Sleeping ’til Sunrise Read Free Page B

was taking her team out for pizza. I told Ivy I’d see her at home, changed out of my uniform and into jeans, a T-shirt, and running shoes, and headed over to Roark’s office. Though it was after seven when I got there, I wasn’t surprised that his car—a gorgeous restored 1941 Chrysler Town & Country Woody Station Wagon—was in the driveway, not the car that belonged to Blake Timmons, his partner at work. They were both pediatricians, but while Roark was booked solid from morning to night, Blake was basically the fallback. If Roark was sick or away, you got Blake.
    The office was a converted barn, just stunning inside. From the enormous double ceiling fans that extended the length of the hall to the polished wood floors and distressed white walls, it was beautiful.
    Walking inside, I realized no one was there, not even a nurse or the receptionist.
    The howl of pain startled me, even more so because I knew exactly who’d made it. Bolting down the hall to look for Roark, I rushed into his office and found him slumped over his desk, files on the floor, keyboard wedged against his cheek, moaning in his sleep.
    A lot of the guys I’d worked with over the years had been soldiers, and since we slept at the fire station during our three days on, I learned some had been abused and still others had worries that ground away at them in their sleep. I knew the sound of a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from, though I wasn’t actually looking at PTSD.
    Hustling around the desk, I lifted him from where he’d passed out on top of paperwork, leaned him back in his chair gently, and rubbed his upper arms.
    His eyes fluttered open, but when he saw me, his eyes that had been wild softened, telling me he was more than pleased to see me.
    “It’s okay,” I soothed, stepping around in front of him and sinking down to one knee. I took hold of his shoulders and kneaded them, moving slowly, carefully, to his biceps, getting the blood flowing, certain that he was stiff and cold from being unconscious in such a contorted sprawl across his desk.
    “Why are you here?” Roark asked tentatively.
    “I’m taking care of you, of course,” I answered softly, smiling at him.
    He wasn’t really awake yet, so he couldn’t hide his reaction to having me close. His pupils dilated, the black absorbing the jasper, he puffed out a breath followed by a sweet little whine, as he licked his lips, swallowing hard.
    When he tentatively leaned forward as my hands were massaging his wrists, I drew him closer, into my space, and kissed him.
    It was meant to be a quick peck of comfort, but the second our lips brushed, mine parted for him, and that was all the invitation he needed before he pounced.
    I was more than ready to allow the mauling and returned the passion, slipping my tongue into his mouth. I tasted and savored, sliding a hand around the back of his head, fingers tangled in his thick, wavy black hair as I held him against me. I didn’t want him to move. The way he responded, submitting, opening, moaning into my kiss, wrapping his arms around my neck, made it hard to not take him over the desk.
    Easing him out of the chair, I lifted him off his feet and carried him, still kissing me, never breaking away, to the couch. When I sat down, I pulled free for a moment to take a gulp of air, but before his mind could clear—which would lead, I was sure, to him pulling away from me—I recaptured his soft, supple, pouty lips.
    The shuddering groan was full of hunger, and when I shoved my tongue in his mouth again, he sucked on it hard, moaning deep and sexy as he bucked in my lap. Quickly, I worked open his belt buckle and got into his Dockers, the button and zipper easy to maneuver. He broke the kiss and put his hands flat on my chest, panting and shivering. “Essien, we should stop and—oh!”
    I had his hard cock dribbling in my hand, and the way he pressed up into my grip, shuddering as I rubbed precum over the head with my thumb, left no doubt in