Desire Unmatched: 4 (Coded for Love) (8 page)

For the first time in a month, her brain shut down and she
fell into a sleep nearly as deep as that of the man sharing the tight space
with her.

* * * * *

Xander blinked in the darkness and out of long habit came to
immediate alertness, going through his daily mental checklist. A checklist he’d
been doing so many years, he didn’t remember waking up without it.

Where was he? In a bed. A hospital bed. That’s right. He
wasn’t in a basement in France. A brush at his side had him turning. Hello. He
wasn’t alone in this bed. Emma was in bed with him. He was naked, she was not.
Despite never having had the pleasure of waking up next to her before, he knew
immediately it was Emma.

Without disturbing her, he continued through his checklist.
Eyes? In working order. He could make out the handles on the wall cabinets to
the left of the bed. Mouth? He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth. All
seemed fine in there, other than a pretty bad case of morning breath. He
spotted a glass of water on a tall rolling cart next to the bed and picked it
up to drink.

Arms in working order. Hang on. There was a needle in his
left arm attached to an IV. He didn’t feel groggy or drugged, so he guessed it
was regular saline to rehydrate him. Funny, he hadn’t felt dehydrated but, oh
yeah, he’d fainted carrying Emma to her room. The embarrassing memory from last
night flooded back in.

At least his brain was in working order. Though he wouldn’t
mind a splash of dementia to erase the memory of making a fool of himself yet
again in front of his match. Seemed he was destined to be shamed in front of
this woman. Every time he dared to get close enough to touch or talk to her, he
ended up coming out a loser.

It was embarrassing as hell, but probably better in the long
run. Emma would be relieved not to be matched to a loser. One who got himself
kidnapped, fainted on a dime and couldn’t give her an orgasm.

Speaking of which, he did his morning check on his lower
half. Toes could wiggle. Knees bent easily. Dick, hard as ever in the morning.
The only thing different about this morning was the presence of a female.

His dick hardened a fraction more as if it knew Emma’s warm,
soft body was inches away. “Shit,” he muttered and lay back, folding one hand
behind his head to keep from touching her. His hand with the IV stayed at his
side. The blanket tented at his waist. His erection wasn’t going anywhere.

He couldn’t touch her. He wouldn’t. It would be taking
advantage. Only a jerk would touch a woman while she was sleeping.

At that moment, Emma shifted a little and curled closer,
hooking her leg over his. His whole body shuddered. Fuck it.
She
got
into bed with him. She was probably the one to strip his clothes also. If that
wasn’t an invitation to touch, what was?

He’d only touch, he told himself. And only above her waist.
Anything else was unfair. He’d taken enough first-aid training to know how to
remove the drip tube from his arm and yank out the needle. Now that his hands
were free, he could move more comfortably in the bed without getting tangled.

Carefully rolling to his side, but keeping Emma’s soft body
plastered to his, he shifted to face her. Her chest pressed against his and he
released a breath at the sensation. His dick pushed into her belly, and he
wished it were lower. He gave a quick prayer of gratitude that she was fully
clothed, or it would’ve been too easy to roll Emma to her back, spread her legs
and plunge his body into heaven.

He’d taken her once, and though it had lasted an
embarrassingly short ten seconds, it had been ten amazing seconds for him. He
remembered every detail of how her pussy felt, squeezed around his cock. His
hips thrust against her belly once as his lips brushed her chin.

Holy shit, what was he doing? He was a total pervert, and
worse than that, he was a borderline skeeve for taking advantage of a sleeping
woman. He pulled back quickly, coming up against the plastic hospital bed
rails.

“Where you going?” Emma murmured, reaching for him.

She was awake? Her palms cupped his cheeks.

“Come back. I want to snuggle more,” she said quietly, her
eyes still closed.

He watched her intently for a second, debating whether she
was awake enough to know what she was saying, what she was inviting.

“Xander?”

His whispered name on her pink lips settled it as far as he
was concerned. She knew she was in bed with him. She surprisingly seemed to
want his touch. Feeling slightly awkward, he moved back to her side, covering
her body with his.

Her thighs spread, bringing his hips closer. His aching cock
squeezed between their bodies, desperate for release. “Am I too heavy?” he
asked.

