Rush (Men of Rapture #1) Read online

  Between patients, I take a breather in the restroom, splashing water on my face and pushing down the hurt. Best friend. I should be happy he thinks of me that way, but I’m not. It’s just a reminder that he’s incapable of ever giving me more.

  And I have to admit that I want it. I think I’ve wanted it for a long time, if I’m being honest. Six months ago, if Justin had pressed me for more, I’d have taken him up on it, hands down. Yet, after only knowing Rush for a short time, I instinctively knew Justin wasn’t who I wanted, even if I didn’t quite grasp why.

  The next two patients pass by as quickly as I can get them out the door. I feel guilty for not giving them my all, but the man sitting behind my desk has me twisted up, and he’s oblivious. Well, maybe not completely. He feels the fire between us, but even I’m shocked by just how deeply his best friend comment cut.

  As the final patient settles their bill, I stand by, putting on a smile and waving them out the door. As soon as it shuts, Elle turns to me with an arched brow. “Is it safe to assume you want me to lock up behind me?”

  I narrow my eyes. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

  She shrugs as she stands and slips into her jacket before pulling her purse strap onto her shoulder. “Not funny. Realistic. You and I both know Rush isn’t like the other guy who came in here.”

  “He’s not,” I reply, finally admitting it aloud.

  “Oh, babe.” She rubs her hand across my back as she passes, pausing. “I don’t think either one of you are giving him enough credit. Just talk to him.” She gives me a pointed look and a quick side-hug before leaving me standing alone in the receptionist area.

  When the door to the clinic clicks closed behind her, it snaps me to attention, and with a heavy breath, I start toward my office. I hear him before I see him, and I can’t help but smile. Being around him makes me happy. It’s not enough, but I can claim a tiny part of him no one else has.

  I prop against the door jamb and watch as he flicks through a magazine, commentating to himself with each new page he turns. Who the fuck would buy an ugly little dog like that? Oh, this one’s cute. Nope. Poor guy. Wait a minute.

  He leans forward, placing the magazine on the desk and digging into his pocket, only to produce his phone. Curious, I take a step into the room, and his head shoots up. The smile that lights his face is warm and happy and butterfly-inducing.

  “What are you doing?” I say, leaning over to get a look at the magazine.

  “Nothing.” He shuts it, yet he rolls it up and sticks it in his back pocket. “Have a seat, doc.” He pats the corner of the desk.

  I eye it for a moment and then shift my cautious gaze back to him. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

  He smirks and rolls my chair back, patting his thigh. “How about here.” Those eyes are blazing again, saying things that aren’t appropriate for your best friend.

  “I think I’ll stand.” I cross my arms to hold myself back.

  “I’ll accept that.” He rocks back and tosses his legs up on the spot I refused to take, his forearms flexing as he links his fingers behind his head. “For now, anyway. We have other things I’d like to talk about first.”

  “By all means.” I wave my hand over the room. “The floor is yours, Mr. Kaplan.”

  His lips twitch. “Always the smartass.”

  “Only when it suits me.”

  He drops his legs then, scooting them under the desk. His hand disappears below the edge, his arm flexing, and I wonder—scratch that, I know he’s turned on. Welcome to the club, bud. There has to be a better solution than this, both of us in constant stages of suffering.

  He clears his throat, his fingers following that familiar trail through his hair. “I wanted to finish our conversation”—his eyes flick to mine—“from last week.”

  Always drawing me in. I remove a stack of files from a wooden chair that’s against the wall and scoot it across the floor, coming to a stop just in front of him. “Are you sure, Rush?” I ask, taking a seat. “Don’t do this for me. I don’t need it.”

  “I do.” He swivels, bringing his legs around and propping his elbows on his knees. “I need you to know that Kat agreed with you. She left a note excusing me, but that’s what it’s felt like all these years—a fucking excuse.” He says the words snidely, like he still doesn’t quite believe them. “My privilege made me a shit boyfriend, especially for a girl like Kat. I was self-centered and ignorant.” He steeples his hands, his eyes unfocused, looking into the past. “Don’t get me wrong. I thought I knew how to love her, but the truth is, I only truly loved myself. I didn’t know what real love meant.”

