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lastbluetardis · 6 years

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Accidentally in Love (2/2)

Summary: When the Doctor and Rose are chased by a telepathically-sensitive group of aliens, he forms a temporary telepathic link with her to shield her from detection. But after the danger has passed, the Doctor is alarmed to realize that his connection with Rose is a little more than temporary.

This was written for @doctorroseprompts and their prompt of accidental bonding.

Ten x Rose, ~4800 words, teen

Whoops, so here is the second chapter nobody was expecting. I totally blame @chocolatequeennk. She is the worst influence (I mean this in the best way possible). So here we have the Doctor and Rose exploring a little bit more of their new bond.

AO3 | Chapter 1

They continued snogging each other against the console for several more minutes until Rose became aware of how grimy she felt. Sprinting away from the rebel Sikans had worked up quite a sweat, and while the perspiration had evaporated, she felt sticky and knew she was beginning to smell.

“It’s not that bad,” the Doctor mumbled against her skin as he pressed small kisses to the corner of her mouth.

“But I feel gross,” she countered, gently pushing him away. “I’d like to get a shower, then I’d like you to show me more about our bond and how it works?”

“Absolutely,” the Doctor said. “Meet me in the library in thirty minutes.”

He pressed a parting kiss to her lips then they walked down the corridor to their respective bedrooms.

She made a beeline for the shower, impatient to wash off the sweat and dust from the day.

Rose looked at herself in her mirror as the water heated up. Her hair was frizzy and mussed from the Doctor’s fingers, and her lips were slightly swollen and bright red. A thrill of heat settled low into her stomach as she remembered the feel of his lips moving against hers, sucking and nipping at her lips as his hands wandered everywhere.

He’d said he wanted to take their physical relationship slowly, but Rose hoped it wouldn’t move too slowly. If he kept kissing her like that, she was going to combust.

She stripped off her clothes and dumped them into the laundry chute before she raked a brush through her hair. After smoothing out the knots and tangles, she stepped into the steaming shower. Groaning as the hot water pelted against her tired muscles, Rose stood under the spray for several minutes, letting the water lull her into relaxation. She then grabbed her soap and began washing herself.

When she was clean, she wrapped herself in a towel and moved into her room to get dressed. As she pulled on clean knickers, she paused. She was in her bedroom. And the Doctor was in his bedroom. But they were married. Did that mean they were going to share a bedroom and sleep in the same bed now?

Even though they’d spent fifteen minutes snogging against the console, the idea of sharing a bedroom with the Doctor felt so… domestic. So intimate. Her things would be next to his things, and they would be sleeping together which would eventually turn into sleeping together.

Her belly fluttered with nerves. All in the span of a few hours, she and the Doctor had gotten married and confessed their love for each other. He’d said he didn’t want to panic about their relationship, and that he didn’t want to hide from her. But what if he realized just how fast they’d moved? What if he felt trapped and overwhelmed?

Rose sat down on her bed and closed her eyes as she tried to breathe against the welling panic. A hysterical giggle bubbled up her throat. The Doctor said he didn’t want to panic anymore about their relationship, yet here she was, panicking.

Then she felt her bond with the Doctor, which had been in the background of her mind, shift slightly as it sharpened into view. All of a sudden, her heart rate slowed and she felt her lungs unknot as her mind was blanketed in peace and support as the Doctor comforted her.

He stayed in her mind for a minute before he pressed what felt like a kiss to her temple and his presence faded. While she was happy he’d come to soothe her anxieties, it brought one of her biggest questions to the forefront of her mind.

Doctor, can you hear everything I’m thinking?

She waited for his reply, but it never came. Frowning, she asked again. But when he still didn’t answer, Rose closed her eyes and tried to focus on their bond. But every time she thought she could feel it, it slipped away. Frustrated, Rose closed her eyes and shouted, Doctor!

Their bond sharpened into focus and she could feel his wince.

Blimey, there’s no need to shout, he said.

Well you weren’t answering me, she said, a little miffed.

Were you trying to reach for me? I’m sorry, I didn’t notice.

How is it you were able to reach out to me so easily then? I felt right away when you came into my mind.

I have centuries of experience with telepathy, he reminded her gently. You’ve got… ooh, about two hours of experience. All things considered, you’re doing remarkably well.

Rose felt warm with the praise.

Though now I’m here, is everything all right? he asked. You felt… unsettled a few moments ago.

I was being daft, I think, she answered. Then I was just wondering if you could hear everything I was thinking?

Nope, not without effort, he replied. This conversation we’re having requires mutual effort and concentration. What are you doing right now?

Er… sitting on my bed?

Try to stand up and walk to your dresser while still talking to me.

Rose frowned, but she opened her eyes stood up from her bed and walked to her dresser. When she was there, she closed her eyes and said, That was simple. What was that about?

Ah, but you weren’t talking to me as you did it. You had to, for lack of a better word, mute our conversation to focus on walking. Try again, but stay here with me. To make it easier, I’ll talk, you walk.

Rose opened her eyes, and screwed up her brows as she tried to focus on the Doctor’s voice in her head.

Carefully. You’ll get much better at this, but for now, your brain is trying to do a million things all at once. It’s trying to coordinate your body into moving in the direction that you want it to while also listening to what I’m saying and comprehending the words I’m speaking. It’s exhausting, innit?

Rose had to agree that it was slightly unnerving to have to concentrate as much as she was on the basic task of walking. She could do it—she could listen to the Doctor and talk to him in her mind as she crossed her room, but it felt more tiring than if she were trying to walk and talk aloud to him.

You’ll get better at it, he promised. But in the early stages of our bond, to connect as deeply as we are often requires us to disregard the physical world. So how about we part for now and reconvene in the library in a few minutes? I’ll bring biscuits and tea.

You sure know the way to my heart, she teased.

She could hear his happy hum in her mind, and she laughed. She then shuddered as warmth stole over her when he pressed a kiss to her mind and carefully faded out of focus again. Wanting to be able to do the same for him, she made a mental note to ask him how he was able to reach for their bond and project love and comfort over it.

After pulling on pajama bottoms and a soft cotton t-shirt, Rose made her way to the library. The door was wide open and the room was flickering with orange light from the fire blazing in the hearth. Her chest warmed when she saw the Doctor lounged on the sofa with a box of biscuits in his lap and a mug of tea cradled in his hands.

He must have sensed her presence, because he tilted his head back and beamed. His smile was so wide and genuine that it made her heart do somersaults.

“Feeling better?” he asked, taking his feet off the coffee table.

She sat down beside him then leaned forward to pick up her tea. She cupped it between her palms and brought it to her nose to let the floral and honey smell relax her. She wasn’t nervous, per se, but she did feel wound up.

“So, what was troubling you earlier?” he asked. “You said you were just being daft, but you felt extremely anxious. That level of anxiety was real, not just daftness.” Rose took a sip of tea to try to think about how to best explain her concerns, and after an extended pause, the Doctor continued quietly, “You obviously don’t have to tell me, of course. But I wish you would. I want to help you, and reassure you, if I can.”

“I was worried about how fast things have moved,” Rose admitted, and a sinking feeling was passed through the bond. The Doctor’s face went pale and his knuckles were white around his mug. Finally realizing how that came out, she hastily added, “I don’t regret anything, and I haven’t changed my mind. But you have to admit, this all happened incredibly fast. This morning we woke up in our own beds in our own minds and had tea and toast in the kitchen and were best friends.”

