Vegas Aces: The Wide Receiver Complete Series

CHAPTER 8 TESSA

Dr. Foster leaves without saying goodbye.

It shouldn’t affect me. He’s never once sought me out for a goodbye.

But something changed in there today, and it feels a little like it’s okay to expect a goodbye. He kissed me and now I won’t see him until Thursday, so I get to live with the confusion and muddled feelings until then.

I make it through my day, but I can’t stop thinking about his lips on mine. For the first time since I was twelve, my thoughts are consumed throughout the day by a man who isn’t Tristan Higgins.

And it feels good. It feels nice. It feels like after all this time…maybe I can find it in me to move forward.

I’ve held myself back a long time as I clung to hope that we’d somehow find our way back to one another, but he’s married. He has been married for two whole years, and even though I want to believe the tabloids when I see reports that his marriage is in trouble, I think we all have a pretty good understanding that celebrity marriages are always under the microscope and tabloids tend to exaggerate.

I push Tristan out of my mind, and I allow Cam’s tender, firm lips to wander around in his absence.

It’s nice to be thinking about somebody else for a change…even though he didn’t bother with that goodbye.

I’m finishing up some notes from my afternoon appointments as Sara bids me goodbye.

“Shane and I are going out with some people he works with for dinner, so don’t wait up,” she says with a grin.

I laugh. “Remember to keep safety in mind!”

“It’ll save my behind!” she finishes, laughing along with me at our safe sex slogan on her way out.

I’m still typing a little later when I hear Paul’s voice behind me. “You’re still here?” he asks. I glance around and realize everyone is gone for the day except the two bosses.

I shrug. “Sara and Shane are going out to dinner, so I figured I’d catch up on today’s charts and get a head start on tomorrow.”

“Marsha and I are heading out to a charity dinner in a bit. Care to lock up?” he asks. I nod, and he tosses me a key. “Thanks, Tessa.”

I shoot him a smile as I catch it and hold it up. “No problem, boss.”

“Don’t stay too late,” Marsha says, sauntering up behind Paul. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

The office is quiet once they’re gone, and I finish up what I’m working on. Like most jobs, it always feels like there’s more I can do, but as I stretch my arms over my head, that feels like it’s good for today.

I stand to leave, and when I turn toward the door, Cam Foster is standing there.

I jump, my hand flying to my chest as I gasp. “Oh my God, you scared me,” I say.

He tilts his head and lowers his brows. “Why are you still here?”

I shrug. “Just getting caught up on things. What are you doing here?”

His eyes dart to the security camera just to the left above my head. “I saw your car in the otherwise empty lot when I was leaving the hospital.” His voice is low.

I didn’t even know he paid attention to such a minute detail as what car I drive. “Oh. You came to see me?” Surprise doesn’t quite cover it, though maybe I can get that goodbye I was missing earlier.

He motions with his head for me to follow him as he starts walking down the hallway toward his office. I follow him in, and he shuts the door behind me. I’m about to move toward the chair so we can talk, but in a half a second he has me pinned between his body and the door. The powerful surgeon hides a hard body beneath the suits he wears to the office—and not just a hard body , but other hard things as evidenced by the way he thrusts his hips toward mine.

For some reason my mind pictures him in scrubs, his hands in the air and sterilized just before he heads in to save some child’s life, and this fantasy of him as a powerful man who saves lives just seems to do it for me. I moan as his lips drop to my neck.

“I came to finish what I started earlier,” he says against my skin, the heat of his breath sending pulses of need through my core.

I’m all in.

His lips trail from my neck down to my cleavage—of which there isn’t much today in my Spongebob scrubs—and then his mouth lands on mine. I cling onto him with one arm around his bicep, and I allow my other hand to wander to his thick, dark locks. It’s soft to the touch as I twist my fingers through the short strands, and when he moves to deepen our kiss this time, I don’t step away as I did earlier.

There aren’t any patients waiting for me.

In fact, the office is empty but for the two of us.

There’s no reason to stop this freight train now.

