Cheaters Anonymous
Read Cheaters Anonymous Online
Authors: Lacey Silks
Tags: #Romance, #Contemporary, #Romantic Suspense, #Mystery & Suspense, #Suspense, #alpha male, #erotic suspense, #billionaire, #Adventure, #Wealthy, #Contemporary Romance, #erotic romance
Cheaters Anonymous
by Lacey Silks
MyLit Publishing
Cheaters Anonymous © Lacey Silks 2015
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains sexually explicit scenes which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
ISBN- 978-1-927715-23-9
To my family
We’re both addicted to sex, just not with each other.
High school friends - nothing more.
That was our promise to each other, because let’s face it, infidelity spreads like a disease.
Everybody cheats.
Period.
And it’s easier to remain friends than hurt the only person you ever cared about...
...or so we thought.
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The short prequel to Cheaters Anonymous titled
When Things Go Wrong
is now available.
It is advisable to read the short prequel
before Cheaters Anonymous.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
C
HAPTER
1
“What the hell is that?” The new patient in the ER had an erection almost the size of a man’s arm. It tented the sheet covering him, and I thanked my lucky stars that I wasn’t on the front lines in the triage area. I could still hear the giggles from behind a curtain.
“This one’s yours, Jules. I’m not touching that with a ten-foot pole.” My co-worker and best friend’s humor didn’t escape me. The two of us were working the graveyard shift, and from the look of it, Chris was not going to help. In fact, bringing all the nurses’ attention to the patient may have only hindered any progress. Fortunately, she decided to leave. “I’m pretty sure I have a patient who needs an enema. I think I’d rather work that end than the one you’ll be working on.”
I highly doubted that. Chris worked the male nurses better than strippers did metal poles.
“Everybody out!” I pointed my finger to the door, but no one moved. Their heads were peeking one over another, trying to catch a glimpse of the patient’s prominent injury. My mind was already running amok as I wondered what the heck was underneath that sheet. “This is not
Grey’s Anatomy
, people, so unless you’re helping I don’t want to see you.”
They finally scattered back to their duties. On Saturday nights, or should I say Sunday mornings, we usually got the weekend party leftovers, and most of our patients were passed out drunk, stoned, or heavily medicated. Comprehension in any of those states was minimal. This guy on the bed in front of me was totally out. His face was covered in paint – green, red, yellow, blue, you name it and it was there. What kind of a party had he gone to?
I peeled back the sheets with hesitation. The rest of his body was painted in the same mix of colors as his face. My gaze rested over his hip, where underneath the smeared paint I could make out the black lines of a tattoo, though its shape remained mysterious. I wondered whether the patient had any clothes on when he came in. I sighed and removed the sheet down to his knees. The nurse beside me had her mouth completely open and was focused on what first appeared to be a cannon – a huge cannon made of a cylinder that imprisoned the patient’s enlarged penis.
“Holy crap!” I said under my breath.
How do you get your cock stuck in a pump?
I examined the contraption carefully. It took a lot of concentration to be a doctor in moments like these. I wasn’t sure whether to curl into a ball and laugh while rolling on the floor, or to smack him around for being so stupid. Yet I didn’t do either. I could tell that underneath the layers of paint this was one stunning man. As a doctor, I was already feeling guilty for ogling him, but how could I not? There wasn’t a hair on him. He was shaved or possibly even waxed. His thighs were defined, baring gorgeous, hard muscles. In the few spots where paint wasn’t covering him, his skin was slick with what I first assumed was cream, but had to be something else – it glowed too much.
I lowered my face close to his body and inhaled. A distinct smell of vanilla and some other flower aroma hit my nostrils, blending with the scent of paint. It swirled in my lungs, and I pictured him squirting massage oil over his bronzed skin. That’s why my gaze traveled north to his chest, where the mounds of muscles formed a breathtaking view. His sculpted abs and chest were crafted like art pieces. A pattern of lines, which I assumed were caused by fingernails, most likely female, streaked down his torso. For a moment I felt jealous of the lucky woman whose hands must have been on him a few hours ago.
“What’s the story on this guy?” I asked Nurse Olivia as I tried to find the best way to remove the plastic contraption without damaging him. And how the heck was he still so big when he was passed out?
“He’s a stripper. His buddies gave him a bottle to drink to ease the pain when he couldn’t get it off.”
With a cock that size, I bet he could get off quite well.