Her eyes opened a crack then closed. “You’re perfect. Touch
me.”

Xander’s palms flattened, then cupped her breasts over her
thin shirt. A moan escaped from them both. She arched into him the same time
his hips thrust forward. She felt damn good against him. Their lips found each
other, and they kissed with mouths that grew more ravenous, more demanding as
the minutes ticked by.

Emma shifted under him, reminding him once again he was
totally naked and she was covered.

“What are you doing?” he asked, looking down at her,
balanced on his elbows.

“I want this off,” she said, moving around, trying to take
her shirt off.

His brain had lost any sense, because instead of telling her
to remain clothed, his hands got busy, getting under her shirt to help tug it
off. In seconds she was topless under him, skin-to-skin, her plump, smooth
breasts against the expanse of his chest. His hands cupped the underside of one
breast as he lowered his head to kiss it.

Emma giggled.

He looked up at her. “What? What did I do wrong?”

She frowned at him. “Nothing. Your beard tickled. That’s
all.”

He moved back up her body, frowning the whole way. “I don’t
know what I’m doing.” He bent to brush his lips over hers again. She’d seemed
to like his kisses. At least she hadn’t laughed at them. He was okay if all
they did was kiss, even though he ached to bury his face against her breasts
again. He concentrated on keeping their lips connected, hands plastered to the
sheet at her shoulders. Their lips met in a sweet communion as their tongues
brushed hesitantly against each other, growing more confident as the seconds
ticked by.

After a few minutes, he noticed Emma shifting her face away.
Shit, was he fucking up the kissing too? Then he realized she was trying to say
something. He pulled back a tad to listen.

“Xander, I want more. Go back to my breasts.”

His fingers clenched in the sheet. “Are you sure? I don’t—”

“Lick my breasts. Now.”

His vision wavered at the command in her tone and he
hastened to obey orders. This time he was less gentle, kissing then testing her
nipple between his teeth. He paused quickly to gauge her reaction. Her eyes
were closed and her nails raked up his back. He guessed she was okay with it.

Their bodies moved together in a dance mimicking
intercourse, and he knew that’s where they were heading and right now he
couldn’t think of one damn reason he shouldn’t make love to her and claim her
fully as his match. Fucking her had been what he’d envisioned every day of his
captivity as he’d jerked off into the sterile cup Paulson provided.

At that thought, he froze and rolled off Emma as far as he
could in the narrow bed.

Her eyes flew open as she rolled to him, trying to keep the
connection going. Her arms wrapped around his neck, trying to pull him back. He
still wasn’t at full strength, but he was strong enough to remain immobile and
hold his place.

She came to him, pressing her body against his, undulating
and kissing his chest. It didn’t take long before she noticed he’d stopped
responding and she was the sole participant in the make-out session.

“Xander, what’s wrong? Do you feel okay? Are you too weak?”
She pulled back to her side of the bed and looked at him. Her cheeks were pink.
Despite the absence of windows in the infirmary room, the lights were dim but
not off. He noted her pupils were dilated.

He shook his head, unwilling to hurt her by sharing the
nastiness that was his kidnapping experience. She’d hate him if she knew he’d
jerked off every single morning to fantasies all involving her doing perverted,
nasty things. The first few days he’d kept it basic, envisioning them having
sex missionary style, usually reliving the one time they’d actually had sex.
Only in his jerk-off fantasy, he’d gone for a long time and given her an
orgasm. He hadn’t run out on her with his pants around his knees.

By week two of captivity he’d had imaginary Emma on her
knees, his cock in her mouth. Or on all fours, him taking her from behind. In
his fantasies he hadn’t been gentle. He’d been rough and commanding as he’d
pushed her down and fucked her hard.

Yeah, he couldn’t tell her any of that. She’d look at him
with disgust. Before he could come up with a lie or anything to say, the door
opened and Doctor Wise walked in with his father on her heels.

His body tensed as he yanked the covers over Emma, who’d
crossed her arms over her chest with a gasp the second the visitors walked in.

“Knock first,” he said to Doctor Wise.