I give in as he opens his mouth, his tongue sweet as it brushes mine. I moan into him, and he pushes his hips toward me again. He wants to take this to the next level, and he proves it as he trails his fingertips along my thigh, toward my torso, and up to my breast before moving back down in an agonizingly slow path.

And then suddenly it’s not slow as he reaches down the front of my pants and shoves his hand right into my panties. He uses one of those long, skilled fingers to brush through my center before he drives one finger in. “Mm,” he moans as he feels how wet he’s making me.

Something about hating him this morning and wanting this now is making me hot and needy. I cling onto both his arms as I widen my stance for him, our mouths still joined as he moves his finger in and out of me. He pulls it all the way out to brush against my clit, and my knees practically knock together at the neediness I feel as he pulls his hands out of my pants. He breaks off the kiss, too, and a miserable ache pulses between my legs.

“You want it, don’t you, dirty nurse?” he demands quietly.

“Mm yes,” I moan, trying—but failing—not to sound too needy.

“Take your pants off and bend over my desk,” he commands, and something about how he just takes charge over me is hot. I find I like being told what to do by him. I have the sudden urge to please him, to surrender to his every request.

I’ve never been with an older man.

I’ve sampled mostly boys my age. First Tristan, then a couple boyfriends in college and a couple more after college…but never a man like Cam Foster.

I scramble from my spot against the door and kick off my shoes. I drop my pants and panties along with them, and I bend down over his desk, sticking my ass up in the air as I fold my arms on his desk and rest my head in their cradle.

I should feel vulnerable, maybe. I’m opening myself up to him—literally, for now, but maybe figuratively, too—and he can do what he wants with me. But I can’t feel anything in this moment except pure, unadulterated lust .

He moves in behind me, and I hear the zip of his pants, the only sound in the room before the soft rub of skin against skin hits my ears. I picture him stroking himself before he aligns himself with my body, and I want to turn around, to take a peek, but I dare not move from where I stand. His heat moves in behind me, and I wish I was facing him, that I could look into his eyes as he slides into me.

Instead, I close my eyes and let out a long, low groan as he thrusts in. He’s big, stretching me in a way that hurts so good.

“Oh fuck, that’s tight,” he mutters.

He moves slowly at first, seating himself as deeply as he can go, and he pauses there a beat. My body throbs around his thick cock, and we both moan at the pleasure we’re taking from the other.

He pulls back before he thrusts in again, and then he picks up speed. He moves in and out over and over and over, the only sounds in his office the slap of skin on skin to the symphony of our grunts and groans and his muttered curses. “Fuck, little nurse, you’re so wet and tight for me.”

I can’t think coherently enough to form words of reply, so I simply offer another moan.

“Jesus, Tessa,” he groans, and I know the sentiment.

Good God, does this feel good.

It feels…right.

Like I need to do this again and again and again.

He leans forward over me and reaches around to brush my clit as he pumps into me.

I feel myself falling apart as he pushes all the right buttons for a change, and he must feel my body tightening over him because both his moans and his pace increase. He slams into me just as I hit my peak, my body contracting with bliss over and over in my first orgasm with a man in far too long.

Just as I start to come down from my high, he hits his climax. He hammers into me through the wave of pleasure, and he pulls slowly out when he’s done.

My eyes widen with a bit of horror as I feel something start to drip down there.

I was wet, sure…but not that wet.

He kisses my back as he leans over me again, reaching down to my pussy with his fingers. He spreads the moisture around, stroking my clit, and it’s all too much. There’s something forbidden and hot and intimate all at the same time about him spreading what just came out of his body all over me, like he’s marking his territory in the sexiest way he can.

I fall apart under his touch again, my body betraying me because I don’t want to let this man that I hated until this morning control me like this but I can’t help it.

Still, as I come down from the wild pulses racking my body, I can’t help but worry. Maybe he’s had a vasectomy and we have nothing to worry about.

He backs up and presumably tucks himself back into his pants while I straighten and search for mine. I start with my panties and pull them back on.

I glance over at him as I dress. “Can I ask you a question?”

