Broken Dream, page 15
Then—
“You know what? Fuck that. I’m not sorry. Not the least fucking bit sorry.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jason
I kiss her again, hard and needy, knowing full well I’m probably bruising her beautiful lips.
And I don’t care.
I don’t care that this is wrong. That she’s my student. That the guilt is eating me alive.
Our lips are smashed together, our teeth clashing, our tongues tangling.
I can’t get enough of her. I don’t ever want to get enough of her.
My mind whirls, but I tamp down the thoughts—the knowledge that this is wrong, that I should walk away.
God only knows I have enough of my own baggage.
Why drag an innocent woman into it?
Except that she’s awakened feelings in me I thought were long dead and buried.
I deepen the kiss, devouring her, until she grips my shoulders, pushing me away from her. The kiss breaks with a loud smack.
“Jason…”
“What? You want to tell me you didn’t want that, Angie? Because I know damned well you did.” I rake my gaze over her body. “Your nipples are hard. I can see them through your shirt.” I inhale. “And you’re wet. I can smell you. Like an animal stalking his mate. I smell you, Angie. I smell how much you want this. How much you want me.”
She gulps audibly. Her lips are trembling—swollen from my kiss and trembling.
“Jason…” she ekes out.
“God, the way you say my name…” I’m as hard as I’ve ever been. I’m uncomfortable in these damned clothes.
She drops her gaze to my crotch.
“That’s right,” I say. “See that? See what you do to me? I want you just as much as you want me. I don’t fucking care that it’s wrong. I don’t care. I’m not sorry. You understand that, Angie? I’m not fucking sorry.”
She gulps again. “Jason… I’m…not sorry either.”
I grab her then, crush our mouths together once more.
We’re in the lab.
The anatomy lab.
The cadavers watch us, judging us, their bodies splayed out like grisly spectators, and although covered, their lifeless eyes still seem to hold an eerie presence as witnesses to our passion.
The air is thick with odd smells and unspoken desires. The quiet hum of the refrigerator units is drowned by the frantic pounding of our hearts.
“Jason,” Angie gasps, digging her fingers into my back as I trail hungry kisses down her neck.
Her voice echoes in the room, bouncing off the cold tiled walls.
My breathing grows ragged at her touch, my senses heightened to a frustrating level. I don’t care about the consequences anymore. My need for Angie overpowers every shred of guilt and fear.
I press her body against one of the empty tables, feeling her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer.
“Stop,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper.
But she doesn’t want to stop what we’re doing. It’s not a plea.
It’s a command—one filled with the same relentless need that has our hearts racing and our bodies trembling. She wants control. She wants me as much as I want her.
I let her take it. I let her push me back until my spine meets the cold steel of the table behind me. The chill sends shivers racing down my spine, but it does nothing to quench the burning heat coursing through my veins.
With one swift move, she pins me against the surface and captures my lips in a passionate kiss. She unbuttons my shirt, her touch leaving a trail of fire on my skin that only fuels the need coursing through me.
Her own shirt falls to the floor. When—how—did she take it off?
I cup her gorgeous breasts through the lace of her bra as we continue to devour each other, the taste of her skin intoxicating. She leans into my touch, a soft moan escaping her. But then she pauses, her breath hitching as she looks toward the door.
“Jason,” she whispers, pulling away slightly. Her eyes are wide with fear, her body rigid. “What if someone walks in?”
I reach out and gently cup her face with my hand, brush my thumb over the softness of her cheek. “Let them,” I breathe, my voice rough with desire.
And then I’m kissing her again, pulling her close until there’s not a single inch of space left between us. She threads her fingers through my hair, our bodies moving in sync as if we’ve done this a thousand times before.
The entire world could be walking by, and I wouldn’t care. All I can think about is Angie—her taste, her touch, her gasps and moans that send a primal thrill coursing through me.
I feel her heart pounding against my chest, beating in sync with mine as we grind against each other. I explore the curves of her body, mapping out a path of desire and lust that leaves us both gasping for breath.
She slides her hands down my back, pulling me closer as she arches against me. The feel of her bare skin…
God, I want her.
I need her.
I crave her.
I’m ready. So ready.
Until she pulls away slightly, looking up at me with those mesmerizing dark eyes of hers that are filled with an intoxicating mix of fear and desire.
“Jason,” she says. “The door.”
God, she’s right. What am I thinking? Anyone could walk in. I move toward the door, push the deadbolt into place.
And then I return to Angie.
“I want you,” I tell her. “That’s no secret. It’s wrong and I don’t care. I’ve told you that. So my question to you, Angie, is…what do you want?” I caress her cheek, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face. “Do you want this fuck? Because I’m ready to fuck you again. Right here in the anatomy lab.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Angie
I’m ready to tell him yes.
Yes, I want this fuck more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
When Aunt Melanie’s image pops into my mind.