“We can slow down,” he murmured, staring deeply into his mug. “It’s fine. We can try to limit the use of our bond and go through the typical route of human courtship. I’ll take you on dates and woo you and…”

“Doctor, that isn’t what I meant,” Rose said, resting her hand on his forearm. The muscles tightened under her touch but he didn’t pull away, so she kept her hand on his arm and rubbed her thumb through the fine, dark hairs. “I just meant that it’s a lot to process. I don’t even quite understand the connection we have. And I don’t know how to reach for you like you’ve reached for me. I feel behind with everything and like our relationship is so unequal right now.”

“Would you like me to teach you?” he asked, finally relaxing.

“Yes, please,” she said.

The Doctor paused for a minute and stuffed another biscuit into his mouth. He chewed it noisily then licked the crumbs off the corners of his mouth before he said, “So what does our bond feel like to you?”

Rose blinked. She closed her eyes and focused on the new piece of her mind that hadn’t been there before. It was like a tingle at the back of her head, like trying to remember the name of a song or a book that was just slightly out of reach. The harder she tried to focus on it, the further it seemed to slip from her grasp until frustration rippled through her.

“Relax,” the Doctor said, resting his hand atop hers on his arm. “You’re focusing too hard. Just… empty your mind as best you can. And just… feel. Feel me. Feel us.”

Rose took a deep, calming breath and tried to let go of the frustration she was feeling. She instead focused on the feeling of the Doctor beside her. She could feel warmth radiating off of him, and she seemed hyper-aware of the places their skin was touching. It was like she could feel every hair on his arm as her thumb continued to stroke his skin. It was like a low-level current thrummed between their skin, and it made her feel so safe and comfortable.

“That’s right,” he whispered. “Because I’m a touch-telepath. Now through our bond, you are too.”

“Did it always feel like this for you?” she asked, wondering if that was why he’d liked touching her so much before.

“No, this is new,” he answered. “I enjoyed touching you so much before because I was already so in love with you.” The blasé way in which he admitted that made Rose’s lungs hitch in surprise. But before she could comment, he continued, “Keep trying to feel me. Slowly, though.”

Rose inhaled deeply and held it for a few seconds before letting it out. She focused on his touch and how good it felt to be touching him, and she let that feeling flow through her. She felt completely at peace, as though nothing would ever be wrong in the universe as long as they were together.

She loved him. She’d loved him for ages, but now she could actually tell him. She could show him. She could feel him. Suddenly, it felt like she and the Doctor were sitting in her mind rather than in the library. They didn’t have corporeal bodies, but rather it was as though she could feel the essence of them. Like their very souls were existing inside of her.

She felt incredibly humbled that the Doctor trusted her with everything that he was, and she felt the utter trust he had in her. She knew that her essence was inside of him, too, and while a little piece of her felt incredibly vulnerable to have so much of herself exposed to someone else, there was no one else she would trust more.

Her mind was bright, warm, and cozy, and she basked in the sensation. She loved this. She loved him. More than she thought she could ever love another person.

His fingers tightened around her hand.

Oh Rose, he murmured, and she shivered as their intimacy deepened as he solidified in her mind. I love you so much, too. More than I could possibly say.

But he didn’t have to say it. She could feel it. His love for her was threaded through his very being, an intrinsic part of him that would never go away.

This feels amazing, Rose whispered, wanting so badly to touch his mental essence but remembering how intimate it had felt when she’d accidentally done it earlier that day.

Go ahead, the Doctor said, his voice a little shaky. I was serious earlier. I’m not hiding from your or our relationship anymore. You are the only one for me, Rose. I am completely and eternally yours, forever.

The weight of his words resounded through their mind and through their bond, strengthening it and making it clearer in her mind.

What was that? she asked curiously.

Our bond will strengthen over time, he answered. As we grow closer and our minds grow stronger. Telepathy is similar to strengthening a muscle. As we use our bond, it will get stronger and easier to reach for. It won’t take as much effort for you to reach for me, or vice versa. But as our bond strengthens, so will our telepathic barriers.

A flash of panic shot through Rose as she remembered the agony of him trying to block off their bond.

I didn’t mean it like that, he reassured. But currently we’re both novices with hiding our emotions from each other. It’s like we’re standing in the same room and shouting at each other. But with time, we’ll learn to quiet our thoughts and be more deliberate in the emotions we project across the bond. The only exceptions are strong and sudden emotions. Though when we’re connected like this, we’re open books. We’ve open up our connection as wide as it can go.

It’s beautiful, she whispered, and she felt happiness swell up through her.

I love how well you’re taking this, he told her. You’re a natural with telepathy. It’s beautiful to watch.

She felt giddy with delight, and she continued to explore their mental landscape.

Earlier, we were in a hallway, and we had bodies, Rose said. How did you do that?

Can you feel my presence in your mind? Can you feel your own? Focus on that energy, and try to project my body onto it.

Rose screwed up her face in concentration. She breathed slowly as she felt for the spark of energy in her mind that was him, and it took a little more effort to be self-aware of her own mental presence, but she finally found it. She then conjured up all of the memories she had of the Doctor, and how he looked and moved and spoke, and Rose was amazed to see his energy signature transform into a body.

Well done! he crowed.

She flushed with pride and beamed at him.

Their mental landscape slowly turned into the hallway from that afternoon, and from the excitement and anticipation rolling off of him, he had taken them back to the hallway.

Can I show you something? he asked, holding out his hand.

Always. She slipped her fingers between his, and her breath caught with how good it felt. Like being caught up in the biggest, warmest hug from the person you loved most in the universe. Will it always feel like this?

His pleasure was barely contained as he croaked, Yeah. Oh, Rose, I can’t even begin to describe how amazing this feels.

But she thought she knew, because it was the best thing she’d ever felt.

He began to lead her down the corridor of her mind until it morphed into his.

How does it do that? Rose asked.

Our minds are joined. Fused together. They used to be two separate entities, but now they’re occupying the same space. The middle is where our bond was formed. And it’s what I wanted to show you. Here. Can you feel the spot where your mind ends and mine begins?

He let go of her hand and let her walk down the corridor. She focused carefully, and gasped when she felt a subtle shift in her mind. Delighted, she took three steps forward, and felt herself shift into his mental landscape. She took a step back, then another, and she felt a slight tingle at the base of her skull, and when she took a baby step backward, she felt herself slip back into her own mind.

Right here, she said, stepping back to the place where the base of her skull tingled.

Very good. He took her hand again, and told her to close her eyes.

They’re already closed, she teased, grinning at him.

He rolled his eyes, and told her to close her mind’s eye.

She did, but she could still sense everything around her. Though she couldn’t explicitly see the corridor, or the Doctor standing beside her, she could still make out their presence in her mind.

I’m going to try something.

She felt him squeeze her hand, and he then whispered, Okay, open your eyes.

She did, and she gasped at the warm light they were standing in. A thin band of energy was flowing around them, wrapping them both in light that shimmered between gold and silver. She didn’t even have to ask him what it was; she knew this was their bond. It felt as familiar to her as breathing.

Rose looked over at him and saw the energy was twined around him, too. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. It drew her in, closer and closer to the Doctor until she was standing right in front of him. As she looked more carefully, the energy didn’t just flow around him, it flowed through him. The webs of silver and gold emanated from within his very being, and when she looked down, she saw she was made of the same thing.

She held her hand up and hovered it near his chest, where the light pulsed through strongest.

