11. CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

S he should have known better. In fact, she did know better. So why didn't she do it?

Why didn't she set her alarm for four in the morning, or six, so that way she avoided running with Bennett? Because she was such a creature of habit that her body woke up at five o'clock without an alarm. And … she wanted to see him. She wanted to run with him.

But she refused to admit that last part and blamed her military-precise circadian rhythm.

When she descended the stairs to have her protein shake in the kitchen, she wasn't surprised, but pretended that she was, when Bennett was already there, standing over the sink, having his own protein shake. Her face and chest heated as the very vivid dreams from last night came flooding back. Especially when he lifted the blender bottle and his bicep popped in his tight-fitting fitness shirt.

The dreams had been hyper-realistic.

And dirty.

Every single one left her breathless, her panties damp, and her body flushed.

All of them left her needing a cold shower and with a hollow feeling in a very intimate part of her body.

"Oh, uh, sorry," she said, as she came to an abrupt stop just on the edge of the kitchen.

"Why are you apologizing?" How was he able to make a black, moisture-wicking, long-sleeve running shirt with the reflective stripes, black running shorts, and a headlamp look like a freaking sexy tuxedo? It was incredibly unfair. And she couldn't look away.

"I … I don't know." The man left her tongue tied and the longer she stared at that popped bicep, the hotter her body grew, and the more those dreams flashed into her mind.

He gave his shaker bottle a thorough rattle, then gulped down the rest of the chocolatey mixture, mesmerizing her with each sexy undulation of his prominent Adam's apple.

Why was that a turn on? Why did everything he do turn her on?

She should have left her protein powder and shaker in her room. There was no need to keep it in the kitchen. When she got back after her run, she'd move it.

"You fuel up before a run too?" he asked, rinsing out his blender bottle.

She nodded and told herself, and her libido, to calm down. "I can't workout on an empty stomach, but I also can't workout with anything real in my stomach either. Protein powder and water is the perfect solution." She scooped her chocolate powder into her own shaker bottle and filled it up from the sink.

"Same here," he said, watching her with an interest that made her belly flutter. "So … do you want to run together? Or are we going to awkwardly set out at the same time but not run together? I can take a different route or leave later? Run at a faster pace …"

She took the obnoxious sound of the spring in her shaker bottle rattling against the plastic as a way to delay her response. There was no way to not offend him, or make it awkward. She had to agree.

She also wanted to run with him, even though it had bad idea written all over it.

"N-no, we can run together," she said, before tipping the bottle up to her mouth and draining the shake.

"Awesome. Jagger will be here any minute, then we can head out."

He left her in the kitchen, pondering why he rendered her a tongue-tied puddle and also how he got biceps like that. She should have set her alarm for four.

Maybe she'd do that tomorrow.

No, because he'd know and get offended. There is no way out of this without hurting him or making it awkward.

Ugh. Her conscience was right.

She rinsed out the bottle and left it to dry on the counter, joining Bennett by the front door as he tied his shoes. She was just tying her last shoe when the door opened to reveal a very handsome, bearded man, taller than Bennett, and with extremely broad shoulders. He wore flannel pajama pants and a gray hoodie. All he did was grunt at Bennett, give Justine a quick grunt of a "hello" and a half-lifted brow before he dramatically flopped onto the couch and pulled a throw blanket over himself.

"Thanks, bro," Bennett said, hanging onto the still open door.

Jagger grunted like the bear he resembled.

Justine followed Bennett out into the dark. Soon, they wouldn't need headlamps because the days were getting longer and the sunrise would be earlier. Already the slivers of a new day penetrated the morning, and the winking stars no longer had their midnight brilliance.

"Shall we?" he asked, smiling at her and turning on his headlamp.

She nodded, and they walked down to the gate. "I've given you your own code. It's 4-7-7-6. Works for the main door and the gate. Want to give it a try?"

She punched in the code for the man door and it clicked open. Why did that bring her so much joy?

Bennett held it open for her and she stepped through, inhaling that dewy, fresh air mixed with the pungent, yet comforting scent of low tide.

"You set the pace. I'm good with whatever."