  “Rush,” I say, breaking into his reverie. “I don’t believe that.”

  He shakes his head, his eyes softening as they focus on me. “It’s true, doc, and it wasn’t intentional. I realize that now, but it doesn’t make it any less real. I should’ve looked deeper. I should’ve fucking known things were that bad for her.”

  “Maybe.” I shrug, considering. “But not everyone who’s suicidal shows that part of themselves. Not to the rest of the world, not to their intimate partner, or even their parents.” I reach out and take his hand, offering comfort. “Depression is vast and unpredictable, swinging through lives like a wrecking ball, and even the most adult of us don’t always know how to recognize or deal with it. You were both young, and you’ve been letting it destroy you ever since. There’s no way Katherine would’ve wanted that for you.”

  “You’re right.” He sniffs, blinking back tears. “I know she wouldn’t, and I promised her I’d do better when I visited her grave a couple weeks back.”

  “Ahhh,” I say on an exhale. “Is that what prompted our chat?”

  “It is,” he says, his eyes focused on our connected hands. “But it was you who made me capable of visiting her at all.” He lifts his head, and his eyes are so sincere I skip a breath. “You’ve brought lightness back into my life.”

  “I …” I choke, unsure how to respond to such an open and honest confession.

  He rolls my desk chair backward, tugging on my hand, and this time, I don’t deny him. It’ll hurt like hell later, but for now, I intend to bathe in all the affection he wishes to share. My body yearns for his touch, and his arms move around me almost as soon as I’m settled.

  I curl onto my side, and he pulls my head against his chest, removing the clip from my messy bun and allowing my hair to fall down my back. He begins combing his fingers through the long strands, sending chills racing across my arms, and I hum in delight.

  “Doc,” he moans, his fingers stilling. “We’re playing with fire.”

  I stay still for only a second as I weigh my response. Lifting my head, I meet his pleading gaze. “Burn me. Please.”

  “Fuck,” he whispers, leaning forward and running his nose up the side of my face and along my hair, inhaling deeply. “I want to, doc. So fucking bad.”

  Uninterested in debate, I grab the hem of my scrub top and pull it up and over, tossing it somewhere behind me. My blue silk bra is simple, but it pushes my breasts up nicely. My chest heaves in anticipation of his touch, yet I’m willing to wait for it. Nothing is sweeter than submission.

  His eyes flick down, his breath stutters, and his tongue peeks out. Very slowly, it trails along his bottom lip. Large, needy hands ball into tight fists as a war wages inside him. I know I’m not playing fair, and I simply don’t care. Whatever the consequences, I’m willing to endure them.

  His first movement is restrained, hesitant, but it’s movement all the same. A lone finger snakes out and strokes along my side. My eyes fall closed, the simple act sending sparks radiating along my spine. A single touch becomes more, though, and as both hands grip my waist, his thumbs graze even higher.

  My eyes pop open with a gasp. The fire from his touch burns across my skin and rages in my core. His hooded eyes render me motionless, pinning me in place, but as the thirst builds, my fingers prickle to life, aching to peel away the layers between us.

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nbsp; His right hand trails upward, brushing the side of my breast and continuing up my neck to cup my jaw. “There’s no coming back from this,” he murmurs, the golden sunbursts in his eyes making a rare appearance. “Everything changes.”

  The meaning gets lost as he draws nearer, his mouth almost touching mine before veering to skim along my jaw to the sensitive spot just below my ear. His tongue snakes out, twirling against my thundering pulse before he adds his teeth to the mix.

  I’m desperate as my fingers scramble for the zipper of his hooded jacket, yanking it the rest of the way down. When it parts, I set my sights on his tee, tugging it from his jeans. Upon contact with the warm, inviting skin, tingles ricochet up my arms, and my entire being sighs.

  He growls, shifting focus. Tweaking the clasp to my bra, he watches the cups fall loose before gripping my waist and urging me to straddle him. The moan that erupts is proof I’m a needy whore, but I’m unashamed because he’s hard and lifts his hips to meet my warmth.

