Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
She’s not immune to me. I know it. I sense it.
Before the dark impulse can take over, I draw in a breath and let it out slowly. As good as it would feel to fuck Sara, I want her trust as much as her body.
I want her to sing for me of her own accord.
“Go to sleep, ptichka,” I murmur when she remains silent, all her questions choked off for now. “You’ll be safe tonight.”
And ignoring the hunger raging through my body, I close my eyes and sink into a light but restful sleep.
* * *
I wake up three times during the night, twice when Sara tries to free herself from my embrace—undoubtedly to escape and do something painful to me—and once when she wakes up from a bad dream. I hold her tighter in each case, and she eventually falls asleep again. After a while, so do I, though the lust gnawing at me only grows more intense throughout the night. By morning, I’m ready to explode, and it takes all of twenty seconds to jerk off when I go use the restroom.
She’s still asleep when I come out of the bathroom, and I contemplate getting back under the covers with her. However, it’s almost seven, and I want to catch up with Anton before he crashes for the day. I’m also not entirely certain of my self-control; the quick release barely took the edge off my violent craving for her.
If I climb into bed with Sara again, I run the risk of breaking my promise.
Deciding against tempting fate, I quietly dress and slip out of the room.
I’ll see Sara again soon. In the meanwhile, there’s work to be done.
Chapter 19
Sara
I have a scheduled C-section in the morning and an unscheduled one in the afternoon. In between, I see a woman who has painful menstrual cramps but can’t tolerate the usual remedy of hormonal birth control—something I empathize with very much—and another one who’s been trying to get pregnant for two years without much success. I schedule an ultrasound for the first one to check for endometriomas and refer the second one to a fertility specialist. As soon as I’m done with that, I get called to the ER to examine a six-months-pregnant woman who’s been in a bad car accident. Luckily, I’m able to tell her that the baby is healthy and kicking—the best possible outcome in a head-on collision of that magnitude.
It surprises me that I’m able to focus on my work after last night, but for the first time in months, dark memories don’t invade my mind at every turn, and the paranoia of the past month is absent. Perversely, now that I know I’m being watched, the idea doesn’t fill me with as much anxiety as when I just had that unnerving sensation. I also feel well rested and alert with minimal caffeine consumption, and I suspect it’s because I got a solid nine hours of sleep despite the hard body wrapped around me all night.
Or maybe because of it. No matter how hard I tried to stay awake last night, the animal warmth coming off Peter’s skin and his even breathing lured me to sleep. I woke up a couple of times throughout the night to try to extricate myself from him, but it was impossible. He held me with the intensity of a child clutching his favorite teddy bear, and eventually, I gave in and simply slept, my subconscious mind blissfully unaware that the source of my nightmares was right next to me.
In any case, whatever the reason, I remain calm and focused throughout my shift. It helps that I’ve managed to suppress all thoughts of Peter and his intentions, shoving them to the back of my mind while I concentrate on my patients. If I let myself dwell on his declaration, I would run out of the hospital screaming, and who knows what my stalker would do then? When I woke up alive and unharmed this morning, I decided that the best course of action is to take it one day at a time and avoid provoking him as much as I can.
Maybe he’ll play nice for a while longer, and I’ll have time to figure out what to do.
When my shift is over, I head to the locker room and run into Andy in the hallway. She must be just starting her shift, because her scrubs look perfectly pressed and her curly hair is drawn into a neat bun, without a single strand out of place.
By the end of a long shift, most nurses and doctors—myself included—look far more disheveled.
“Hey,” she says, stopping in front of me. “Everything okay?”
I blink. “Um, yeah.” She can’t know about Peter, can she? “Why?”
“You said you weren’t feeling well the other night,” Andy says, a small frown tugging at her forehead. “When you hightailed it from the club.”