For some reason those words struck a chord inside of her. Like they had a secondary meaning behind them. Not just the pace for their run, but the pace for their … whatever this was.

Because she wasn't delusional, right? There was something between them. Attraction … lust. There was something else besides her being a guest and him being heavily committed to customer service.

They started out at a steady, but easy, lope.

"How long have you been running?" he asked, after they turned off the laneway onto the main road.

"Since junior high. I ran cross country all through college too."

"Oh wow! Do you run marathons or triathlons?"

"You, um … you asked me that yesterday when we ran." She chewed on her bottom lip and glanced sideways at him out of the corner of her eye.

Even in the dark, she could see his cheeks change color, and he ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it up even more than sleep had. "Shit. Did I? I'm sorry. I … I'm still half asleep, I guess."

"It's okay. We don't have to talk. We can just run."

He nodded, though reluctance creased his features, and they both faced forward.

Well, now that they weren't talking, things were even more awkward. She wanted to run into the woods, curl up at the base of a stump into the fetal position, and die of embarrassment. The mushrooms could feed on her decomposing corpse and archeologists hundreds of years from now would find her skeleton with the metal screw in her ankle from when she broke it when she was seven.

Why couldn't she have just answered him again? Why'd she have to say that to him?

Ugh! She was the worst.

She really didn't deserve a great guy like Bennett.

They'd probably ran almost two miles before he broke the silence. "This is worse than talking."

She huffed and smiled. "I agree."

"So, let's talk."

"Ooookayy …?"

"Why'd you stop being a surgeon?"

Grief and panic slammed into her chest to the point where she needed to stop running.

"Shit." His hand landed on her back. "I didn't mean … I'm sorry. Forget it." He removed his hand, but the heat of it remained, warming her to her core.

He stepped away and she could see out of the corner of her eye that he'd pivoted to face the woods and was raking his hand down his face. His back muscles expanded and contracted beneath his shirt, and for just a moment, she was hypnotized.

"You just … you make me nervous. I don't know … I don't know how to do this anymore. And I don't even know what this is. I don't know how you feel. I'm not even sure how I feel. Then there's the whole "You're a guest." thing … and temporary. And, fuck. I'm really sorry."

Not just because of the run, her heart beat wildly against her ribs.

It wasn't all in her head.

He felt it too.

Whatever it was.

"I … I don't know either," she whispered. "But, I know that … I know that I have feelings for you. That being with you makes me …" She swallowed. "It makes me happy. It also confuses me and … I don't know if I'm allowed to be happy."

His brows narrowed. "What do you mean? Because of the patient you lost?"

She nodded and her chest heaved. "It was a stupid mistake."

"And people make stupid mistakes all the time."

"But when a surgeon makes a stupid mistake, people can die. And in my case, someone did. How can I be happy when my patient will never get the chance to feel joy again? When his family is grieving?"

He exhaled a deep breath. "Clint, Dominic, Wyatt, and I, are all widowers."

She'd been staring at the damp road, but her gaze snapped up to his.

"Our wives all died in a horrible car accident."

"I—oh my god. I'm so sor—"

He held up his hand. "Thank you. It happened five years ago. And for a while, I felt that way too. The way you feel right now. Guilty to be happy. Anytime I felt joy or forgot about my wife being dead—even just for a second—the guilt was like a sledgehammer to the chest. It felt like a betrayal. How dare I smile? How dare I laugh? And I understand how it's different, because you feel responsible for your patient, but everything in life is a risk. Going for a run is a risk. Getting in a car is a risk. Having surgery is a risk. Nobody gets out of life alive. And I think—no, I know —that my wife would be hella pissed if she found out I wasn't living my life with any joy because it felt like a betrayal to her. She would be angry that I was depriving my children—and myself—of a happy and joyful life."

A hot tear slid down Justine's cheek.

"I don't know the circumstances of your patient, but if he was a good man, a man with kindness and integrity, I don't think he'd want you to give up on joy either. I think he'd forgive you and he'd want you to forgive yourself. Everyone makes mistakes, even doctors. But, you've shown him respect grieving him. It's time to not let his death be in vain, and to learn from the mistake and reclaim the joy you deserve."

