Page 16 of Keeping Her Under (Deranged Highway, #1)
Sixteen
The surgery goes well, with no complications. Ms. Reeds’ eyes are out of focus when I pull her out from under the anesthesia. The pain and confusion in them delights me, and for a moment, I let myself believe she’s tied down in my basement where no one can hear her scream.
She deserves nothing less for how she judges big girls. A few years ago, she did an interview, talking about how disgusting overweight people were. That anyone who didn’t have the discipline to hit the gym or control what they ate should be ashamed of themselves for the burden they put on society.
Her interview blew up all over the web. Memes were made. The populace was split into two: one tearing her down for being inconsiderate, the other applauding her for “telling it like it is” and “not going woke.”
Her fame tripled, as did the number of surgeries we had to do to save someone from their eating disorders. I didn’t care about that then; if people wanted to kill themselves, it was no skin off my back, just more money in my pocket.
But Summer would’ve heard all about it.
It would’ve hurt her. She would’ve been ridiculed on the street by assholes thinking they had the right to be cruel simply because they believed themselves to have the moral high ground. Because one of their idols said it was okay.
“Don’t you want to take care of yourself?”
“You’re a drain on society.”
“You shouldn’t normalize this. Don’t you know how harmful it is for others to see you and think your body is okay?”
“You need help, you disgusting freak!”
“Who’s going to believe you were raped when you look like this? Just keep it to yourself.”
“I’m only telling you this because I care.”
All those attacks my girl would have suffered… they can all be laid down at Ms. Reeds’ feet.
And she will pay for each and every one.
But while I am in sight of my colleagues, I am nothing but the epitome of professionalism.
I make sure my patient’s stable and as comfortable as she can be before I leave her to recover in a private room rather than in the general Post Anesthesia Care Unit.
Her bodyguard sits beside her as she lies groggy and in pain from the surgery.
A part of me feels a kinship with this man.
Just like me, he’d do anything to protect his girl – even if she isn’t aware that that is what she is.
But his devotion isn’t enough to sway me into showing her mercy. Ms. Reeds is part of the world that rejected my ray of sunshine.
And come tonight, she will burn for it.
An hour and a half later, I follow the transport team as they take Ms. Reeds into the ICU. I discuss her chart and medication with the anesthesiologist there, pretending to be so concerned for our VIP, and then I make my way over to the nurse’s station.
We chat for a bit before I ask about Summer. She looks at me with soft sympathy, and I glance away as if I’m ashamed.
“You should go see her,” Nurse Potts says kindly, and I tense, as if I can’t bear the thought of facing the consequence of my mistake.
She eats it up like stolen candy on Halloween.
“You did the right thing, putting her into a coma. I’m sure she’ll thank you for saving her life when she wakes.”
I nod as if she’s convinced me, and her whole face lights up.
It doesn’t matter how far feminism progresses, women will always want to fix a man.
And if you give people what they desire, they will give you their loyalty.
I could play her like a fiddle, leading her further and further down the path of my defense until it didn’t matter what I did, she’d find an excuse to ignore the facts presented.
“I know him. He wouldn’t do that!”
“He’s a good man.”
“He’s a professional.”
“He must have had a reason.”
We see it all the time. Politicians stirring up hate. Their voters claiming they have a line. But when their idol crosses it, suddenly that line is jumped over by an Olympic gymnast. Ten out of ten from all the judges.
The psychology of it is simple: people don’t like to be wrong, and so they’ll do anything to believe they’re right.
“Thank you,” I murmur, and she melts a little bit more.
The ring on her finger tells me she’s married, but the fact that she’s had such a strong reaction to being told thank you?
Clearly, her partner does not appreciate her as they should.
If I wanted to get her into my bed, it would be as easy as complimenting her from time to time and making her feel seen.
Dismissing her, I head towards the only place I want to be. My pulse increases. My palms start to sweat. With every step, the cum-filled napkin in my pocket demands more and more of my attention. Where am I going to rub it on her?
I open her door and slip inside. I shut it behind me. The nurses know I’m in here, and they know how egotistical us anesthesiologists are. They will simply think I want some privacy to face my own feelings of inadequacy. They won’t ever guess that I’m preparing her for tonight.
My breath catches at the sight of my girl, lying on her back, hooked up to a monitor, with various tubes and wires coming off her.
She looks like a goddess to be worshipped, and I vow to care for her just like this every day of her life. Whatever she wants, whatever she needs – I will supply it. She deserves no less.
Stopping by her bedside, I reach for her hand. My fingers thread through hers like strings of fate.
Like seeing a dog in a kennel and knowing it’s yours or stopping to pick up one shivering on the side of the road. There are things that call to us sometimes, but too many of us only listen when it’s directed at animals. At things we don’t think can hurt us.
But what is love if it’s not worth the risk of pain?
For her, I will risk everything.
“You will never be alone again,” I murmur as I stroke her cheek with my knuckles. Digging the folded up tissue out of my pocket, I spread it open and rub my dried cum onto her lips. Then I push it inside her open mouth, careful not to knock the endotracheal tube feeding her oxygen.
I let her consume me.
Own me.
Take me as I’m about to take her.
My cock hard and throbbing, I finally pull my finger out of her mouth. Then I suck it into mine. I shudder. I pant. I moan.
Glancing at the closed doors, I freeze, thinking I can hear someone approaching. My heart beats loudly. My skin shivers with anticipation.
But when nothing happens, I quickly grab the bottom of Summer’s hospital gown and hike it up her legs. Pulling my finger out of my mouth, I slip it into my pants and rub the tip across my leaking head. Gathering as much precum as I can, I push my soaking wet finger into her pussy.
All the way in.
My balls draw tight.
I curl my finger, and just like that I come.
Fuuuck.
Breathing heavily through my nostrils, grinding my teeth so I don’t make a noise, I stroke her pussy lips a couple more times before withdrawing my hand. Then I gather up all the cum I spilled in my boxers, and I push it into her aching, empty pussy.
“Soon,” I murmur as I kiss her cheek. “I’ll fuck you like you deserve.”
The sound of the doors opening has me jerking upright. I pull my finger out of her and quickly straighten her gown. Then I shove the dirty napkin back into my pocket. I’m standing upright, with my focus on the monitor as the curtains are pulled open.
My heart is racing in my chest. My palms are damp. Will the nurse notice her gown isn’t as perfect as it was? Will she assume Summer moved a bit? Or can she smell the cum in my pants? I glance down discretely to see if any of it’s leaked through.
And a small stain stares back at me.
Shit.
But I can’t just run out of here. That’ll be too suspicious.
“Dr. Slader,” the nurse says. “I can come back –”
“No,” I say, letting my voice twist with guilt. “Take care of her, please.”
Forcing myself to move casually, I walk out of Summer’s room. The cum sticking to my hairs is starting to dry, and I convince myself that the nurse isn’t about to give my girl a bath. They normally do that in the morning, and patients rarely get more than one a day.
So she won’t find my cum in her.
She won’t call the police.
Everything will be okay.
And yet, my heart is still racing long after I’m out of the ICU.
What if I get caught tonight?
What if I never get to make her mine?