Free His Forbidden Bride: 50 Loving States, West Virginia by Theodora Taylor

me, despite, or maybe even because of, his cruel tone.
    “You want to talk to me about protocols and professional standards and a bunch of other stuff I don’t give a shit about. Not when it comes to this, Doc. Not when it comes to us.”
    Us. “Yes!” I cry out to a question only my soul dares to ask.
    But he mistakes my “yes” as something else. His thrusts become stronger, more intense until he says, “Fuck talking. I already got all the answers I need.”
    With that, he forces his cock into me one more time. The orgasm that washes over me very nearly breaks my mind. I scream as pleasure rushes through me, obliterating every thought I have of who I am, what I should or shouldn’t be doing, and why I should never have allowed this to happen in the first place.
    Above me, I can feel John coming. He talked a lot while he was fucking me out of having a logical conversation. But now he’s gone quiet, his forehead pressed into the back of my neck as his body quakes with his final release. For what feels like eons on end, we come; squeezed together in a rictus of intense pleasure.
    “Okay, Doc, okay…” he says when we’re finally done.
    He rolls off and eases himself out of the bed.
    “I can…” I start to offer.
    “I got it,” he answers, removing the condom and tossing it into the small wastebasket next to the nightstand.
    His leg hasn’t escaped unscathed, I notice, as I watch him grab the cane he left hanging on the bathroom door. John’s limp is a little bit more pronounced as he walks back to the bed. But despite having been in a sexual relationship with him for less than twelve hours, I already know how he’ll respond if I express any remorse or sympathy whatsoever.
    So I decide to focus on getting back under the covers. I burrow beneath and turn on my side with my back to him so I don’t have to watch what he’s doing. Or feel guilty. And confused.
    The bed depresses when he gets in, and I reach over to the lamp on my nightstand to turn off the lights.
    Then I lie there in the dark, trying not to think too hard about what all this means. For my career. For my sanity.
    But when I’m not worrying, new thoughts pop up about what just happened. His hot, sweet words melting my heart even as his hard, unrelenting sex completely dominated my body. Seriously, who is this guy? And where the hell did he come from?
    “Doc, you still awake?” he asks on the other side of the bed.
    “Yes,” I admit quietly.
    “I need to tell you something.”
    I turn over on the pillow, not sure my thoroughly used body can tolerate another “conversation” and prepare to protest. But I find him lying there on his back, heavy cast slung over his eyes.
    “You think I’m too messed up in the head to be serious,” he says from beneath the cast. “But serious is exactly what I am.”
    My heart tightens and beats hard in that confused way it does whenever I’m around him.
    As if echoing my erratic heartbeat, he says, “I got a lot of confusion in my life right now. But you and me—that’s the one thing I’m 100% clear on. Stop questioning this, Doc. You gotta believe me when I say you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Because that’s what you are.”
    I don’t answer him. Of course, I don’t answer him. How could any sane person respond to that?
    What I need to do is go to sleep. I’ll feel more rational in the morning. That’s what I tell myself. But long after he falls asleep, breathing steadily beside me, my heart remains restless and awake in the dark. Beating with an emotion I’m afraid to name.

Chapter Eight
    E ventually sleep does come . And the doubts stay away while I’m off in dreamland, but they come right back the next morning as soon as I wake up, wrapped in John’s arms, my muscles aching, and every soft part of my body—from my breasts to the skin between my thighs—tender.
    Easing out of his arms, I get up and stumble into the kitchen, attempting to go through my normal morning