The lump in her throat doubled in size and a buzzing sound in her ears had her checking for any signs of an approaching heart attack or stroke. Her shortness of breath was related to the run and the intensity of the moment. She had no back pain, no blurry vision, no sense of impending doom, or numbness down either arm.

Bennett huffed a laugh and glanced away. "Wow, that brought down the mood, huh? Like I said, I'm out of practice and obviously terrible at not only flirting, but making people feel better."

That pulled a smile to her lips. "Did you use the word ‘hella ' ?"

His grin and accompanying laugh winded her. "Yeah. I did." He took a step forward, shrinking the space between their bodies.

Her heart rate ramped up as she watched his pupils dilate, his lids drop to half-mast, and his nostrils flare.

She swallowed. The lump in her throat was smaller now, the tightness in her chest less constricting. Her breath stuttered on its way out right before he swooped in, wrapped both arms around her, and took her mouth with his.

Less than a second passed before she fell into the kiss with as much enthusiasm as Bennett. Her arms made their way around his neck and she opened her mouth for him, meeting his tongue with hers, and grinding her pelvis against his.

It was shameless, and she should have been embarrassed riding his leg that way, but after her dreams last night and the way he came at her, like he was drowning and she was air, she felt very little shame. All she felt was good. All she felt was the burning need to have this man on her, around her, and inside her.

He must have read her mind because before she could think, he was backing her up, off the road and into the trees, ripping off his headlamp and tossing it aimlessly to the earth. Her butt hit the trunk of a towering alder and his hands found the hem of her shirt.

Dear god, could she have chosen a worse outfit for this moment? Tight everything . His hand made its way up her shirt, but it hit her sports bra and stopped. They both growled and their lips parted.

Locking eyes, and speaking with just their bodies, no words, they went to the fervent work of peeling away clothing. Her shoe came off one foot and her leggings hung on her right leg at the ankle. For some reason, she kept her underwear on though, but he was no unskilled lover and knew how to push a scrap of fabric to the side.

Of course, men had everything easier, and Bennett simply dropped his shorts enough to get his cock out. She glanced down at it in his palm, thick, and roped with veins.

"I don't have a condom," he breathed, his chest heaving. "But I'm clean."

"I'm … I'm barren," she replied, ignoring that all-too-familiar stab of pain in her hostile uterus and petulant ovaries.

His eyes widened, and a soft sadness entered his heated blue gaze.

"It's fine," she dismissed. "I've come to terms with it. I also got checked after my ex …"

He nodded, understanding and not making her say the rest.

Then he helped her hop up on his hips and he was inside her in two thunderous heartbeats. How she managed to get so wet and turned on by their last conversation eluded her, but she was. She was slick and ready when he notched himself at her center and slid home. Their collective sighs of relief made her smile as she clung to him and he began to hammer her into the tree.

Nothing about this was conventional, or romantic, or sweet.

But holy hell, was it ever hot.

She'd never had sex anywhere but a bed before, let alone outside, on the side of the road with somewhat of a stranger.

And yet, no part of her—not even the voice of her mother, which sat permanently in the back of her brain criticizing her—told her this was a bad idea. Her mother's voice would later. It was probably still asleep, that was all.

So since nothing was telling her to stop, and everything was telling her to take, to soak up the dopamine and oxytocin, and find some joy, she tilted her face skyward until her head hit the trunk, allowing his teeth to rake her neck and jaw, for his kisses and his thrusts to push her deeper into euphoria. She smiled at the pink and blue sky as the morning sun shot streaks of light through the clouds. She smiled at how incredible it was to feel joy without guilt and to be with someone who understood what it was like to want to run from joy because they didn't feel they deserved it.

Bennett's grunts and groans brought her back to reality, and she tightened her hold around his neck while locking her legs behind his back and tilting her hips. That made him groan, and she followed it with a moan of her own, because now his pubic bone was hitting her clit just right and she could see the edge she wanted to leap from. She ran toward it, met him thrust for thrust as best she could, clawed at his back, and dropped her mouth to his neck and nipped him.

"Christ," he growled, holding the backs of her thighs and increasing everything: his speed, his effort, and even his vocalization. He was grunting more and louder as he hammered her harder and harder into the tree. If she wasn't full of endorphins and dopamine the bark might have hurt, but everything—even the pain—felt good. It felt better than good, it felt incredible.