I feel awkward as I ask even that, let alone what I really want to ask.

He nods as he straightens his shirt.

“Are you, uh…have you had a vasectomy?”

His brows dip. “No.” And then his eyes widen.

Shit.

“Wait. You’re not on anything?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Why would you assume I am?”

“Because you’re young and gorgeous. You’re not having regular sex?”

My cheeks warm. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I guess I’m going through what you could call a dry spell.”

His eyes harden a little as they flick away from mine. “Okay. I suppose we just…” He trails off, and it’s not like this very confident man to be at a loss for words.

“Wait and pray?” I suggest.

His eyes edge back to mine. “There are other options.”

My brows crinkle. “What are you suggesting?”

“Plan B.”

I don’t reply to that, and it’s not just because of my strict religious upbringing. I guess I just don’t know what to say. He’s a pediatrician. Surely he knows what other options are available.

“And we use protection next time, obviously.” I say it lightly, but when I look at him, I see that old familiar mask firmly back in place. He let it slip for a few rough and hot minutes just now, but it’s back.

“Next time?” he repeats, disbelief evident in his tone that I’d even suggest such a thing. “There won’t be a next time, nurse.” He turns to walk out of his office, and before he exits, he tosses some final words over his shoulder. “And nobody will ever find out about this.”

I stand there staring after him long after he’s gone as the overwhelming feeling of being used washes over me.

I fight the heat behind my eyes as I lock up the office—mostly because if he happens to be in the parking lot still, I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of my tears.

I slip into my car and start the quick drive home, and once I see that Sara isn’t home, I finally give in.

I don’t allow it to go on very long, though. Instead, I draw in a shaky breath. This is more about my embarrassment than actually being sad about the fact that there isn’t a future for Cam and me. I’ll get over it. I’ll move on.

In fact, I already have. He’s always been a jerk, and now I know he’s just a jerk who’s good at sex.

Except the last time I had sex without a condom…well, my entire world blew up.

As I said to Cam earlier, now we just wait and pray.

And I’m going to have to face him the day after tomorrow.

Tomorrow will be okay. I can do this. I can go to the office knowing I won’t have to see him.

But Thursday…I’m not sure how I’ll handle facing him. Especially considering how much I love Paul and Marsha and how I disrespected them by having sex with a doctor in the office.

I feel disgusted as my stomach rolls, and I can’t keep my lunch down. I run to the bathroom and throw up, and then I sink down to the floor as I start to cry again.

I stare at the ring on the third finger of my right hand. Life was so much easier when Tristan gave me that ring, and sometimes I wish I was still sixteen and we were in love and the complications didn’t push us so far apart that years have passed and we haven’t spoken.

You know when you feel like you’ve hit rock bottom and it feels like there’s nowhere left to fall…but somehow there is still some room left and out of the blue you can sort of feel it coming?

My phone starts to ring where I left it in the family room.

I run across the apartment and just miss the call, but I see who it was just before it stops ringing.

It’s my mother, and I get the immediate feeling that something is wrong.

I dial her right back as I draw in a shaky breath, tears still freefalling down my cheeks at the situation I find myself in.

“Mama?” I answer, my voice small.

“Hi, honey.” She sounds like she’s crying, too, and my chest races.

It’s my dad. I know before she even says a single word.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, my voice sounding faraway even to my own ears.

“No, sweetie,” she says. “It’s your dad. He’s, um…he had a heart attack this afternoon and he’s…he’s…” she trails off. “He didn’t survive it,” she whispers.

I let out a choked sob. “He…he didn’t?” I ask. A slideshow of memories crashes into my brain, and it feels like all the happy times are represented. Vacations and when we moved to Fallon Ridge and Uno tournaments at the kitchen table.

Not the hard times. Not the times I’ve dwelled on over the last seven years.

“No,” she whispers.

The dark times are always there, sliding in and out of my thoughts, but it seems like I mostly wrote off the happy times. I held onto the anger for too long, and now it’s too late.

Too late .

It feels an awful lot like that’s the theme of my life.