Page 88 of Puck Your Charity

He eases the swollen knot past my threshold. He pushes the thick length deep inside my core. The satisfying stretch takes me to the edge of the cliff.

We lock together.

"Victor!" I shout. The climax crashes through my body with the force of a tidal wave. White-hot pleasure explodes behind my eyelids. My inner walls spasm around the huge knot, milking his climax from him with ruthless contractions.

Victor groans, resting his forehead against mine. He pumps a hot, pulsing wave of come deep inside me. He shudders, his broad shoulders dropping as the last of the tension bleeds out onto the mattress.

We stay locked together on our sides in the center of the bed. Victor rests his head against my chest, his heart hammering against my ribs. I wrap my arms around him, holding him tight. The broken asshole vanished, leaving a devoted, fierce mate in his place. I healed his pain, and he healed my heart.

The waiting room of the specialized stem cell clinic feels different from a typical hospital ward. Soft instrumental music plays over hidden speakers. Comfortable leather recliners replace the stiff plastic chairs. Sunlight streams through wide windows, brightening the space and casting warm beams across the carpet.

The five of us occupy a secluded corner of the room.

"It tastes like battery acid mixed with burnt dirt." Lawrence swirls the dark liquid in a small paper cup, his face twisting in disgust.

"Just throw it away." Finn taps his boot against the floor in a restless, bouncing rhythm to burn off his nervous energy.

Malcolm stands near the window. He projects a steady, calming cedar scent.

I sit in a leather chair next to Victor.

Victor wears a loose gray t-shirt and comfortable track pants. He looks pale, and dark circles shadow his icy blue eyes. The five days of injections pushed his body to the limit, causing severe bone aches and exhaustion. But he projects an unshakeable calm. He sits back in his chair, at peace with the process.

The door to the inner clinic opens. A nurse wearing light blue scrubs and a warm smile steps out. She holds a digital tablet in her hand.

"Victor Sterling?" She looks toward our corner.

Victor stands up. "That's me."

"We are ready for you." She gestures toward the open door. "The apheresis machine is set up. You can bring one person back with you to sit during the donation."

Victor turns his head and looks at me. He offers his hand.

I smile, placing my hand in his. His large fingers wrap around mine, offering a gentle squeeze.

We follow the nurse through the door and down a short hallway. We enter a private, quiet room. A large, comfortable medical recliner sits in the center. A complex machine with clear plastic tubing and a digital display rests next to the chair.

"Go ahead and get comfortable." The nurse points to the recliner.

Victor sits down, leaning back against the padded cushions. I pull a rolling stool close to his side and take a seat, keeping my hand linked with his.

The nurse works with quick, steady focus. She wraps a blue rubber tourniquet around Victor's left bicep and taps the skin to find a good vein. She wipes the crook of his arm with an alcoholpad. The harsh sting of the sterile smell fills the air. She slides a thick needle into his vein, hooking up a clear tube and taping it flat against his skin. She repeats the same process on his right arm, securing the return line.

She hands him a small foam ball. "Squeeze this a few times to keep things moving."

The nurse connects the clear tubes to the machine. "Blood flows out of your left arm and into the centrifuge. The machine spins your blood, separating the stem cells from the rest. We collect the stem cells in a sterile bag, and then we return your red blood cells and plasma back into your body through your right arm. It takes a few hours. Just relax and let the machine do the work."

She drapes a heated blanket over his legs. "The return line gets cold. This helps."

She taps a few buttons on the digital display. The machine hums to life.

The nurse offers a warm smile and steps out of the room, leaving us in private.

I watch the dark red blood flow through the clear tubing. The centrifuge spins with a quiet, rhythmic whir.

I pull a paperback thriller out of my purse. I rest the spine on my knee.

"Do you want me to read out loud?" I trace my thumb over his knuckles. "Or do you want to sleep?"