  The silky blue material is tossed away, and I’m breathless as his eyes scorch a trail across my chest. My nails dig into the tender flesh of his shoulders, and my head lolls in anticipation of his touch. At what feels like one mile per hour, his fingers creep upward, across my abdomen, then span my ribcage to cup just under my breasts.

  Rotating my hips, I rock against him.

  He hisses. “Shit.”

  His mouth is tugging my nipple before I recognize he’s moved, and his fingers work in tandem to create a magical team. Pulses of sensation travel over me like rivulets of pleasure rushing down a raging river of want, and I’m drowning in bliss like I’ve never before felt.

  I pick up speed, rocking my hips more fervently, and he responds in kind, swapping breasts without missing a beat. The change compounds the need and pushes me toward the peak. It’s just beyond reach and my body tenses, anticipating the tidal wave of sensation that’s about to wash over me.

  “Alyssa,” he rasps, his mouth trailing to my throat as his hands grip my hips, his nails digging in.

  The sound of my given name falling from his lips sets off an explosion. It starts slowly, a single electrical pulse, but it shatters into a hundred, and then a thousand tiny pulses that flicker to life. They converge to create spasm after spasm of all-encompassing pleasure. I’m lost in an erotic haze, and it’s so pure I’m sure I can’t live without the promise of this feeling again.

  A rumble of laughter vibrates me back into the present, and I lift my head from Rush’s shoulder. “Holy shit.” I take in our positions, crossing my arms over my chest. “Um … thanks.”

  “That’s not happening,” he says, shaking his head and tugging my wrists. “You’re beautiful, and we’re far from done.”

  Another pulse flickers through me, and who am I to deny myself more of him? After such a small taste, my body yearns for more, and I’d be a fool to not take what he’s offering. I’m prepared for the crash, but while I have it, I’m going to ride this high as far as I can.

  I look around, unimpressed with our surroundings. “Not the best of circumstances, but it’ll do in a pinch.” I tug his shirt upward, eager to get the full artsy view of his colorful chest. “Take these off.”

  He concedes, and his jacket and tee join the ever-growing pile being tossed across the small room. “Doc,” he groans as my finger traces the colorful lion’s mane. “How can you make one finger feel so fucking good?”

  “Maybe it doesn’t work on everyone.” I keep my eyes on his chest so he can’t read the suggestion in them. It only works on you. I’m unaccustomed to this depth of feeling, and his eventual rejection is going to rip me to shreds.

  He grips my wrist tightly, stopping the movement, and pulls me close. For a brief few seconds, we’re eye to eye. Wary, his gaze travels to my mouth and his brows furrow before his eyes slowly come back to mine, questioning. With no hesitance at all, I press my lips to his.

  He’s still at first, but a growl rumbles in his chest, and his tongue flicks out, tasting. For a man who doesn’t kiss, it feels like he never stopped. Taking complete control, he renders me putty in his capable mouth for the second time.

  Unexpectedly, he stands, and I wrap my legs around his waist, clinging to him and his pillow-soft lips. Without breaking our connection, he takes one swipe across my desk, clearing it. My back lands with a thud, but as long as he’s kissing me, everything’s right in the world.

  I whimper when he pulls away, but his pretty smirk causes every cell within me to tingle. “Ready for another?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Surrender

  RUSH

  Alyssa’s usual gray-blue eyes are sparkling like sapphires as they roam my face. “Only if you’re sure.”

  I rake my eyes across her. Flushed cheeks, kiss-reddened lips, and her hair is splayed around her like a dark halo. Pert nipples make my mouth water, and her tone abs have me yearning to see the rest of her delectable body. She’s so fucking hot, and there’s no goddamn way I’m stopping now. My cock is pulsing in my jeans, aching for freedom.

  “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

  I nibble her jaw and stand, admiring the view as I pop open the button to my jeans and release the zipper. The material falls loose, gaping open and settling low on my hips. I sigh as the feel of being choked lessens.