Can I touch?

Yeah, he whispered. It is going to feel really intense, though. For both of us. If it’s too much, let me know and I’ll take us back to the corridor.

Nervous anticipation swelled up through her, and she slowly reached out and touched their bond as it wrapped around the Doctor.

Pleasure far greater than anything she ever felt overcame her. But it was entirely different from any pleasure she’d felt before. It wasn’t akin to sexual pleasure, but rather it was closer in feeling to utter elation and joy. It was indescribably beautiful and intense, and it left her aching for more.

Unthinkingly, she rubbed her hand up the Doctor’s chest and snaked it behind his neck. She stepped closer until she had her arms wrapped around his shoulders and their fronts were pressed flush together. The pleasure she felt deepened and she moaned at how good it felt. The Doctor’s chest rumbled beneath her ear as he groaned and wrapped his arms around her.

Her mind swirled with being enveloped in the Doctor’s essence. It was overwhelming, but at the same time she wanted more. She wanted to burrow closer to him and deepen their connection and live forever in this moment.

They stayed entwined together, basking in the love they were passing back and forth. Their love was eternal and would never end. Rose could see it stretching around them and beyond them, branching across time and space, and at the very heart of it was the Doctor and Rose Tyler, forever.

She squeezed the Doctor tightly, her mind spinning with everything she was feeling, and she pressed a soft kiss to his collarbone in warning before she took a step away from him. The warmth of their embrace remained, even as they slowly faded out of their mental landscapes and became aware of their physical surroundings again.

Rose’s head ached slightly as she opened her eyes. Her tea was still in her clasped hands and was dangerously close to spilling all over the sofa. She set it on the coffee table and tucked herself into the Doctor’s side again.

“That was…” She blew out a noisy breath, unable to find the words to describe it. It was the most vulnerable she’d ever felt around another person. She’d been completely open to him, there was nothing he couldn’t see inside of her, but rather than feel embarrassed, she felt completely loved and accepted.

“Yeah,” the Doctor murmured. “Thank you, Rose. Thank you so much for sharing that with me.”

Rose yawned and rested her head against the Doctor’s shoulder. She shivered when he pressed a kiss to her top of her head, making her scalp tingle. Exhaustion settled over her, making her body feel so heavy.

The Doctor felt more present in her mind than he did before, like she could reach out and cradle him in her mind’s eye effortlessly. She probed his presence and projected her love and awe for him and their bond to him, and she smiled in satisfaction when he gasped.

“Oh, Rose.” He tightened his hold around her shoulders and pressed a long, firm kiss to her hair. “Having this bond with you is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“D’you think we ever would have gotten to this point on our own, if we hadn’t gone to Sika today?” Rose asked.

The Doctor was quiet for a moment before he admitted, “I don’t know. I would like to think yes. But thousands upon thousands of timelines stretched out before us today. Anything could have happened. I’ve been in love with you for months, but that doesn’t mean I would have acted on it. But I like to think I would have.”

“I do, too,” she answered, and she yawned again. She pulled up the memory of being entwined with the Doctor and their bond, and she showed him how their bond stretched ahead of them, further than they could see. “Our love would always endure, I think. It was just a matter of us both admitting to it.”

The Doctor hummed in agreement, then she felt his mental signature shift slightly. It felt like he’d gone out of focus, while simultaneously multiplying, like there were thousands of little Doctors existing in her mind at once. It wasn’t the most comfortable sensation Rose had ever felt, and it made her half-nauseous.

“Sorry, I was just looking at timelines,” he whispered, and Rose felt his pulse quicken beneath her ear. “Rose… our bond goes on forever.”

“I know,” she said. “I saw it. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he agreed, “but you’re missing my point, love. Forever, Rose. Our bond should only stretch out a few decades. Don’t get me wrong. I am… beyond excited. But it shouldn’t be this long.”

Rose knew she should feel surprised, or worried, but all she could feel was a sense of rightness. Like this was how it was supposed to be, and this was always how it would have happened.

But she could feel the Doctor’s slight concern underneath his excitement. She reached out for him and wrapped him in a mental embrace, one that he gladly reciprocated.

“I want to run some tests,” he whispered into her hair.

“Can it wait?” she asked. “I’m knackered.”

She could feel his immediate refusal, but it then shifted into understanding and agreement.

“Come, you should get some sleep,” he whispered, gently nudging her head off his shoulder.

“Will you stay with me?” she asked, standing.

“Of course,” he replied. “Always.”

He set his half-drunk mug of tea on the coffee table and wrapped his arm around her waist to guide her to her room. But when they exited the library, the stepped into a new corridor that neither of them had seen before. Only one doorway existed at the end of the corridor.

The Doctor glanced up at the ceiling, then down at Rose. “Should we see where she wants to take us?”

Rose nodded, hoping that whatever room it was had a bed. She felt like she could fall asleep standing up. As fantastic as it had felt to connect so deeply with the Doctor, it had sapped her of all of her energy.

The room did indeed have a bed in it; the TARDIS had guided them to a new bedroom. It was much larger than her bedroom, and had twice as much furniture, but Rose didn’t care about the furniture. She cared about the king-size sleigh bed in the middle of the room.

“I think she wants us to move into the same bedroom,” the Doctor said, glancing around.

“Well, we are married,” Rose said, squeezing her arm around his waist.

“We don’t need to use this room right away,” the Doctor continued. “You’d said you felt like things were moving too fast, and…”

“Not too fast, just fast,” she corrected. “And I was mainly worried about you, and if you would get scared of how fast we were moving.”

“No,” he said firmly, reaching down to cradle her cheek in his palm. He lifted her head to look her in the eye. His face was relaxed with happiness. “I told you. I’m done panicking, and I’m done hiding. I want this, Rose. I want this so much. I want you. Forever.”

Rose smiled up at him, and momentarily pushing aside her exhaustion, she lifted herself up onto her tiptoes to brush her lips against his. Her lips tingled at the contact and she sighed against his mouth as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She pressed closer for just a second before she pulled out of the kiss.

“I want you, too,” she whispered, rubbing her thumb across his glistening bottom lip. “Forever, Doctor. But right now, I really want to sleep.”

He smiled at her, and ducked down to press a kiss to her forehead. He let go of her and walked to the side of the bed closest to the door and pulled down the covers. The sheets were soft and sleek, and Rose groaned as the silk brushed against her skin. She nuzzled her face into the fluffy pillow as the mattress seemed to cradle her entire body.

The Doctor hummed his appreciation, and then Rose felt his hesitation. She cracked open an eye and saw him looking at her. She gave him a mental prod to tell her what was bothering him, and he smiled shyly.

“Can I hold you?” he asked.

Warmth bubbled up through her chest, and she turned away from him before she scooted backward until her back was flush against his front. They both sighed at the gentle pleasure of so much skin-to-skin contact, and Rose shivered when he brushed a kiss to the sliver of skin above the collar of her shirt at her neck.

“This feels really nice,” he admitted, tightening his hold around her waist.

Rose nodded in agreement and relaxed back against him, feeling so close to sleep. He kissed her neck again and whispered, Sleep, love. I’ll be here when you wake up.

Her last thought was of how nice it felt to be held this intimately, and to be called ‘love’. She felt the Doctor hold her closer, and she heard him make a mental note to himself to call her ‘love’ more often. She smiled to herself, feeling indescribably happy, before she lost all awareness of the world and drifted off to sleep.

