I woke to thoughts of her. Cracked my eyelids and stared at the treacherous sun, breaking through the gap between my curtains. Last night, shit, last night had almost ended me, and this morning was no better.

My dick was rock hard, pressing into my boxers again, and this wasn’t the standard I-gotta-pee, morning-glory boner. This was the “if I don’t rub this one out, I’m going to have blue balls” boner. I rolled out of bed, blinking sleep from my eyes and trundled across the carpet and into my ensuite bathroom.

I shut the door, dragged my shorts off, and grabbed for the aqueous cream I kept on the sink. Fuck, it was too much, living with her. It was just her presence in the house. The thought of her tits out, last night, pressed against me. The taste of her skin.

“Fuck it,” I muttered and smoothed cream over my shaft, circled my head, and my hips bucked of their own accord. Pleasure spread through me, from the tip, backward, through my abdomen, and I growled under my breath.

We’d had one official time together, but it was enough to summon every fantasy I’d ever had of her into reality.

I pictured her, bent in front of me, over the sink, her eyes wide as I pounded into her, doggy-style. Our reflections in the mirror. Her breasts bouncing as I pinned her there, made her scream my name this time. Made her lose it. Lose thoughts of anyone else. Of any other moment, any past hurt.

Christ.

“Erika,” I grunted. “Erika, baby.” The sensations were sweeter with her name to accent them. I stroked faster, tightening my grip slightly, emulating that tight pussy, how it’d clenched around me as she came. I twisted, focused on my tip, bit my lip, and braced myself on the bathroom counter.

I was already too close.

“Erika.” One last time, and I envisioned her mouth around my cock, gobbling me up as greedily as she had that first time. That only time, fuck. She’d sucked my dick like it was the only thing she’d ever wanted. She’d worshipped it.

The sensations combined with that memory were too much to handle. My balls tightened up, and I growled, hit my climax. I pumped into my hand, grabbing onto the marble top for support and finished in four long strokes.

“Jesus,” I whispered. “Jesus.” First time I’d come that fast in years. Since I was a teenager fantasizing about having Erika all to myself, in my bedroom back in Syracuse. That was what made this so goddamn intense—it was like being a sex-starved teen all over again.

I washed my hands then turned on the faucets in the shower and doused myself in warm water. I washed up quick, dried even quicker, and spritzed on some cologne. I had appointments today, and likely time in the delivery room this week. No cesareans, so it all hinged on when my patients went into labor, but one of them was due Friday.

Needless to say, focus was the order of the day, and that meant putting all these fucked-up obsessive feelings about Erika behind me. At least until I could fuck her again. No. Not fuck her. Not anything with her. It’s done. Your little game is done, Cox.

But no amount of telling myself that made it real.

I dressed quickly, left my coat on the bed, then headed out of my bedroom and across the living room into the kitchen. I halted in the doorway, steeled myself.

Erika was already in there. She swayed her ass in those silky pajama shorts and stood behind the stove. The scent of bacon sizzling in the pan, along with fried eggs and toast, wafted through the kitchen.

“Hungry?” I asked.

She jolted, then laughed and looked back over her shoulder at me. “What is it about you? You’re always giving me frights.”

“You’re never ready for me,” I replied. “That’s the problem.”

Erika cleared her throat and looked back to the pan in front of her. Fuck, way to blow it, jackass. “Hope you don’t mind,” she said, “I took the, uh, liberty of preparing some breakfast. I figured you’d be hungry after last night, and we both have a long day ahead of us at the hospital. What time’s your first appointment?”

I checked my watch. “8:00 a.m.,” I said. “So, I’ve got some time. This is real nice of you, Erika.”

“It’s no biggie,” she replied as she slipped a few slices of bacon onto a plate. My mouth watered. “It’s the least I can do after you took me in. I’m eternally grateful for that.”

How grateful? What was wrong with me? I’d gone from snapping at her to sexual innuendos. I sat down without replying and dragged the plate toward myself. She headed back to the stove, then walked over with another pan. “How many eggs?” she asked. “I’ve got three.”

“Three it is, then,” I replied.

She dished them up and padded back to the stove, leaving me to eat and check out her supple ass under the silk. Or on top of it. Goddamn, I couldn’t eat like this. I was too thirsty. My cock twitched again, rolled over in my pants, and I gritted my teeth, forced myself to look down at the bacon instead of at her.

Erika hummed as she cooked her breakfast, then joined me a couple minutes later. She poured us each a glass of OJ and smiled.

“Someone’s in a good mood this morning,” I said.

“I’m always in a good mood when I get to cook, as ridiculous as that sounds. It’s just something that my mother and father both put a lot of emphasis on. Especially around Christmas.”

“I remember,” I replied, “all the dinner parties, the normal parties. Your folks always had great food, and I don’t recall a caterer.” Not that I’d been paying much attention with Erika around to taunt me. “Were they always like that?”

“Always,” Erika said, and took a bite of egg. “Ha, remember the time you came over for my father’s birthday? Your mom and dad, your brothers?”

