When Contracts Turn to Forbidden Kisses Chapter 140

Amelia

"I see you managed without drowning yourself," I said, trying to sound clinical despite the flutter in my stomach. My eyes involuntarily tracked a water droplet as it traveled down his chest.

"I'm resourceful." His lips curved into that infuriating half-smile. "But I might need help with this." He nodded toward his bandaged hand.

"That's why I'm here." I patted the edge of the bed. "Sit down so I can reach it properly."

He obeyed, sinking onto the mattress while I gathered the medical supplies I'd brought. Standing between his knees, I leaned in to examine the bandage. The proximity of his bare skin made my fingers less steady than I would've liked.

"This might hurt a bit," I warned as I began peeling away the wet dressing.

Ethan didn't flinch as I removed the old bandage, revealing the healing wound beneath. The stitches looked good—no signs of infection. I cleaned the area with antiseptic, conscious of his eyes watching my every move.

"Your hands are very gentle," he murmured, his breath warm against my collarbone.

"I've had practice," I replied, focusing intently on applying the antibiotic ointment. "Hold still."

I placed fresh gauze over the wound, securing it with medical tape. My fingertips lingered longer than necessary, tracing the edge of the bandage and then, almost unconsciously, the curve of his shoulder.

"All done," I said, my voice embarrassingly breathless.

Before I could step back, Ethan caught my wrist with his left hand. With one fluid motion, he pulled me forward until I tumbled onto his lap, my legs straddling his thighs.

"Ethan!" I gasped, hands instinctively bracing against his chest. "What are you doing? I just fixed your bandage!"

His eyes darkened as he looked up at me. "Doctor, I think I might need you to check something else."

My heart hammered wildly. "This... this isn't part of your treatment plan."

"My right hand is useless," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "And there's still a part of me that needs attention, Mrs. Black."

The way he said "Mrs. Black" sent a shiver down my spine. Despite myself, I felt heat pooling low in my belly.

"I could call a different doctor," I suggested weakly, even as my body betrayed me by leaning closer.

"I only want you." His left hand slid to my waist, warm and firm before moving upward. "No one else."

Our lips met in a kiss that started gentle but quickly blazed into something hungry and desperate. I found myself responding with an intensity that surprised me. Every intimate moment after years of repression left me utterly intoxicated.

When we broke apart, both breathing heavily, his hand moved to cup my breast through my shirt. "I've missed this," he whispered, squeezing gently. "I've missed you."

Something in his voice—raw vulnerability beneath the desire—undid me completely. My fingers traced the contours of his face, relearning every angle and plane.

"My hand can't do much right now," he said, a hint of frustration coloring his tone. "Could you...help me?"

I knew exactly what he was asking. Despite the flush creeping up my neck, I nodded. My hand slid down his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath my palm. When I reached the edge of the towel, I hesitated briefly.

"Is this what you need?" I asked, surprising myself with my boldness.

"Yes," he breathed, his eyes never leaving my face.

The towel fell away as my hand moved lower, and I wrapped my fingers around his cock. I watched his expression change at my touch, his sharp intake of breath giving me an unexpected thrill of power.

"Like this?" I asked, my movements tentative at first.

"Firmer," he guided, his voice strained. "Yes—just like that."

I followed his instructions, gaining confidence with each reaction. His left hand returned to my breast, squeezing and caressing through the fabric as his breathing grew more erratic.

"You want me to stop?" I teased at one point, deliberately slowing my pace.

"Don't you dare," he growled, capturing my lips in another searing kiss while his hand slipped under my shirt to touch my bare skin.

"Not fair," I gasped against his mouth. "You're supposed to be resting that hand."

"Some things are worth the pain," he replied with a wicked smile, his fingers finding their target with surprising accuracy.

It became a sweet torture—trying to maintain focus on pleasuring him while his touch sent waves of heat through my own body. I bit my lip to stay quiet, painfully aware of Noah in the adjoining room.

"Let me see you," Ethan whispered, his eyes intense with desire.

I felt his muscles tensing under my touch, his breath becoming shallow. "Amelia," he groaned, my name a prayer on his lips as he found his release.

For several minutes afterward, we remained tangled together, foreheads touching, breathing gradually slowing. I'd never felt so connected to anyone—so vulnerable yet completely safe.

"I never thought we'd be here again," I admitted quietly, my finger tracing idle patterns on his chest.

He caught my hand, bringing it to his lips. "This is only the beginning. We have a lot of time to make up for."

I was worried he might try something more intimate, so I hurried out of Ethan’s room, quickly fixing my clothes and hair. I barely took three steps down the hall when Noah was lying on the couch, hair all messy from sleep.

"Look who's doing a late-night house call," he smirked, eyes taking in my flushed appearance. "I'm guessing the patient is recovering nicely?"

"I was just changing his bandages," I replied, the lie transparent even to my own ears.

"Must have been some bandage change," Noah laughed, raising an imaginary glass in salute. "Don't worry, these walls are pretty soundproof. Mostly."

My face burning, I hurried past him toward my temporary room. Once safely inside, I leaned against the closed door, heart still racing.

I called Olivia, needing to talk but not knowing what to say.

"You sound different," she said immediately. "Did something happen?"

"No, it's just... the air conditioning is too cold," I lied, unable to discuss what had happened with Noah potentially within earshot. "I think I need a hot shower."

In the bathroom mirror, my reflection told the truth my words couldn't—flushed cheeks, bright eyes, swollen lips. As I stepped into the shower, I looked down at my hands, remembering the feel of Ethan's skin beneath them, and felt a fresh wave of heat course through me.

What had started as medical care had transformed into something much more intimate. And for the first time in three years, I allowed myself to hope that maybe, just maybe, Ethan and I could find our way back to each other.