At the most inopportune moment. Talk about a libido killer.
She’s my mentor. What would she say? What would she think about what I’m doing right now?
It’s a breach of ethics, she would tell me.
Probably more so for Jason than for me, but still, he’s my teacher, and I should know better.
Push him away, I tell myself.
Tell him you don’t want this.
But the words don’t make it to my mouth.
Because the truth of the matter is that I do want this.
I’ve never felt anything like this before. This desire, this passion, this unwavering want.
“I want this fuck,” I say, my voice cracking. “I’ve never wanted anything this much.”
And he kisses me again.
His lips press against mine, firm and demanding. His hands—those skilled surgeon’s hands—roam over my body with a thirst that matches my own. But there’s something else in his touch, something beyond pure lust. An intensity, a need that goes deeper than I’ve ever known. I respond to him, arching toward him.
“Jason,” I whisper against his lips.
This is so forbidden, and that’s part of what makes it so sexy. Against all the rules, all the ethics that we were supposed to uphold, we’re giving in to each other right here in the anatomy lab.
The cold steel of the dissection table beneath me is a stark contrast against his warm body pressing into me. He removes the rest of my clothing and then his own, and soon our bodies are bare against each other.
He buries his face into the crook of my neck, his breath hot against my skin. He tightens his grip as if he’s holding on to me for dear life. And maybe he is. Maybe we both are.
His kisses move lower, trailing down my throat to the valley between my breasts. There’s an urgency to his touch, a desperate need to feel every inch of me.
“Yes,” I breathe out, sinking into his hair, pulling him closer, wanting to feel more of him, all of him.
My phone buzzes from somewhere underneath our discarded clothes. We both freeze momentarily, but then he shakes his head and continues his exploration. The world outside this lab doesn’t matter anymore.
He traces a searing path down my belly and lower still. I gasp as he finds the spot that makes my breath hitch, and he smirks against my skin.
“I knew you wanted this,” he whispers.
That was never in question, and we both know it.
His touch sends shivers through me. I lose myself in him, forgetting everything else. The world is reduced to Jason and me, the anatomy lab, and our shared desperation.
The metallic scent of the lab mingles with our heated breaths, and the faint smell of disinfectant only adds to the illicit thrill of it all.
All thoughts of rules, ethics, and consequences are forgotten as we surrender ourselves to this heated moment. The world outside the lab, with its rules and constraints, fades into oblivion. It’s just Jason and me, lost in a whirlwind of desire.
His movements become more urgent. He thrusts two fingers inside me, and I nearly shatter as he massages my G-spot.
I meet him, move for move, our bodies colliding.
“Fuck,” he growls. “I love to penetrate you. You have the tightest little pussy, Angie. So wet and perfect.”
All I can do is sigh against him. With his other hand, he tweaks my nipple. His hard cock brushes against me.
I grasp it.
He groans.
And I love it. I love what I do to him. What I can do to this magnificent man.
He drives his finger into me harder, until I cry out.
Can anyone hear us outside the lab?
I cry out again, and I don’t care.
“Fuck,” he grunts, withdrawing his fingers.
Before I can whimper in protest, he slides a condom onto his cock and thrusts into me.
The cold steel table below me is soon forgotten as I get lost in his touch, his warmth seeping into me and igniting a fire with each deep thrust.
His lips find mine again, swallowing my gasps and cries, turning them into a shared secret between us. There’s only his mouth on mine—a hot, desperate kiss that says more than any words—and his dick inside me—a primal fuck that brands me like the cattle on our ranch.
At least that’s what it feels like.
I’m his. At least in this moment, I’m purely his.
I wrap my legs tighter around him, driving him deeper. His breath hitches, his movements become erratic, and as he thrusts, each nudge against my clit drives me further, further, further…until—
“Oh my God, Jason!” The orgasm hits me with the force of a thousand hurricanes.
He buries his face in the crook of my neck and breathes heavily as I soar to the moon and then back, plummeting into my body as everything culminates in my pussy pulsing around his cock.
“That’s it, baby. Come for me. Come for me, Angie. Only for me.”
“Only for you,” I echo.
Then, with one final thrust, a low growl escapes his lips, and he shudders against me.
Another wave of pleasure crashes through me at the same time, making me cry out. It’s overwhelming, a sense of completion unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. For a moment, we stay like that, holding on to each other as we ride out the aftershocks.
Slowly, reality seeps back in.
The coldness of the lab table. The acrid smell of formaldehyde.
But there’s something else too—the scent of us, of our shared moment. It’s musky, earthy, and the most delicious fragrance I’ve ever smelled.
The sweet and seductive smell of our secret.
Without saying a word, Jason reaches for my hand and threads his fingers through mine. In a strange way, holding his hand is more intimate than what just happened. A quiet understanding passes between us as we stand there, naked.