#doctorroseprompts #ficandchips #dwfic #doctor who #ten x rose #my fic #accidentally in love

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stephenmccull · 4 years

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Racial Status And The Pandemic: A Combustible Mixture

In early March, Madalynn Rucker, then 69, agonized over whether to close her Sacramento consultancy office. On the 16th, she finally succumbed to a barrage of texts and calls from her daughter about the heightened risk of the coronavirus, and told her employees to begin working from home. That was three days before California Gov. Gavin Newsom’s statewide stay-at-home order.

Her daughter was right in more ways than one. While Rucker’s age alone raised her potential danger of being hospitalized or dying of COVID-19, she and many of her employees share another risk factor: They are black. Rucker wonders if more public health messages targeting African Americans could have helped millions like her better prepare for the disease’s onslaught.

Officials and commentators said little about race early in the pandemic, recalled Rucker, now 70 and the executive director of OnTrack, a diversity consulting firm. “Could this have made a difference in some way? Not just in educating ourselves, but in how the pandemic was controlled and managed?”

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By late February, doctors in China had published that, in addition to older patients, those with chronic health conditions, particularly hypertension and diabetes, were more likely to have severe cases of COVID-19 that ended in ICU admission, mechanical ventilation or death.

It wouldn’t have been difficult, some community leaders say, for officials to make an explicit connection between the coronavirus risk factors and African Americans and Latinos, who are more likely to have chronic diseases, and at younger ages ― and then craft tailored, respectful messages for them.

“The messaging I got from the news was, is that if you’re young, you’re good, and if you’re old, you’ve got to stay home,” said Eddie Anderson, the 30-year-old pastor of McCarty Memorial Christian Church, an African American congregation in South Los Angeles.

When Anderson became ill with what turned out to be another viral infection in early March, he was alarmed by the lack of information about how to get tested for COVID-19. The experience motivated him to bring a physician friend to church the next week to explain the disease to his flock.

“I think targeted messaging to the African American community would have been helpful,” he said.

But public health and infectious disease experts say the novelty of the virus, whose targets and mode of attack continue to confound scientists, meant that specific racial disparities weren’t a foregone conclusion.

“I don’t know that it’s fair to say that it would have been something that could be 100% predicted,” said California Surgeon General Nadine Burke Harris. She called the novel coronavirus “a little bit of a head-scratcher.” For example, it doesn’t appear to affect children under age 2 or pregnant women the same way similar viruses would, she noted.

“Sometimes when you predict too strongly, it can have the effect of assuming that’s going to be the outcome, and it can come across pejoratively,” Burke Harris said.

But the disease has disproportionately hurt blacks. In California, 10% of COVID-19 deaths occurred among African Americans, who make up 6% of the state population. A national Centers for Disease Control and Prevention survey showed that 33% of hospitalized COVID patients were non-Hispanic blacks, though that group represented only 18% of residents in the surveyed communities.

Officials are finding it’s still difficult to talk about race and COVID-19. Fear of stigmatization remains high, said Burke Harris, who said she walks a fine line by letting certain groups know about the heightened risks without casting blame on them.

“One of the things I’ve been dealing with a lot in having conversations with black media and black health researchers, right, is this notion of, well, wait a minute, as this data is coming out, how are we not blaming black and brown communities?” said Burke Harris, who is black. “It’s like, ‘Oh, are you saying we’re sicker?’”

Preexisting conditions aren’t the only reason black people are dying at disproportionate rates of COVID-19, said Dr. Sonia Angell, director of the California Department of Public Health.

Despite states’ orders to stay at home, entire sectors of “essential” jobs have disproportionately high rates of minority employees, which increases their exposure risk. These workers don’t benefit as much from social distancing, Angell said.

“They’re the ones that are keeping our care delivery system functioning so that when any of us get sick, we have a place to go,” she said. “They’re the ones that are keeping our grocery stores running and stocked.”

The absence of coordinated, official public messaging in February and early March about the potential racial disparity of COVID-19’s impact created a vacuum into which conspiracy theories rushed.

Initially came rumors that black people were somehow resistant to the coronavirus. At the same time, black media outlets like The Philadelphia Tribune (Feb. 4), Essence (March 2), the St. Louis American (March 11) and The Undefeated (March 13) made the connection between the virus and America’s preexisting health inequalities, publishing forward-thinking pieces about the virus’ potential threat to black Americans because of chronic medical conditions, working and commuting conditions, and a historical lack of access to health care and insurance due to institutionalized racism.

Their predictions soon proved true. Local officials began noting higher death rates for black COVID-19 patients in Milwaukee on March 23. In the first week of April, city officials in Chicago, Los Angeles and New Orleans made similar announcements. The CDC published its first national data on racial disparities on April 8. A recent CDC study, published April 29, found that black people made up 83% of COVID-19 hospitalizations in Georgia, a disproportionate level compared with overall hospitalizations.

Public health messages targeting specific populations should be voiced by trusted community leaders, or at least someone of the same race, on media platforms where they’re most likely to be seen or heard, said Dr. Oliver Brooks, president of the National Medical Association, which represents black physicians.

A week after announcing the statewide shelter order, Newsom tweeted a public service announcement from Snoop Dogg, who said, “The longer you stay outside, the longer we’re going to be inside.”

Other targeted messages include Spanish-language public service announcements featuring Burke Harris and LA Galaxy soccer player Javier “Chicharito” Hernández. Those have run on Univision; Radio Bilingüe, a Spanish-language public radio network; and other Spanish-language stations, as well as Instagram and Facebook. In Hernández’s clip, he encourages listeners in Spanish to seek medical attention if they have COVID-19 symptoms, no matter what their immigration status is.

Targeted messaging can sometimes offend or insult, even with the best of intentions, said Daniel Schober, assistant professor of public health and behavioral psychology at DePaul University in Chicago.

The city of Chicago offended some with a 2015 flu shot campaign that featured a black baby on a billboard next to the words, “I am an outbreak.” It inspired graffiti artists to weigh in with their own message: “I am beautiful.”

But the city’s COVID-19 campaign, featuring Mayor Lori Lightfoot, who is black, has charmed residents, said Schober. The campaign played off social media memes depicting a no-nonsense Lightfoot shutting down iconic Chicago landmarks under shelter-in-place directives. The city’s official video showed the mayor baking, learning the guitar and sipping tea while exhorting people to “stay home, save lives.”

“That’s a great example of a message that isn’t necessarily tailored toward specific racial or ethnic groups, but is really meant to be universal in its reach,” Schober said.

Racial Status And The Pandemic: A Combustible Mixture published first on https://smartdrinkingweb.weebly.com/

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dinafbrownil · 4 years

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Racial Status And The Pandemic: A Combustible Mixture

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“I think targeted messaging to the African American community would have been helpful,” he said.

“Sometimes when you predict too strongly, it can have the effect of assuming that’s going to be the outcome, and it can come across pejoratively,” Burke Harris said.

Preexisting conditions aren’t the only reason black people are dying at disproportionate rates of COVID-19, said Dr. Sonia Angell, director of the California Department of Public Health.

The absence of coordinated, official public messaging in February and early March about the potential racial disparity of COVID-19’s impact created a vacuum into which conspiracy theories rushed.

A week after announcing the statewide shelter order, Newsom tweeted a public service announcement from Snoop Dogg, who said, “The longer you stay outside, the longer we’re going to be inside.”