“About time you two did something,” his father said, jerking
a chin at the two of them now trapped mostly naked in bed. Xander wanted to
tell Wise and his dad to get the hell out so Emma would have a second to get
dressed, but knowing her, she’d use the time to interrogate him about why he’d
backed off the sex. Also, the presence of Wise and his dad had instantly cooled
his erection. Left alone with Emma again, he couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t be
hard and on top of her within seconds.

More and more, he couldn’t remember why he was fighting
being her match. He wanted her, she seemed to want him, and God knew, he wanted
sex.

His dad opened his mouth and all his reasons came rushing
back. “Am I going to get grandchildren this century?” his father asked.

Xander stiffened, and not in a good way. Emma’s hand found
his under the covers. She squeezed and released it. He opened his mouth to
speak, but she beat him to it. “That’s none of your business.”

He swiveled his head to gaze at her with awe and tensed,
waiting for Dad’s reaction. She’d basically told his father to fuck off. His
stomach tightened as he waited for his father’s response. Shit, he should’ve
told Emma to keep quiet. If Dad was rude to her, he’d have to intervene. He
swallowed back bile.

His dad didn’t say anything. He merely scowled at Emma and
found a seat in the corner. Xander released a breath that he wouldn’t have to
confront his dad. Then he inwardly scowled that after thirty years of life, he
was still a pansy who let his father affect him, even as an adult.

He was distracted by Emma’s hand groping around under the
blanket. His breath caught as she brushed his upper thigh. He glanced at her,
wondering what she was up to. The time for amorous behavior had clearly come to
an end. He had seriously kinky thoughts about her, but even he wasn’t disturbed
enough to want to do anything with his father and Doctor Wise in the room.

“I want my shirt,” she whispered.

Oh yeah. Her shirt. His hand joined hers in the
under-the-covers groping, and he latched on to it where it had bunched under
one of his knees. He tugged it up and handed it to her, then held the blanket
over her torso as she slid into her shirt.

It occurred to him she didn’t have a bra on. Had she run
outside last night to greet him without shoes and bra? He hated the no-shoes
thing, but kind of liked the no-bra thing. It was one layer less to get to
those amazing tits of hers. And…his erection was back. Well, not so much back
as knocking on the door begging to enter. It only took a glance around the room
at his dad and Doctor Wise to shoo it away.

“How are you feeling this morning, Mr. Bristack?” Doctor
Wise asked.

It took him a second to realize she was asking him and not
his father. “Oh. I’m okay. I could go back to work if Shep needs me.”

His father stood, gave a nod. “That’s my boy. I’ll see you
later, son.”

He watched his father exit the room, then turned as Emma
lowered the railing on her side of the bed and hopped out. His side felt cold
and the bed too big without her. “Where are you going?” he asked, ignoring Doctor
Wise, who stood at his side with plenty more questions.

The doctor stuck a thermometer under his tongue, stopping
him from protesting when Emma announced she was going to shower in her own
apartment. He bit down on the plastic thermometer, just shy of cracking it. He
didn’t want her to go, but he didn’t want her to stay either. She wasn’t
comfortable for his mental health.

“Wait a second, Emma,” Doctor Wise said as Emma’s hand
reached the doorknob. “Xander needs a shower or a sponge bath. It’s either you
or me, and I know Xander would prefer you.”

He pulled the thermometer from under his tongue. “I can
bathe on my own. I’m fine. Stop hovering.”

Doctor Wise yanked the thermometer from his fist. “If you’re
fine, explain your fever.”

“What? I have a fever?” He leaned over the railing of the
bed, trying to get a look at the thermometer’s tiny digital display, but she
had it out of view and was already at the sink filling a small tub with soap
water. He looked to Emma, not knowing what he’d see in her reaction to Doctor
Wise’s request.

She looked frozen to the floor with wide eyes that met his
gaze. She visibly swallowed. “I…okay. I can wash Xander.”

She stepped back in the room and reached for the cloth
Doctor Wise held before he could tell her to get out. The two women carefully
placed a mustard-yellow plastic basin full of water covered in bubbles on the
metal rolling cart and wheeled it to him. Then Doctor Wise came over and picked
up his wrist. “You should’ve waited for me to pull your IV. Here.” She spun
around, then back and covered the puncture wound with a Band-Aid. “I’ll be back
in thirty minutes and then we’ll do that CT scan.” She stepped out of the room,
shutting the door firmly behind her.