My phone rings once more, breaking through the heavy silence. The reminder of the world beyond the lab walls is intrusive. But I can’t bring myself to break away from him, to reach for it and face whatever message awaits me.
He turns toward me. His green eyes are unreadable under the fluorescent lights. He squeezes my hand lightly and then moves away from me and gathers his clothes.
“I should probably check that,” I say quietly, nodding toward the sound of my phone.
He says nothing while I find my phone inside the pocket of my discarded jeans.
Oh, God.
It’s Aunt Melanie.
Two missed calls, and a text.
Surprise! I’m coming to Boulder. Flight gets in at four. Dinner tonight, my treat!
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jason
Angie’s eyes go wide as she chews on her swollen lower lip.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah, fine. It’s just my aunt.”
“The psychiatrist?”
“Yeah. She’s coming to town.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. But apparently she’s flying in, and she’ll be here this afternoon. She’s invited me to dinner.”
“Free dinner is always good,” I say.
But I want to smack myself. Angie doesn’t have to worry about paying for food or anything. She’s a trust-fund baby.
I’ll do well to remember that.
She begins to dress, so I do the same.
I want to say something to her. I want to tell her that this meant something to me. But honestly, I don’t know what to say.
The fact that it’s all so wrong still lies heavy on my mind.
And the feelings that are creeping up on me—things that I haven’t felt in so long, maybe never felt—have me disoriented.
“See you later, Angie,” I mumble, forcing a smile onto my face.
She returns it, but her eyes are distant. She’s already preoccupied with thoughts of her visiting aunt.
She leaves the lab first, while I stay behind for another fifteen minutes to keep up appearances. I look around. The cadavers no longer seem to be judging me.
No.
I’m only judging myself.
And the fact is that Angie being a student isn’t the thing that’s weighing the most on my mind.
No.
What’s weighing most on my mind is that I’m feeling something new. Something more intense than I’ve ever felt.
And Lindsay didn’t cross my mind once.
As I leave the lab, I feel a cold wave of loneliness. I shake my head, swallowing down the lump in my throat. It’s not like Angie and I are dating or anything.
Do I want that?
There was a time when I was certain I’d never be with a woman again. I’d live out my life in solitude.
But now? If Angie weren’t my student, I believe I’d want to pursue this. Find out if we’re compatible in ways other than physically.
I trudge down the hall, my steps heavy and slow. Laughter and chatter from students fill the hallways as I make my way to my office.
The brass plaque stares at me.
Dr. Jason Lansing, Professor of Anatomy
It may as well say Dr. Jason Lansing, once an up-and-coming general surgeon.
Dr. Jason Lansing, who may not get the surgery he needs because he’s a fucked-up mess.
Dr. Jason Lansing…who may be falling in love with a student.
I unlock the door to my office, walk in, and fall into the first chair across from my desk.
The walls seem to pulse. My undergrad degree, my medical degree. They all seem to laugh at me in a dark way as they close in on me.
I clutch the armrests of my chair, my knuckles whitening. The walls of my office are closing in on me now, the multitude of degrees and honors that once signaled a promising career now taking on an ominous, mocking tone.
Dr. Jason Lansing, a man who had everything, only to lose it all.
Dr. Jason Lansing, a brilliant mind wasted on a broken body.
Nausea travels up my throat as I stare at the surgical diplomas lining the walls. They symbolize everything I’m supposed to be. Everything I should be.
Dr. Jason Lansing, hopelessly, pathetically in love with a student.
No.
Won’t go there.
Can’t go there.
I’m not in love with Angie Simpson.
Love isn’t sex. Love isn’t easing loneliness.
I drag my gaze away from the damning degrees and let out a bitter chuckle. The future. A concept that once held promise and potential now holds nothing but uncertainty. The ghost of my past clings around me, haunting every corner of my office with chilling whispers of what might have been.
Three years earlier…
This is the worst day of my life.
Except it’s not.
I’ve had so many worst days that I’ve lost count.
Losing Julia.
Finding out I’ll never operate again.
And today…
My wife lies in the bathtub upstairs in our master bathroom.
Blood all over her.
Her wrists slit.
And I feel…
I feel nothing.
Numbness. Pure numbness.
Oh, the pain will come later. I’m well aware of that.
I’ve been through this before.
I walk over to the desk, the mahogany surface covered with bills and letters yet to be opened. Among the clutter is a solitary envelope—stark white, crisp, untouched. I pick it up, flipping it over to reveal two words on the other side.
To Jason…
She left a note.
I sit down in the leather chair behind the desk, the envelope trembling in my hands. Do I really want to know what’s inside? The last words of a woman who saw no way out but to take her own life?
Inhale, exhale. It’s just another worst day.
I open the envelope and pull out Lindsay’s final goodbye.
I don’t read it.
I can’t read it.
I simply sit, holding the paper, tempted to burn it.
