From me to you.
Hello all.
If my username seems familiar, it is because I have posted here in the past. That story was removed because I lost time and a connection with the characters. However, this story seemed to hit me pretty much out of nowhere. And 2020 seems like the type of year to get back into writing again. I've missed it like an old friend.
That being said, If anyone Is looking to edit a story, please reach out.
I'm still learning how to navigate literotica. I always think that I write far more then what appears In the chapters on the sight. So I'm going to do this slow and steady to try to make each chapter a mouthful.
I hope you enjoy the world that I am bringing to life.
Xxx
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Isn't it strange how the body can sense things before the mind can even comprehend what's happening? This guttural feeling that lays dormant inside of us until it feels like it needs to be woken up again. Because something is off. Something is wrong. Even if we don't know it yet.
That's what I feel when I step out from behind the nurses station. I can feel eyes zeroing in on me. My whole entire body feels it. When I turn to look down the hall to survey the person who is throwing off my whole equilibrium there is a slight pause in my step that I hope goes unnoticed.
It obviously doesn't. Because standing at the end of the hallway with another, older and exhausted looking, officer is a monster of a man wearing the beige clothing of a prisoner. And when my feet beneath me stumble I watch his dark eyes dance with amusement.
As I walk closer to the pair of them, I do what I am trained to, I assess the man who looks to be doing the same right back to me. He stands high, hovering several inches taller than six feet, with a body sculpted lean and covered in muscle. His left arm is decorated in some sort of black tattoo that starts with an intricate swirl on the back of his hand and disappears somewhere beyond the beige of his shirt.
"Let us know if you need help with anything," I hear Maya's voice say from right behind me.
I turn to look at her and smile from behind my mask, "Should be a quick and easy admission but I'll press the call light if I need any help."
Grabbing a vitals machine, I follow the inmate and the older CO into the room and stand with my back against the wall as the officer clips one of the handcuffs to the structure of the bed and leaves the other on the patient.
"I'm going to stand right there," the CO says as he points right outside of the door, "just keep the door open. We need eyes on him the entire time."
"Of course," I reply, nodding my head as the two officers stand at their post outside the room, talking to each other quietly.
When I turn back to look at my new patient, I allow myself to take him in now that we are close and facing one another. He has a strong jawline that is peppered with a shadow of hair, and a sharp defined nose. His eyes are molten brown and they're unsteadying as they pierce into me.
"My name is Alexia, and I'm going to be your nurse until 7pm. I'm going to grab a blood pressure on you and then ask you a bunch of questions that you've already answered today," These sentences come out of my lips too easily, because I've said them hundreds of times before in that exact same order. What I don't expect is his response.
"I don't do quick or easy," his voice is deep and completely throws me off.
"What?"
"I. Don't. Do. Quick. Or. Easy." He says this slowly, as if speaking to a child.
"Yeah, I. Get. What. You're. Saying," I narrow my eyes at him and mock his tone of voice, "but what I don't understand is why you're saying it."
"You told your friend this would be quick and easy, and I just want you to understand that I don't partake in either of those."
Even though my whole body is on alert because of this man, I can't help but roll my eyes. I step closer to him and roll up the left sleeve of his beige shirt, allowing my eyes to drink in more of the tattoo and the thick muscles of his arm. The muscles on him are intimidating enough, but the black swirl of the tattoo makes me want to explore further, with shaky fingers.
Instead I run the machine to get a blood pressure on him.
The tattoo must stretch to at least his shoulders. Is it on his back too?
A soft, thoughtful hum escapes from me as I stare at the intricate loops of the tattoo. He moves impossibly quick for a man of his size, but before I know it he plucks the mask off of my face and flicks it carelessly onto the ground.
"What the-," I begin but stop immediately when I see his dark eyes grow impossibly darker, practically black, as he studies my face.
I stare back at him incredulously and my eyes dart to the COs outside the door who are still talking quietly to one another.
"You should be mine, kitten," he says, his voice deep and raw, and I can feel the warmth of his breath on my neck before I pull myself away and take a large step back.
My heart is hammering in my chest but I try to remain unfazed, "Of all the things to say, that might take the cake on possibly being one of the weirdest."
His lips pull back into a smirk and his eyes continue to melt into me.
"You say that now, but I'd wager just about anything that if I had you here, purring on your back, maybe with some of these," he pulls on his own handcuff attaching him to the bed, "that you would beg me to make you mine."
I throw my head back and let out a dry, humorless laugh, because seriously? How did my day go from compressions to this?
My laugh seems to catch him off guard for a brief moment, and I'm glad it does.
"From where I stand, it doesn't look like you have a whole lot to wager," I snort, before writing down the vital signs on the assessment sheet.
"Come a little closer then, kitten, and I'll happily teach you a thing or two of what I have," he cocks his head to the side before continuing, "and what I can do with it."
"Are you having any chest pain now?" I shake my head as I try to get this conversation back into familiar nurse-patient territory.
An exaggerated frown pulls at his face as he studies me. He touches his chest lightly as if checking to see if his sternum is still intact or if the bones are crushed beneath his fingers entirely.
"I'm not quite sure."
Holding back a sigh, I step forward and press my stethoscope to his broad muscular chest. Standing this close to a patient is a normal. Pressing my stethoscope to the chest of a patient is normal.
What isn't normal is how my stupid body reacts. I can hear my own heart beating rapidly in my ears and my body feels as if it's gotten 20 degrees hotter when I inhale the spicy and warm smell of him.
Irritated, I close my eyes and focus on the lub-dub sound coming from the patient's chest through my Littman. His heart rate is around 92 beats per minute, which is pretty fast for a fit man like him. I find some sick joy in knowing that I'm having some sort of affect on him as well.
"Normal rate and rhythm. No gallops, no murmers." I mutter to myself as I write it down on my sheet.
"Are you experiencing any shortness of breath?" I ask and immediately regret it when I watch his face break out into a shit-eating grin.
"No, but I'd very much like to be if you're offering, kitten."
And I'm not sure if it's because I'm on my third shift in a row, or that I almost lost a patient today, or that I really need a drink and this asshole is testing my last nerve. But it's got to be one of those reasons that gives me the nerve to wrap my fingers around the handcuff on his right hand and tighten it a single click tighter.
What I expect from the inmate is a look of anger, or maybe even some surprise. But instead I'm met with a cocky smirk and eyes that are glittering in mischief.
"What a pleasant surprise, that the little kitten has claws."
It starts somewhere deep within my stomach, that burning feeling, and I feel it blossom throughout my body like buds on a tree in springtime and escape through my eyes. Bringing my green eyes level to his, I reach out and grab onto the cuff on his wrist and tighten it another notch and let out a soft, mocking "meow" before storming out of his room.
Sadie is leaning against the hall talking to the younger CO and sends me a quick wink as I walk back to the nurse's station.
I can't even hold back my groan when I see Dr. Bolton, sitting in my chair flipping through the inmate's chart.
"I was just about to go into the new patient's room," he tells me while scanning over each detail in the file, "Grab some tubes for blood. If he is here for chest pain, we might as well do the full cardiac work up. Even though he's only 34 years old and obviously takes care of himself, we don't want to let anything slip through our fingers. Let's finish what the ED started so we can get him back to maximum by tomorrow."