“That’s a great example of a message that isn’t necessarily tailored toward specific racial or ethnic groups, but is really meant to be universal in its reach,” Schober said.

from Updates By Dina https://khn.org/news/racial-status-and-the-pandemic-a-combustible-mixture/

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gordonwilliamsweb · 4 years

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Racial Status And The Pandemic: A Combustible Mixture

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“I think targeted messaging to the African American community would have been helpful,” he said.

“Sometimes when you predict too strongly, it can have the effect of assuming that’s going to be the outcome, and it can come across pejoratively,” Burke Harris said.

Preexisting conditions aren’t the only reason black people are dying at disproportionate rates of COVID-19, said Dr. Sonia Angell, director of the California Department of Public Health.

“They’re the ones that are keeping our care delivery system functioning so that when any of us get sick, we have a place to go,�� she said. “They’re the ones that are keeping our grocery stores running and stocked.”

The absence of coordinated, official public messaging in February and early March about the potential racial disparity of COVID-19’s impact created a vacuum into which conspiracy theories rushed.

A week after announcing the statewide shelter order, Newsom tweeted a public service announcement from Snoop Dogg, who said, “The longer you stay outside, the longer we’re going to be inside.”

“That’s a great example of a message that isn’t necessarily tailored toward specific racial or ethnic groups, but is really meant to be universal in its reach,” Schober said.

Racial Status And The Pandemic: A Combustible Mixture published first on https://nootropicspowdersupplier.tumblr.com/

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anavoliselenu · 7 years

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Manwhore chapter 30

“God, come on. Don’t be shy with me, Selena. Not with me.”

I stop tugging at that, and he looks at me with such a look of tenderness, I melt.

He lowers it to my waist and my pulse quickens as his eyes take in my breasts in the lamplight, my abdomen, the lower half of my body hidden still by the sheet that dropped there. As he lowers it down my hips and it slides down my legs, my body starts to ache horribly for his touch. My senses coming to life before he even touches me.

He tosses the sheet at my feet now.

“What do you want from me?” I croak.

His hand coasts down my rib cage, his thumb slowly stroking my hipbone as he leans over and nibbles my ear. “Everything.” I sigh. His lips slide across my jaw and back to latch on mine. He doesn’t seem to want to talk now.

I can’t speak now either. I’m too busy tasting him back. Fingers wandering into his thick hair. Breasts pressing to his flat chest. And his warm tongue and strong lips leaving mine to wander . . . wander . . . down my throat. He moves the little R necklace aside and sets a kiss on the nook below as his hand caresses down my flat abdomen.

I start closing my thighs—this always makes me vulnerable. Thinking he’ll kiss me there. He stops my thighs from fully closing and urges one open to the side.

His breath coasts over my nipple before his mouth crosses the peak. On the inside of my leg, his thumb travels up my thigh.

“Justin,” I whimper anxiously.

He tastes my mouth again, harder. He rolls me to my back and comes over me in his jeans, his bare chest hot against mine. And that sexy smiling mouth of his kisses me, and I’m dragging my hands up the grooves of his back, undulating as I try to get him to give me what I need—him, all of him—right now.

He’s running his hands up and down my sides as he samples the skin of my neck, the tips of my breasts, my navel, like he truly doesn’t know where to start. He’s savoring, but at the same time, hungry. His lips nip and bite and his tongue swipes out to taste, his hands kneading as they go, his muscles taut with tension, his energy intense, I wonder if I’m enough to appease him.

He licks his tongue into my belly button and parts my legs with one wandering hand. I stare up at the ceiling and groan as I try to calm my body down, rolling my head to the side as pleasure rocks me.

He teases his thumb over my folds first, and then brings his two longest fingers to stroke over the outside. I fist his hair and pull him away from my breast, pulling him up hungrily to my mouth. He gives me the kiss I want, but then tears free and edges back. His eyes miss no detail of me splayed on his bed. My wet folds slick under his two fingers. My breasts rising and falling. My face, which feels soft and weak with desire.

One nipple disappears into his mouth again. His hair gleams in the lamplight, shadows cast across his muscles. He’s still in jeans. And I’m so very naked, so very caressed, so very turned on and vulnerable as he inches his head down. I sense him look at me down there as he uses his two hands to spread my legs open.

“Oh, Justin.” I’m red all over.

He leans down and sucks my clit. I arch up and groan.

He rubs me under his tongue and as I rock my hips instinctively, taken over, his fingers are there, ready to penetrate me. He watches me arch. I should’ve known he’d want everything. Take everything. He warned me he would. My instinct of self-preservation wars against the pleasure arrowing through me and the need to be taken by him.

I sigh his name and let my legs skew open. He whispers my name reverently and sucks and kisses me a little more.

“Justin, I’m going to—”

He doesn’t stop until I come. I’m still shuddering when he stands to undress; I’m too weak to cover myself. To pretend I have control over this kind of want. It’s like he knows my walls are up and he’s determined to crumble them.

I didn’t know desire like this existed. I see him stand there, rolling on a condom, ready to take me and I lie here, spread open and aching for him to. I relax in anticipatory relief when his naked body covers mine, and he opens me up to receive him.

I groan as he wraps my arms around his neck and my legs around his hips, my head falling back . . . ready, eager, wanting. He kisses my breasts, grabbing my ass and tilting my hips upward as he drives inside. Our bodies tighten in pleasure as we connect.

I feel him stretch me . . . take me.

Then we begin to move. Quiet. Only our breathing audible.

My every sense is sensitized to a million.

I stare, in hazy ecstasy, up into his face, lit by the lamplight and golden and perfect, and ohmigod, his eyes look so hot for me. So violent and fiercely tender for me as he stares down at me. I knot up inside.

My chest flutters as I wonder if he can see it right in my eyes in every wild beat of my heart, I love you I love you Iloveyou . . .

I stay staring as we move, my hands caressing his chest, his body hoisted up by one arm while his free hand makes love to my skin. And then we start kissing, and we don’t stop, the connection of our bodies too delicious, our mouths tasting, savoring, hot, wet, mine eager and soft, his more demanding and thirsty, our bodies moving together.

We lie there after he goes clean up, silent and sweaty and I’ve lost all modesty at the moment. I feel raw and open and unable to pull myself together right now.

I let him kiss my mouth for a while; my lips are red and I like it. I like his bed, I like our bodies tangled, I like that he broke me down and I get to stay and sleep here as I pull myself together again. I realize his breathing is deeper and shift a little, and he’s asleep. I reach up and touch his lips and quietly set a kiss on them.

I know Justin usually has trouble sleeping and I wonder how many nights he’s lain here, in this bed, without shutting his eyes. Enough that he’s fast asleep now, as if he too feels at peace having me back in his arms. I take his arm and curl it around me. And kiss the corner of his lips.

“Good night, Sin,” I whisper.

I never thought I could love a guy this freaking hard.

SOMETHING NEW

Helen loved my “Things That Obsess Us” piece inspired by the Cubs game, and I’m excited to be writing again. I’m hopeful these newest pieces will help me open the door to one of my job prospects.

I was already at Lokus this week, and I’ve already queried every one of the places Justin mentioned. But my phone is silent.

Sometimes at night, when Justin leaves bed to work, or sometimes even when he’s holding me, I quietly worry about my options.

Or lack of them.

Valentine tells me that sometimes it takes time. That I may have to freelance, but I’m scared to lose the security of a full-time job, especially with my mother and our lack of health insurance for her.

