Revived (Revved Series Book 2) (19 page)

In this moment, I feel like I belong to him, and him alone.

I can feel myself starting to rise toward climax as his cock hits that deep part of me, his hips slamming mercilessly against my clit.

“Leandro…” I moan. “I’m going to…come…”

Finally, he speaks, “Yes. Come, babe. Squeeze my cock with your tight little pussy.”

Pulling out to the tip, he slams into me, hard. That, and the sound of his voice, his words, send me free-falling over the edge, and I’m screaming to him and God and anyone else who might be listening.

“Fuck…India…” he grunts. “
Porra, estou gozando
…”

His head falls into the crook of my neck as I feel his cock pulsing inside me.

The sound of his mother language leaving his mouth while he’s coming inside me nearly sends me over the edge again.

He stays there, head on my shoulder, holding me tight, as both our bodies twitch with aftershocks.

Then, we’re just silent, two sweaty bodies connected by our most vital parts, while our hearts pound against our chests, and we try to catch our breaths.

I’m falling for him.

I can’t.

I can’t do this. I have too much to lose.

My job…I not only love my job, but I’ve worked damn hard, sacrificed so much, to get to where I am. And I need my income. I have a son to care for, bills to pay.

Reality leaves me feeling cold. “Leandro…”

“Don’t…” He lifts his head, staring me straight in the eyes. “Don’t ruin this, India.”

I swallow against the pain in my chest, knowing what I have to do. “I have to. I’m sorry.” I place my hand against his chest, gently pushing him away.

“Jesus Christ…” he growls, his eyes closing.

Then, he snaps his eyes back open and lets me down to my feet, slipping out of me. The loss of him inside me affects me deeper than I expected. Hurting, holding back the tears, I wrap my robe around myself and tie the belt, and I watch as he angrily pulls his clothes back on.

“You need to leave,” I tell him in a whisper of a voice.

UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE
!

She wants me to leave.

Normally, that would have me feeling relieved. Not that it’s ever happened before. Women usually beg me to stay.

But not her, the one I want, and she wants me gone.

“Leave? Are you fucking kidding me?” I all but yell.

She shakes her head. Tears shimmering in her eyes, she looks like she’s about to cry.

Seeing her like this…it hurts and confuses the fuck out of me.

If pushing me away is hurting her, then why is she doing it at all?

“India…why are you doing this?”

I reach for her, but she moves away from my touch.

My hand curls into a fist, coming back to my side.

“I have to.”

My anger and frustration get the better of me. “You have to? Why? Explain this to me because I just don’t fucking get it! You clearly want me, but you’re telling me to leave? And don’t you dare fucking say it’s because you’re my therapist. You no longer are, remember?” I jab my finger in the direction of the crumpled letter on the floor.

“I might not be your therapist anymore, but I was. That matters.”

“To whom?”

“To the Health and Care Professions Council and…to me. You were my patient. I treated you. That doesn’t just go away because of a letter. If people find out that I’m sleeping with a former patient, I’ll be done for. If the HCPC gets ahold of that information, I’ll lose my license to practice.”

Controlling my frustration, I try to soften my voice as I ask, “How long would it take for this to be okay—you and me?”

“Never.”

My anger flares right back up. “This is fucking bullshit!” I growl.

“No, it’s the truth. I abused my power. I’ve become what I despise.” A tear slides down her cheek. She brushes it away. “I’m a doctor, a therapist…who just had sex with a person I was treating.”

“Jesus, India.” I rub my head in frustration. “I am not some fucking kid who didn’t know what he was doing. I am a grown man and I know exactly what I am doing, and what I want. And what I want is
you
.”

I wrap my hands around her arms, not letting her move away. I stare into her face until she’s forced to look back at me.

“I want you,” I repeat. “Not just for tonight. I want to be with you. I want an
us
.”

“I can’t—”

“Listen—”

“No. Listen to me.”

She tries to pull away, but I don’t let go. If I let her go, I know I won’t get her back.

“You might be a grown man and in control, but when I met you, you were in a bad place, and in some ways, you’re still healing. I had an influence on you, on your recovery.”

I stare deep into her eyes. “People influence one another every second of every day. That doesn’t mean they can’t be together.”

“But those people didn’t take an oath like I did.”

My body is rigid with frustration. It’s like talking to a wall. She won’t hear me.

“So, by becoming a doctor, that means you’re also a fucking nun?”

“No, but it means I can’t fuck my patients!” she snaps.

I drop my hands from her arms. Her hands cover her face. I watch her, listening to her shallow breaths.

Slowly, she lowers her hands from her face and looks at me. I can see her words in her eyes before she says them, and my stomach twists.

“I’m sorry, Leandro, but this was a mistake.” Her words are whispered, but I feel like she just screamed them at me. “I took advantage of you. I’m so, so sorry.” Her hand slides over her stomach, tears filling her eyes.

In this moment, I feel like I’m missing something, but I’m so blinded by my anger that I can’t see clearly enough to see past it. “You didn’t take advantage of me!” I explode.

“You confided in me. I know how you use sex as an escape from your problems.”

Her words instantly make me feel dirty, worthless. I hate that she can make me feel that way.

I grit my teeth and speak, “Used to—past tense, India, and you, above anyone, know this. Having sex with you was because I wanted to…because I want you.”

“No, you think you want me, but you don’t really. You just have a reliance on me.”

“Bullshit!”

“It’s not. It’s the truth. You just can’t see it yet. But with time, you will.”

“Stop talking to me like I’m a fucking child, India! I didn’t come to you for therapy because I was suicidal or not in control of my own mind. I came for your help because I needed to get back in a fucking car.”

“You had—
have
PTSD. You were drinking and using sex as a way to cope. You were in a bad place.”

“Not as bad as you think.”

“You’re painting a different picture in your mind because of what you think you want.”

I pull at my hair in frustration. “I know exactly how I feel, not because of a patient-therapist attachment. I wanted you from the moment I saw you—before I even knew you. And, yes, you’ve helped me, but you haven’t gotten in my head and twisted things around. I want you because I want
you
. And for no other reason.” I cup her cheek with my other hand. “I want you,” I repeat softly.

Closing her eyes, she takes a shuddering breath.

For a moment, I think I have her until she opens her eyes, and I see how shut off she is.

“I’m sorry, Leandro. In time, you’ll see that I’m right. Ending this is right.”

I’ve lost her.

The feeling is like a bullet to the chest.

“You’re fucking wrong, and with time, you’ll see that.” I step back away from her, turning away.

“The kart…” she starts, pulling me back.

I stay there but don’t turn around. I can’t look at her. It’ll hurt too much. My chest feels like it’s bleeding out from the hole she just put in it. “Do what you want with it. Sell it, and give the money to charity. I don’t fucking care.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers from behind me.

“Yeah, I’m sure you are.” Sarcasm drips from my words.

I yank the door open and then stop. I pull a card from my wallet and toss it on the hall table. “If Jett still wants to get into karting, give this guy a call. He’ll help get Jett started.”

I risk a look at her.

She’s crying. “I’m sor—”

“Yeah, I got it the first time. Have a nice fucking life, Dr. Harris.” And I slam my way out of her house and her life.