-headed paramedic, comes out of the supply room and puts his hands up. “Your partner is on the phone with a rig mechanic,” he says, pity in his voice. “Enter at your own risk.”
Noted.
I push open the door to the supply room.
Regan is pacing between shelves of trauma dressings and saline bags, the cordless office phone pressed to her ear. Eyes murderous, her hair is in the regulation bun that currently resembles a bird’s nest of stress.
“No,” she snaps into the bone-colored receiver. “That’s not what you said yesterday. You told me the repair was under warranty, and all I had to pay was adeductible.”
Regan spots me and thrusts the phone at my chest. “Fix this.”
“What?”
“Company three needs their rig. These bozos are trying to charge me two thousand dollars over the estimate they gave me yesterday. It’s just a blower motor for the HVAC, and it’s supposed to be covered under warranty.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
“He can’t help me right now.” Regan presses the phone harder into my tits. “You. I need you. Use your ‘I’m with the Langstons’ voice. Terrify them.”
The name Langston does terrify most people in the medical industry. Ambulance repair shops included.
Only… Since I walked out on Pierce last night, I’m notwiththe Langstons anymore. But hey, they don’t know that.