“Some good buddies he has.” I couldn’t help the sarcasm trailing in my voice. “Run a toxicology report and get it to me as soon as it’s in. I want to make sure there’s nothing else in his system we missed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Part of me cringed at her comment. I didn’t look or feel old enough to be called ma’am. When the staff saw me, I gloated inside at the respect given to me at this hospital. But I was still aware of my reputation as a hard-ass bitch who needed to get laid and who never left work. What they didn’t know was that I needed to be this way. Practically living at this hospital had kept me out of trouble. I’d been getting better and healthier. It had been over a year since I’d kicked the habit, and the weekly meetings, my friend to which Chris had introduced me, kept me grounded and focused. The old days of hooking up with strangers were finally behind me. I mean, the temptation was still there. After all, just because you’re a vegetarian, bacon doesn’t smell any less delicious. But I chose to concentrate on work, and
that
made me one hell of a good doctor. Even with a beautiful specimen lying right in front of me, my priority was to help him, not to screw him. I’d never crossed that line at work. And they got the ‘get laid’ part wrong too.
I
could get laid whenever I wanted to; but at this moment in my life, I chose not to. I chose to be healthy.
“Which club?” I asked, not totally sure why.
“Hounds, I think.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw her cheeks flush red. She was obviously familiar with the club.
What a fool.
This fledgling had not a damn clue about men and blushed at the thought of this one dancing around a pole. He’d ruin her before she got a chance to tell him her name.
“How does this thing work?” She pointed to the contraption attached to the patient’s groin. Her naive question broke my concentration. I was tempted to roll my eyes, but I refrained. I could be professional about a beautiful cock encased in a protective cover. Something about this view made me tense my thighs, but I pushed it away.
“The vacuum over the penis encourages blood flow, which expands the tissue and gives the male a stronger temporary erection. Honestly, these rarely break. And it’s unusual for them to get stuck,” I explained, assessing whether any nerves were damaged.
I could order an ultrasound.
“That doesn’t look temporary to me.” She was still pointing at the erection as if I didn’t know what the problem was. I tried to gently wedge my finger between the entry point and the soft skin just above his sack.
“It looks like the release valve meant to decrease the pressure and ease the seal is broken. Can you get me a wooden spatula, please? I wouldn’t want to damage him.” Filled with fear, Olivia left. She was probably devastated that this hunk could possibly be limp forever. Unfortunately, not everyone got doctor humor. While what I’d said was unlikely, I’d known men who used the pump way too often, to the point where they could only rely on the machine to get hard.
Left to do my job, I worked his skin, lubricating and gently tugging, slowly easing it out, millimeter by millimeter.
Geez, this thing is holding well.
I’d never have thought it would be so difficult to get one off. I chuckled at my own innuendo.
I’m pretty sure it’d be wise to indulge in some me time at home.
Just as the suction gave way and pressure whizzed from underneath with a slight pop, I felt the patient’s hand on my boob. His eyes were still closed, and it looked like he was dreaming. There was something familiar about the easy expression on his face.
I just stood there with my mouth open. Part of me wanted to rip that arm off me and right out of its socket, while another part ached to remove my scrubs and my bra so that I could feel my bare breast being mangled in his palm. In fact, the temptation of putting his hand down my pants flashed through my mind, but I couldn’t even count the ways in which that would be wrong. I wasn’t sure where the thought had come from at all. It was a daydream the sick me would have had, not the healthy one.
Had I just taken a step back?
“Easy there, Romeo,” I said, removing his hand. He mumbled something underneath his breath about scars. The voice, although definitely drunk, sounded familiar.
“What did you say?” I asked. He was in between dreaming and wakefulness. Or maybe he was just that drunk.
“I’m happy to meet you.” His lazy lids opened up slightly, and I gasped. Those beautiful hazel eyes took me back in time to underneath my high school bleachers, where I had spent the most amazing ten months of my life… with Scar. Then, five years later, when I met him again at a ski chalet, we’d gotten stuck in a cave. Before the rescue team arrived his fingers did the kind of magic to my entire body no one had ever been able to match since. I’d searched for that perfect orgasm over and over again with plenty of men, but never found it.
I quickly pulled out his chart and double-checked the name: Nicholas Wagner. The one and only. Or as I knew him – Scar.
Looking back at his arm, I reached for a paper towel, dipped it in a cup of water, and washed the rainbow paint on his arm away to reveal a faint resemblance to the same white mark that had been there when Scar told me he’d fallen down the stairs. Except now it was camouflaged as a thick rose stem with crying thorns. The drops of painted blood looked too real. The artwork was crafty: a blend of tears falling off rose petals, flowing downward. They were everywhere and matched the inked flowers I remembered over his hip. The design was beautiful yet sad, and extended over his shoulder and down his arm. I quickly scanned the rest of his body, wiping away a spot here and there. It was filled with sparsely scattered white marks.