  Her lusty eyes are watching my every move, and I waste no time in bringing us together again. Gripping her waist, I pull her to me, grinding my partially freed cock against her heated pussy.

  She moans, biting her lip. “Off,” she pants, squirming and snapping the waistband of her scrub pants. “Take them off.”

  I chuckle, her impatience making my cock even fucking harder. “All in due time.” I thrust again, grinding the heavy jean material into her flimsy cotton. “I want this to fucking last.”

  “I want it now,” she says, sitting up and looping her hands around my neck. “I need to feel you inside me.”

  She fists my hair and pulls my lips to hers. For a tenth of a second, the urge to resist is strong. It’s been a rule for so long it’s my automatic response, but nothing that happens between us follows the usual path, and this is no different.

  I don’t feel uneasy or angry or hollow when her tongue slips past my lips. I feel alive and excited and so turned on. It should probably scare me to fucking death, but it doesn’t. She tastes like an erotic mix of lightness and dark, a perfect balance I’ve never been able to achieve on my own, but together, we’re fucking magic.

  I break away, trailing my lips across her jaw to her ear. “I’m so fucking hard for you,” I rasp, bringing my fingers to the waistband of her scrubs.

  She freezes, her chest heaving in anticipation. “Please,” she whimpers, lying back and begging me with her eyes. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”

  “Fuck”

  I hook my thumbs in each side and pull. She lifts her perky little ass, and I make sure to snag her matching blue panties on the way past. As soon as they’re below her knees, she wiggles her legs, kicking that shit straight to the floor.

  She’s completely naked, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from falling to my knees before her right now. She’s goddamn beautiful and everything I want in life, but I’m an unworthy motherfucker, and until that changes, this is just me being too goddamn weak to say no.

  I palm her thighs. She squirms, panting as my hands meander their way toward her pussy. It’s fucking glistening, pink and wet, beneath a neat patch of dark hair. Electricity arcs between us, sparking across my fingers as they feather her clit. She grips the edge of the desk, her eyes squeezed closed and her knuckles white.

  A low, breathy moan goes straight to my cock, and I feel like I might blow my fucking load if I don’t have her right now. “Shit, doc. I can’t wait,” I say, withdrawing my fingers and shoving my jeans down my legs.

  As I slip off my boots and grab my wallet, she sits up, her eyes roving over me like I’m the turkey at a Thanksgiving feast. They widen slightly when the
y land on my python tattoo. Its head starts near my knee and wraps around to end with its tail encircling my lower torso.

  “I thought this was a rope,” she says, brushing just below my waistband. “It’s beautiful.”

  I clench a condom tightly between my teeth as her fingers follow the patterned body down the side of my ass and onto my thigh. She shifts focus then, her hungry gaze seeking my scar. It’s an angry red line with dots where the stitches once were. She traces it with the tip of her finger, and my cock leaps, aching to be stroked.

  She notices that shit too and brings her hand up, wrapping those warm, capable fingers around it. Words can’t describe the current that rushes through me at her touch, and it causes every muscle in my body to jitter. My hand shakes as I wrap my fingers around hers and make a slow upward stroke. Up, then down. Up, then down.

  I hiss, pulling away and fisting her hair. “On your back,” I command, my voice low and harsh in her ear. “I’m going to make you come so fucking hard.” I rip open the condom and roll it down my cock.

  By the time I’m done, she’s resting on her elbows with one foot propped on the desk. “I’m waiting.”

  Shit.

  I drop to my knees and pull one slender leg across my shoulder, while pressing her other thigh upward, spreading her even wider. “So fucking pretty,” I whisper, anchoring my palm just above her pubic bone.

  Her ass is perched precariously on the edge of the desk, and her pussy is exactly where I want it. She’s squirming in anticipation, and I nip her thigh, my mouth so close yet so fucking far.

  “Please,” she groans. “I’m dying, Rush.”

  She tenses at first touch, a single finger trailing between her glistening lips. She relaxes as I push inside and withdraw, coating myself in her moisture. I add a second finger, and my thrusts build momentum, each pass tickling that hidden gem. It pebbles, thirsty for the attention, becoming more alert with each careful nudge.