His fingers dug into the backs of her thighs, and his cadence began to wane. He was getting closer. Thank god, because so was she.

One more rake of his teeth across her jaw, mixed with that perfectly trimmed stubble that hurt but in the best kind of way, and she was gone. She broke with a sharp cry, tipped her face back up to the clouds and let the climax consume her.

Every follicle of her hair tingled, her fingertips throbbed as they dug half-moon trenches into his back, and wave after glorious wave radiated through her in a hypnotic rhythm, spreading out from her core into the rest of her body.

He stilled his thrusts, and his muscles around her went rigid. A moment later, he grunted, harsh and masculine, almost feral and definitely possessive. Then his cock began to pulse inside her, and he exhaled low and guttural next to her ear.

She smiled as he found his release, as he poured himself into her, as he lost himself to their connection, to their attraction.

When the pleasure receded back into her center, she let out a long, slow breath. Things still tingled, but her muscles were quickly going lax and her head, full of all the best neurotransmitters, felt a little fuzzy. Almost like she'd taken a few too many shots of tequila too close together.

He finished out his orgasm and exhaled low and deep, burying his face in her neck. She could feel him smile against her skin and he kissed that spot where her neck met her shoulder, before pulling away and carefully helping her to her feet.

They dressed quickly and, without saying anything or even looking at each other, wandered back out to the road. He easily found the headlamp on the ground since it was still on, illuminating a freaked-out salamander half-hidden beneath a log.

"Sooo …" Bennett glanced down the road. "Do you wanna keep running or …"

Clearing her throat, she glanced at her smart watch. "We should … we should probably get back. It's over two miles to home."

He glanced at his watch too, and nodded. "Right. Yeah." His gaze drifted in the opposite direction, back toward the pub and property. "Sooo … we run?"

"Unless you'd rather walk?"

"No … no, we can run."

"O-okay. Let's run."

They started at a slower trot than before, both of them hella focused ahead on the asphalt. The closer they got to home, the less of those happy neurotransmitters Justine had left in her brain. The pleasure was receding, and that anxiety monster who looked and sounded an awful lot like her mother, woke up from its slumber and began to nag her.

He regrets it. It was a mistake. How dare you feel happy? How dare you do something so slutty and public? Have you no shame?

Usually, the music tuned out the anxiety monster and her mother, but she didn't have her music with her. So it was just the rhythmic stomp of their feet, their breathing, and the waking birds to drown out her mother. And none of them were working.

They had less than a mile to go when she stopped abruptly, unable to meet his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

She still couldn't look at him.

His hand fell to her shoulder. "Justine. What's wrong?"

Hedging a glance at him out of the corner of her eyes, she cringed. "I can feel your cum sliding out of me. It's … it's filled and soaked my underwear, and is now trapped between my hip crease and pants." She dropped her gaze to the ground.

"Shit," he breathed. "I … I'm sorry."

Shaking her head, she started running again. He joined her. "Nothing I can do about it. But I need to get back to the house so I can pee. If I don't, I could get a UTI."

"Right. Sorry."

"Not your fault. I … was just as much a willing participant." A slutty, filthy, shameless participant who would be going to hell, most certainly. At least according to the monster in the back of her head, also known as her mother.

They finished their run and reached the gate. He punched in the code this time and still, they didn't say anything to each other as they entered the house. Jagger was still asleep on the couch, and because it was earlier than seven, the girls weren't awake either.

Justine was grateful for that. Not that she didn't adore Emme and Aya, but it would be easier if she just disappeared into her room and showered without having to grin and bear any more awkwardness.

She kept up the silence and climbed the stairs, walking a little funnily down the hallway until she reached the bedroom door. She peeled out of everything the moment she got into the bathroom. Then she peed because she was a doctor and she knew better, before finally hopping in the shower and washing away the last remaining evidence of their roadside mistake.

Or, at least she thought that was the only remaining evidence. Until she checked herself in the mirror and saw his bite mark on her neck.

Yeah, that was going to stick around for a while.

"Slut," said her anxiety monster.