Helen hasn’t mentioned Noel Justin again. But . . . can the deal please fall apart?

I know Helen doesn’t want me to leave. She’s trying her damnedest to act as if Edge isn’t in the midst of an acquisition, but I can tell by her shut office door and the flurry of meetings with her bosses that it’s happening.

There’s a long-standing war of wills going on between Noel and Justin. I mean, why else would his father, whose business mostly involves real estate, just happen to be interested in journalism, just as his son is being seen with me?

And I know how ruthless Justin can be. Justin is not a guy who’d let his father win, especially where I’m concerned.

The week goes by in a blizzard of texts, and anticipation of seeing him on Friday.

He warned me he was working late, but that he wanted to see me. I’m already in bed when he finally texts, I’m coming up.

I tiptoe out to open the door in nothing but a tiny pair of lace bottoms, and when I swing the door open, he lifts me up.

I crawl higher up the trunk of his body and bite his neck. We’re both ravenous when he takes us to my room. He shoves his hands into the sides of my panties and gives a hard pull and when I hear them give with a spectacular tear and snap, I gasp his name, raw on my lips. Another breathy gasp escapes me as he throws me on the bed and jerks off his clothes. Then he covers me, and my nails sink into his shoulder blades, ankles lock at the base of his spine.

“Inside,” I beg.

He tortures me for a little while. “No. I want you like this. Wild and hot.” He’s not very obedient. The arousal and lust in my body triples. I ache for it, need it.

“Inside . . . get in me. Oh Sin, give it to me.”

By the time he rolls on a condom and lets me have it, I’m a mass of delicious contractions and heat.

He holds the back of my head in one hand, kisses me. “The way you squeeze me, Selena. The way you just don’t want to let go of me even when you know I’m coming back, hard and deep . . .”

The next morning, I awake to an empty bed and a shiny black credit card lying next to the cell phone on my nightstand. And a text: Get some new ones.

I roll to my side and see the torn panties, and smile so hard my face hurts.

Then he texts again: Get some swimwear while you’re at it. Let’s hit The Toy later.

The Toy.

I’ve been combusting all week, and have been churning out dating pieces and how-to-tell-what-kisses-mean pieces and how-to-seduce-the-man-of-your-dream pieces like crazy for Helen.

I have the best memories of being on The Toy with Justin. Memories of nothing but the lake around us. I love going out on his yacht because all the social media doesn’t exist; all my fears fade away. The times Justin and I have been alone there together are some of the best of my life.

Justin and I are leaving later. So now Gina and I are in the swimwear section of her department store. There’s a very simple, well-cut black bikini that sits snug and lovely on my butt and tits. I feel beautiful, the material smooth, the cut making my legs look sleek and long.

It’s a little bit expensive and I just don’t know if I can let this big spender of a man buy it for me. On the other hand, letting him buy it for me makes me feel so sexy I can’t stand it. And Gina says a guy has to feel like a provider sometimes and I have to let him.

“He needs to feel like a man,” she says.

Groan. Like Sin needs to feel any manlier.

After a while of turning and checking my appearance from all angles, I take a selfie in the mirror and then examine it closely. Do I look good? I want to look awesome. Not just good. Send it or not, send it or not, send it or not—

Shit! Clicked “send.”

This one? I force myself to casually add after the stupid photo just flew over to his phone. Dammit.

YES is the only reply.

I feel bees in my stomach. OK. I’ll be done and ready to sail as soon as I figure out how to use this black card I got.

Don’t worry, it works just fine, he writes back. Then adds, Where are you? I’ll pick you up in 20.

I tell him I’m at the department store where Gina works. Then I tell Gina I think I can buy this one.

She peers at my bikini through the curtain, and snaps, “That is terribly sexy. Why are you hesitating? GET THEM ALL! Paul never bought me shit. It shouldn’t be difficult to let Justin do it.”

“Well, because it’s from him. I want it to be . . . perfect.”

I come out with the swimsuit and head over to pay.

It’s ridiculous how excited I am.

I’ve never let a man do this for me.

I’d never even realized how easy it would be to agree when that man . . . well, when that man is the one you want to be with. And when that man seems to delight—seriously, get high!—in getting you things.

Ohgod.

Is this me being spoiled rotten by him?

“You sure you only want one?” Gina asks as she inspects my selection. “You know, those black Centurion credit cards are so costly to own, you might as well use them or you’re throwing money away.”

“Gina,” I groan as I watch the lady swipe the card and package my swimsuit as they do in the expensive stores like this one. “I’m not going to throw his money away! I only need one,” I scold her.

We head toward the stairs and she gets distracted by a shoe display. Shuddering after she checks a price, she sets the shoe aside while I check out a pair of sleek Louboutins, the designer shoes with the red soles.

“Has there been any news of his dick father?” she asks as I stare in shock at the price and quickly return the shoe to the display.

“No.”

“And the job interviews . . .”

I shake my head.

“So maybe you’ll work with Justin?”

“I couldn’t be his employee, Gina, I feel consumed as it is.”

Dibs . . .

Oh, shit. Dear brain, can we please try to forget that?

But every time Justin touches me, I feel his fingers and his tongue are saying dibs and dibs and dibs . . .

The word is no longer visible on my hand, but I feel branded by it.

Gina leads me downstairs to the Chanel department, where I stock up on eye shadow and eyeliner. When we walk out of the store, we see some people across the street all staring in the same direction—a few more even stop walking to gape. I follow their gazes and stop in my tracks, my heart in my throat.

A silver Bentley’s parked at the curb. Something buzzes over my skin as Justin heads toward me. He is absolute sin in fucking jeans and a polo that makes love to him.

A few paces behind him is Otis, walking with Justin’s same long stride. Justin signals at his driver to get my tiny bag and then he looks down at me.

“She’s ready for your yacht, Justin. She’s got the perfect bikini. But unfortunately she’s not ready for anything else,” Gina says.

“That’s not true!” I groan.

Gina chuckles and waves at us dismissively as she heads off to where she was meeting Wynn for brunch.

When I turn back to my green-eyed devil, I see he’s just looking at me. “You didn’t buy what I told you to.”

I scowl in confusion when I realize he’s walking me back toward the store.

The salespeople seem startled enough that I deduce Justin doesn’t come here often, but they seem to know him or about him. Oh yes, they do. The level of chatter around this man starts to spread in hushed tones across the store.

He leads me into the women’s department and then into . . .

The lingerie department.

My heart stops as he winds through the racks, his big, muscular body contrasting with the flimsy bits of nothing hanging all around him. He brushes his lips over my ear. “Let’s get you some things.”

“Justin,” I say, as his voice in my ear leaves a lingering earthquake in my tummy. I shake my head. “I already bought the bathing suit, I’m not comfortable buying anything else.”

He’s already scanning the articles on a panty table, his brow furrowed as he hunts down the perfect pieces for me. “You won’t be buying it. I will.”

God.

He doesn’t waste time.

“How about this?” He’s dangling a red lace thong between his fingers.

I shake my head and feel myself flush.

“This?” His eyes begin to light up when he notices I’m beet red, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek. Play his game, Livingston!

“Too mainstream.” I dismiss it with a flick of my fingers. He lifts his brows.

“Well, in that case.” He hunts around the tables for another pair of lingerie. He picks up a yellow thong with a bow on the back, which I assume would be perched right between the tops of my butt cheeks.

I take it between my fingers. It’s made of lace, and the bow is soft silk.