“Don’t.”

But she was already on a roll. “And you were mocking me about the cake, because I’d prepared it. Had all those squiggly hearts in the frosting. And then—”

“Erika,” I said, in a warning that was more joking than anything else.

“And then Marc came up behind you and put that fake spider on your shoulder. You lost it!” Erika laughed and almost choked on her food. “And tripped, fell face first into my dad’s cake.”

“You were furious.” I smiled at the memory now. Back then, when I’d been fourteen and full of shit, I’d been totally mortified. Horrified that my little plan to tease the crap out of Erika had backfired so horribly. Especially when the entire school found out.

“I’d spent ages baking that cake. It wasn’t enough that you’d mocked me about it, then you went ahead and fell into it too? Come on.” But her lips turned up at the corners. “I’ll admit I thought it was hilarious and laughed about it later on.”

I speared her with a look. “You write about it in your journal?”

The fork stopped midway to her mouth. “Nice way to bring that up,” she murmured.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said. “I wasn’t thinking about—”

“That night? The time you caught me burning your picture? Sure, buddy. I’m sure that’s not what you were referencing.”

Man, when had she gotten this funny? And this sarcastic? It was a good color on her. “Not what I expected when I came over, I’ll admit.”

“What did you expect?” Erika put down her fork and considered me. “I know you didn’t think I’d be happy to see you, after everything we went through.”

“We?”

“Fine, after all the shit you put me through.”

“Hey!”

Erika laughed, and there wasn’t a hint of bitterness there. It was a nice change from a month ago, from the way we’d spat at each other. “I didn’t expect you to walk in on me burning that picture,” she said.

“I certainly didn’t expect to witness it. I was legitimately freaked out at first, ha, but then I dunno, I figured it was just you being you,” I replied.

“You didn’t think I was doing some type of weird ritual thing?”

“Oh, no, I totally did,” I replied and thoroughly enjoyed the consternation on her face. “Thought you were casting a love spell on me.”

“In your dreams, bucko.” Erika continued eating, and I watched her. She was almost too neat, cutting things into perfect little portions, eating them daintily, then chewing. Another thing about her that fascinated me.

I ate in silence, enjoying the breakfast, and ignoring the questions and random warnings that popped up in my mind. Fuck it, why couldn’t I enjoy a meal she’d cooked for me in my kitchen? The very same kitchen I’d almost fucked her in last night.

I cleared my throat, finished my meal, and downed the glass of OJ. “This was fantastic. Thanks, Erika. Not what I expected to wake up to.”

“Seriously, it’s no problem. You’re the one who’s helping me out here.” Another smile from her.

“Can I give you a ride to the hospital? Early appointments this morning?”

She hesitated, thought it over, brow wrinkling up. “You know what? Sure, why not.” She got up and came over to collect my plate, but I caught her by the wrist.

“You don’t need to do that,” I said. “I’ll wash up.”

“Noah.”

“I’m serious,” I said. “Least I can do after that kick-ass breakfast. You get ready for work, and I’ll take care of this.” Yet again, it came off as a command, and her eyes narrowed slightly. “Please,” I said, trying the word on for size. It fit, barely.

Erika sighed. “All right. Thanks.” She skedaddled out of there in those too-small pj’s, and I finally let out a sigh of relief. Christ, it was a damn good thing I’d rubbed one out this morning, or I’d have been hard-pressed, excuse the fucking pun, not to have taken her over the kitchen island.

I shoved my stool back, rose, and collected first my plate and then hers. I busied myself rinsing them off, prepping the dishwasher, and ignoring the constant pull toward the bathroom. Toward her. She was in there, right now, naked, soaping herself up.

Christ, what if she was touching herself and thinking about me?

I ignored the thoughts, tried to, and got the coffee machine going. That was all I needed. A stiff cup of coffee and a day full of work to take my mind off that vixen.

The intercom buzzed in the next room and I strode over and pressed the button. “Yes?”

“Dr. Cox, I’ve got two people here to see you—” The doorman was interrupted by the shrill of my mother’s voice.

“Darling, it’s Mom and Dad! We’re here for a surprise visit!”

“For heaven’s sake, Delia, it’s not a fucking surprise visit if we fucking announce ourselves first.”

“Do you always have to be so objectionable?” Mom snapped back.

The doorman cleared his throat. “Dr. Cox.”

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, then raised my voice. “Sure, let them up.” If I didn’t allow this, they’d only come back later and irritate me more. Better to find out what the hell they wanted now rather than be pestered by them for the rest of the day.

I clicked the phone back into place then headed through to the kitchen, brought out extra mugs for coffee, fuming now.

My mother and father always put me in a bad mood. The sooner I got rid of them, the better. They’d have questions about Erika being here, and if they had questions, the news that she was living under my roof could potentially travel back to Marc’s parents, and then through to Marc himself.

I clanked the half-and-half out of the fridge, just as the elevator doors dinged open in the apartment suite.