Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“That’s very good,” he said. “Your fever isn’t as high as it was, but you’re still running a low grade. It’s been a while since you vomited too, but you’re nowhere near ready to leave yet.”
My head shook…a no. Was I doing that? I must be, otherwise it wouldn’t have happened. “My friend…he’ll be worried.”
“Ian?” he asked, and that made my heavy eyes snap open again.
“How do you know his name?” Shit. He’d known mine too. “How do you know my name?”
“You were wearing a name tag. Ian was calling, and I answered. He was very worried about you. He’s a good friend. You should have good people like that around you. He was determined to call the police on me, but I managed to prove to him you’re okay.”
I had no idea how long I’d been there. Hell, I didn’t know how I’d gone to the bathroom, but as soon as I thought it, memories tickled at the edges of my subconscious, of Dr. Kingsley helping me into the restroom, his hand on me to keep me steady as I’d sat on the toilet and pissed like a girl. My cheeks flamed.
“Something just went through that head of yours.” He brushed his finger against my cheek, and then there was a cup at my lips. I looked at him, watching him as he helped me drink, and somehow, I knew it wasn’t the first time he had done so.
And he was…beautiful, with dark hair a couple of inches long and mussed. He had dark scruff along his jaw and a nose that was a little pointed, but not too pointed where he looked sharp. He was the most breathtaking man I had ever seen. He reminded me of a king—powerful and dominant in ways I felt in my soul.
I wanted to serve him.
I wanted him to control me.
It didn’t make sense—obviously, it didn’t, since I didn’t know him. But it was what I wanted…and I did sort of know him, knew he helped people like me.
“Get some rest, precious boy.”
As though he had control of my body, of my mind, I lay back and did as he said.
The next time my eyes opened, they weren’t as heavy, my brain wasn’t as foggy, and I thought maybe I was human again.
I sat up and looked at the room for the first time. I was in a queen-size bed with light-blue bedding and a white headboard and footboard. There was a nightstand on each side, an armoire, a dresser, and I could see a door open to a bathroom. Beside the bed was an armchair that had been pulled close but didn’t seem to belong where it was.
It was where he’d sat…where Dr. Kingsley had watched me and made sure I was okay.
My legs were weak as I climbed out of the bed, wearing clothes that weren’t mine and were too big for me. A large T-shirt hung off me, and I had to hold up the pajama bottoms so they didn’t fall down. His clothes. He had put his clothes on me.
I padded into the bathroom, and holy fuck, I had never been in a bathroom this size. There was a large claw-foot tub, a separate shower, and two sinks on a long counter. It was almost as big as the apartment I shared with Ian.
Fuck. Ian. I needed to call him. First, I took a leak and washed my hands. When I looked in the mirror, seeing his clothes hanging from me, I felt very, very small. Very young…and somehow protected.
The back of my neck pricked with curiosity. Where was Dr. Kingsley? And why had he taken care of me? But then, somehow, that second question felt obvious. It was what he did. He fixed people who were sick, and he took care of those who needed it. He had done it with me three times now, and he didn’t even know me.
He was a protector.
A caretaker.
My cell phone sat on the nightstand, and I grabbed it, plopping into the middle of the bed and laughing. The blankets were thick and fluffy and God, I never wanted to leave them.
I called Ian, who answered on the first ring. “Fin?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Thank fucking God. I’ve been scared as shit that he was locking you up as some sex slave or chopping your body into tiny pieces. I didn’t know what to do!”
It was likely naive of me, but I didn’t think Dr. Kingsley would hurt me. “I’m fine,” I replied, falling back onto the pillows. “He took care of me. I feel like I’m in that movie—you know, the really old one? My mom used to like it, with that redheaded chick who was a hooker and spent a week with a rich guy—Pretty Woman, I think it is. Only without the sex, and I was unconscious and puking for most of it.”