“You want me to look like a present or what?” I playfully tease, gesturing to the bow.

He teases right back, his adorable smile part devil and part Justin. “If I get to unwrap you? Yes.”

My body temperature is suddenly too high for what I assume is healthy so I step away toward the bra area, finding the matching one to the yellow thong he seems to like so much.

I walk around the store, picking up other stuff. I’m playing along, a little excited and more than a little reckless. Some black lace stockings with a matching garter, a white silk cami set, and Justin brings three more thongs (dark blue, white, and purple), and a tiny-looking corset, oh god.

“This has to go on you.” Now he’s being just wicked.

“If you want a corpse in your bed. Justin, these don’t let you breathe.”

He discards that and goes to find a pearl thong. “All right. So this.” He looks at me coaxingly.

“That’s sooo uncomfortable. I like my pearls on my neck and soft things between my . . .” I go up on my toes and add, “Cheeks.”

He catches me by the hips and pulls me close. “Try it on for me.”

“Nobody tries on underwear before they buy.” I walk around when he follows me and wraps his arms around me.

“Then let’s buy it. Try something on for me. A nightie. Sheer and pretty where I can see your blush just beneath.”

I scan the store quickly. “I don’t see any nightie here with that description . . .”

He produces a flimsy-looking gauzy thing from behind his back, eyes glinting.

“Justin.” I groan, and though I keep rummaging through the offerings, now I’m just looking for things to tease him. I grab a pair of huge granny panties. The kind that cover you up to your breasts and cut unattractively down on your leg. “This looks comfortable.”

“Like hell.”

“And this.” I pull out the plainest, biggest bra I can find. “Would you let me buy these?”

“Yeah minx. And we’ll use them for a bonfire.”

His eyes turn devilish and he grabs the big panties, the big bra, and the little nightie, and then tugs me to the dressing rooms, and I’m acutely aware of the salesladies possibly watching us. He yanks open a velvet dressing-room curtain, and when I go in, he follows me inside.

“Sin! What if they see you in here?”

“Trust me, they know I’m here.”

I stand there, dumbly holding the panties and nightie to my chest. Dressing-room lights are always so bad. Though Justin looks glorious as usual. He’s leaning back against the wall with his legs spread and his hands in his pockets. The top three buttons of his polo are unbuttoned and he’s looking at me with laughter in his eyes.

“Can you at least close your eyes?” I plead.

He shakes his head no.

When I just stand there, shy like I shouldn’t still be feeling with him, he lowers himself to the only seat available and crooks his index finger at me. “Come here.”

I walk toward him, entranced by the gleam in his eyes right now. I hold my breath when he puts his warm, strong hands on my hips and places me between his legs, the top of his head reaching just below my breasts.

He eases my blouse off first, then he unbuttons my jeans slowly.

My throat starts to close at the utter sensuality of the moment. I focus on a spot on the wall behind him, trying to calm myself down. He slowly pushes my jeans down until they’re a puddle on the floor. I step out of them automatically then toe off my shoes, and he runs his hands slowly up my legs until they’re resting on my hips again.

I’m standing in my top and light-blue panties. He looks up at me with his green eyes and I know in this moment that he could do whatever he wanted to me and I would let him. Wholeheartedly, I would let him.

I’m scared of how reckless he makes me. I can feel my breathing get faster as he hooks his thumbs in the edge of my panties and slowly starts to pull them down. His eyes stay on mine the whole time, until my panties are on the floor. I step out of them and he reaches for the nightie, taking my arms and sliding them into the flimsy, fluttery sleeves. I fasten the bow at the center as he watches. By now, I am a horny mess.

He leans over, and parts the already-wide parting of the nightie and places a kiss on the top of my navel. Edging the bow up and kissing my stomach softly before turning me around in his hands so I can see myself in the mirror.

The nightie feels weightless and soft as a cloud wrapped around me; I can feel the silk molding to my body, hugging my waist, fluttering to my bottom, where it just—ends. Exposing my ass. I can tell he’s having fun because he’s looking at the back, smiling. Then his eyes hold mine in the mirror. He looks dark, manly, and powerful, with his hands on the sides of my thighs while he sits back on the bench, looking at me in the mirror.

My body’s gone haywire but I can’t help my reactions to him and I think Sin very well knows it. Oy, me.

He pats my ass after he stands in that deliberately slow way of his. “I’d say this one for sure,” he murmurs close to my ear, brushing a hand up my side in a caress that hums through me like his whisper.

We can’t seem to take our eyes off each other as he slowly undoes the ribbon and lets it unfurl open. I’m shaking head to toe, ready to make out or even do more, when I look for the first thing to cover myself. I hop quickly into my panties as he sits down again and pulls out the huge panties.

“Go on. Turn me on.”

I hike one brow. “The only way I can try it is over my jeans.” I slip on my jeans and then slide on the humongous panties. And I’m laughing so hard at his face. Then his eyes darken and he pulls me down on his lap, and says, “These look like a dress on you.”

“A very ugly dress?”

He shakes his head, smiling.

“A very big dress?”

He shakes his head.

“Should I take a thousand of these?”

“I dig you in these, Selena. I dig you in everything.” He looks at me with hot tenderness, stroking his hand down my back as he looks down at the ridiculous view. “The more you get, the more I get to rip off you. So yes. Take them off.” He pats my ass. “We’re getting you everything,” he says, almost to himself.

I’m laughing and tossing the huge panties at him along with the nightie and everything else.

But inwardly, I’m blushing.

Is he blind?

I looked ridiculous.

He looked at me like I was so . . . perfect.

When he brushes past me to pay, I swear that this simple intimate act of shopping together has taken my arousal to a whole other level.

When I slip on my clothes and step out, the saleslady is gushing at him and handing Justin her card. “Anything, you can absolutely call or email and we will be happy to help.”

“Thank you,” he absently murmurs, his gaze on me as if I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and that’s where it stays as he swings the bags behind his shoulder and we head out of there.

“Justin,” I chide. “Don’t spend this kind of money on me. You’re already like the man of my dreams.”

I laugh and duck my head after the admission, blushing when I see the hot look in his eyes.

Outside, I shoot him a sidelong glance. “Do you give your black credit card to all your lady friends?”

“No, I give them the gold.”

“Justin!” I hit him playfully. He grabs the back of my head and leads me down the street, where a guy approaches us quite frantically.

“Justin, any comments on your father’s acquisition of Edge?”

Justin puts himself between me and the guy and continues walking me toward the car, silent, leaving the guy behind.

“I admire you.” I shoot him an awed glance and shake my head. “How you so easily dismiss the attention.”

Then I loosen the elastic band on my hair and pull it to my sides to use it as a curtain to hide my face. He watches me in confusion. I can feel people staring at us now, and uncomfortably, I grab the aviators he just pulled out and slip them on my face.

He looks down at me with a half smile and eyes narrowed in speculation. “Want a fake mustache with that?”

“I’m good.” I grin.

I follow him to the car and we don’t bother to set the bag in the trunk. The car is super spacious anyway. He opens the door before Otis can fully make it and we ease inside.

“Selena . . .” He falls sober, plucking off the aviators.

I’m smiling, but I also feel ashamed. “Sin, I’m sorry.” I drop my face. “It’s going to take me a while to get used to the attention you get.”

“Don’t notice it. Don’t give it even a moment’s thought. I never do.”

“Hmm.” My mouth twists wryly. “It’s not only the attention, but wondering what lies they’ll put out . . . having no control over that.” I feel my heart squeeze a little as our eyes meet, him sitting across from me, broad and muscular and drop-dead gorgeous. And I admit the closest thing I can say to I love you. “It’s hard when everyone stares at the man you want, and you want him to want nobody but you.”

He simply says two words that melt me.

“He does.”

THE TOY

When I come out in my bikini, Justin is leaning on the railing. He seems to be talking to some guys out on the lake. He’s in swim trunks and a polo, his wide torso stretching his shirt in a way that I can see the muscled grooves on his back as he leans forward.

I hear the guys down on the lake daring him to take out his Jet Ski and race them. They’re boasting quite loudly that they’re going to kick his ass this time. “It’s long due, you fucking bastard!”

In reply to that, Justin lets go a low, throaty laugh, and he yells down at them, “Nah, I’m with a friend today!”

“Lady friend or lady friends?” they bait. But Justin doesn’t bite, and I hear the zoom of Jet Ski motors as they leave.

Barefoot, I kind of stand a few feet away, not knowing what to say. Every muscle on his back and shoulders is visible through the stretch of his shirt as Justin jerks a hand over his hair and then he pulls out his phone, starts dabbling.

“Do you know everyone on the lake?”

When he hears my voice, he turns, and the smile he’s wearing fades. There’s a breeze and I hate that my nipples are quick to scream, We’re cold!

I rub my arm and he says, lowering his body sideways onto a nearby chaise, “Come sit.”

He pats the space beside him, and though he looks in control, I see him inhale, very slowly and very deeply. I take the chaise next to his instead, smiling and feeling shy.

“This is . . . well, I guess you bought me this. Thank you.”

He doesn’t look at the bikini; he’s looking at my face, almost as if he’s seeing me for the first time. “You’re welcome.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and his voice drops a decibel. “You’re making my mouth water.”

I stare at his sparkling green eyes, at his seductive smile, not knowing what to say.

A nervous laugh leaves me.

But he just stares, his extremely intense attention homed in on me. Water laps against the boat as the Chicago wind does its thing.

“Do you believe your father’s interest in Edge is purely business?” I ask him, remembering the reporter we just encountered.

“He’s competitive. I’m like him in that respect.” His lips curl in a sneer as he turns to contemplate the lake water.

“He’s competing against . . .”

“Me.”

“Goading you?”

“Using you.” He levels his stare on me. “He sees you as my weakness. He’s right. He’s waiting to see if I rise to the challenge. He’s been wanting to show me he still has power over me for years.”

Silence.

The heavy kind that weighs on your heart.

“After Mother died, I broke free of him. Moved out, left the family business. I was old enough to take my stock. I sold my shares to his worst enemy, forced him into bed with the last man he wanted there.” He snarls and laughs, his eyes gleaming ruthlessly now. “Payback for all the times he cheated on my mother.”

I wait with bated breath for him to tell me more, and it doesn’t take him long. It sounds as if he’s speaking about someone else, he’s that distanced from his father.

My father died; his father is alive, but somehow it feels as if we both grew up without one.

“With that money, I started my empire. I supposed he thought I’d lose it all on whores and Vegas. I don’t need to pay women to be with me. And I have better sense than Vegas.” He smirks proudly at that. “No one has ever underestimated me like my father.”

“What happened to the family business?”

“Weakened. He lost control of his own board. Had to buy back his own stock to recoup the majority of his business. By then he’d formed a bad reputation. Not paying suppliers. He couldn’t stand growing weaker while his weak kid grew better and stronger.”

His smile is brief and regretful.

“I’m over it, but he’s never backed off from trying to step on my heels. For years I’ve been weeding out his hired snoops, who are rabid to know what I’m after next.” He looks fondly at me and winks. “I move too fast for him. But damn me if I shouldn’t have seen this coming after . . .” He trails off.

I ache in my ribs, my chest, my stomach. “I’m sorry, Justin.”

“Edge is worthless to him without you. He’s testing me out to see how much I care.”

“But we’re not formally together. After what happened, why would he think you cared?”

“Because I do.” His green eyes flash almost violently, hot and fast. “I just do.” And then, a low, amused laugh follows when I just stare at him stupidly. “Selena, it’s obvious.”

He drags a hand through his hair, looking away thoughtfully while shocking me. No. Stunning me.

“Cathy and the girls would share looks when I scheduled an appointment with you. Otis would get a look on his face when I’d ask him to pick you up. Roth and Carmichael still won’t let me hear the end of it. People who don’t know me at all speculated about you and me. It’s very obvious.”

“What’s obvious?”

He shoots me a look, then his lips curl a little and he runs his knuckles down my jawline. “That I’m into you.”

He touches his thumb to my chin and there are dozens of hot, tangled sensations all over me.

“I swear, those looks you give me, Selena,” he murmurs under his breath.

“What looks?” I laugh, flustered. We’re so relaxed, bantering; I missed this so much. The way his eyes look at me, openly amused. There’s something unguarded and warm in his humor. It’s enchanting because he’s always so in control at work.

“This one.” His thumbs brush over the outside corners of my eyes. “This one.” He uses his thumbs to shape a smile on my lips, his green eyes both humorous and tender. “This one,” he adds huskily, brushing his thumb over a frown on my forehead. “And the one that tells me you want me here.” He cups my sex, then brings his dark head close to my ear. “The one that says you’re scared and want to be saved. And the one when you’re happy, as if I gave you the world, like when I bought you lingerie.”

“Oh, I bet you loved that last one, hmm? You like the ones that cater to your ego best?” I bring my hand up to stifle my laugh. “The ones that go straight to here.” I then give a tap to his head, and he’s just smiling.

“Do you know,” I stroke a hand aimlessly up and down his abs, his pecs, “the story of Psyche and Cupid?”

He cocks an amused eyebrow.

“Psyche’s beauty compelled men to worship her, incurring Venus’s wrath, and Venus commissioned Cupid to enact her revenge. But upon seeing her, Cupid accidentally pricked himself with his own arrow and fell in love with Psyche, so he hatched a plan to make her his wife. Now, Psyche believed she was fated to marry a monster, and when Cupid himself told her not to look at him, she was pretty worried about who he was. She didn’t trust what she couldn’t see, and one day, encouraged by her jealous sisters to kill him, she dared to look upon him. And he was so beautiful . . . her Cupid . . .” I blush. “So just when she realized he wasn’t the monster she thought he was, she lost him. Cupid told her that love couldn’t dwell with suspicion, and he left her.” I blush more.

“Go on.” He leans back, paying the kind of attention to me that only he does, intense and a little bit nerve-racking.

“Then Psyche realized she had to return to serve Venus, who put her through terrible trials. But Cupid started interfering—he rescued Psyche from a deep sleep and finally made her his wife.”

His laugh is slow and marvelous, catching.

“Little one, I can’t possibly be Cupid in that story.”

When he lifts his brows in a dare, I realize, he is Cupid to me, mischievous and conniving, but demanding loyalty when he unexpectedly falls for Psyche.

But Justin doesn’t want to be Cupid. He shoots me a look that warns me what will happen if he is. Delicious sex torture?

Oh god.

I wonder how stupid I might have sounded, basically assuming that he loved me. Stupid Selena.

“Well, your true form, Hades,” I improvise, “stole Persephone and took her to the underworld, where he abused her sexually before they ended up falling in love. You know what always puzzles me?” I add.

l lG13?�.

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