Provocative Professions Collection (5 page)

"Little pinch," he lies, doing something that's uncomfortable as hell. "Try not to move. I'm going to swab and then we'll be done. You're doing great."

"Uh huh." My voice sounds shaky even to my own ears.

"So did you want to go over anything else today?" he asks, striking up a conversation I could've done without. "Any blood work for communicable testing or birth control?"

"Nope, good on both, thanks." I thought he said two or three minutes. Feels like hours have passed.

"You're good on birth control?" He glances up again, rising slightly to see my face. "I didn't read that in your chart?"

Eyes on the prize, Doc, let's get this done!

"No need. Same with the blood work. I'm fine, trust me," I grumble out the last part. Nosy fucker, outing me as a pathetic, no sex life loser under the guise of medicine.

"Oh, alright then. Well, if that changes, give the office a call and we'll get you in. You need—"

"Twenty-six years old, Doc, I got it!" I cut him off.

He laughs, slowly easing the speculum, I think he called it, out of me. "Almost done, I need to check the positioning of your ovaries and uterus." He stands now, looking down at me. "This will be my fingers in you, Addison." 

Fingers?
I swallow the lump building in my throat. I'm not sure the breezed over "invasive" warning covers it. I shock myself, having to stifle a giggle with the sudden realization; Dr. Reynolds has literally fingered most of the women in this town.

Oh dear God, who's my mother's gyno?
No, no, no. I shake my head...happy thoughts.

I tremble when he touches me, the slow, steady hands of a professional, yet still I twitch. It's the nerves, not excitement, I swear it.

"Relax," he eases with a low voice as one hand covers my stomach, pushing down on my tummy while the fingers of the other slip inside me, both working together to knead and feel around. "You okay?" he asks, me probably mistaking his concern for huskiness.

"Fine," I respond with my eyes closed tight.

"We're all done." He slides his fingers out, turning away abruptly. "You can put your legs down and sit up."

His back remains to me, unlike the reassuring manner before.

"I'm done for a year, right?" I fumble with the damn joke of a robe, covering what I can as fast as possible.

"With that part, yes. Unless you have any changes in life or health, or any questions, you should be good for a year." He's done charting, labeling, and washing his hands and I'm still staring at his broad muscular back straining against his shirt. "You should get your results in a week. I'll step out, you go ahead and get dressed and stop at the front before you leave. Anything else?"

Irritation digs at me that he's keeping his back to me, bordering on rude at this point.

"No, thank you." I manage as graciously as my annoyance will allow.

"My pleasure." He shifts only his head to respond cryptically before promptly walking out.

Chapter 5

Have you ever walked from one point to another and upon arrival, weren't exactly sure how you got there? No memory of passing your favorite café or staring idly at the newest selection of overpriced dresses in a boutique's window, your feet merely guiding you off memory alone? That's me this morning.

I left Dr. Reynolds' office in a haze of incoherent ramblings to the receptionist and somehow made it the few blocks to work, my head a fury of mixed emotions and piercing conclusions of what my body had wanted. All I know is that I'm finally here in the tiny break room, slipping off my coat, my exhilarated skin still tingling from his touch.

With a heavy sigh, I head out front. I thought,
ten o'clock appointment, love my job, it'll be fine
. Wrong. I definitely should've taken the entire day off. I never take time off work, but I also never go to gyno appointments, especially ones like
that
, so I had no idea how to plan. Now I wish I had gone straight home after.

"Um…my bad. You okay?" someone asks as I settle in at the computer, eager to check in the next animal and forget everything else.

"What? I'm perfect." I glance up to find it's one of the interns that comes in for school work credits.

She's new, which makes it odd that she's asking me if I'm alright, not to mention staring at me, the beginnings of a mocking grin on her face as though she's about to split open with laughter. My brows pinch, perplexed, that is, until I follow her gaze down to the seat I'm currently occupying.

Slowly, and I mean torturously so, I stand, suddenly aware of the slimy feeling under my ass. Unable to avoid the balks of laughter from not only my coworkers but half the waiting room occupants, I chuckle along, silently berating myself for allowing a man to space me out so much that I just sat on a pudding cup. It's completely squashed under me, since I sat down, oblivious, and now my ass is covered in it. Chocolate, I assume, the only flavor I'm aware of that comes in such a lovely shade of brown…on my ass.

By the end of the day, after changing into the extra pair of scrubs I keep in my locker, in case of an animal mishap,
not my own
, I'm exhausted, and also particularly tired of the new nickname, "Snack Pack." On top of that, I'm flustered and confused, which is evident in my unnatural, shabby quality of work. All I can manage is the motions, my mind a million miles away, replaying and analyzing every single second of this morning.

Is he that gentle with all his patients? Did I imagine the change in timbre of his voice, the low grunts, the hiss I thought joined mine? And why wouldn't he turn and face me when he was done?

The circling clouds of thoughts still plague me when Mimi hears the clock chime and screeches out, "Five o'clock, closing time!"

Couldn't have come a second sooner. I hurry to shut down my computer, grab my things, and rush out the door after some quick goodbyes. Let someone else close up shop tonight—I need some wine and alone time.

Opting for mellow tunes on the ride home, I open the sun roof, in desperate need of a cool breeze on my overheated skin. It's been far too long since I've relished in a man's touch, exam or otherwise, thus my current sweltering and easy dismissal of blood work or birth control. That peace of mind is nice and all, but the flip side is that I'm all worked up. There's a fantasy in my mind and a hunger throbbing in my nether region that both need some attention. All that paranoia that the unbelievable need building between my legs was going to leave me with an embarrassing wet spot haunted me most the day, one of the only things I
was
conscious of.

Finally safe inside my door, I toss down my stuff, not caring where it lands, and kick off my shoes. Wine first! I take the first sip of some crisp Arbor Mist and sigh. Yes, I'm a wine slummer, no fancy-ass smells like Easter egg dye stuff for this girl. My phone alerts me to a text, which I'm tempted to ignore, but my conscience kicks in—they may need help closing the clinic with my mad dash outta there, so I drag myself to retrieve it.

Brady: just checking on ya.

Not about to answer, "I'm horny and on edge," I toss the phone back down. Why even bother with pointless lies?

Anxiety riddling my nerves, I sludge across the apartment. Searching for any sort of relief available, I step in my bedroom, setting the wine on my nightstand and flipping on the ceiling fan. Despite the swirl of coolness in the air, it does nothing to chill my searing body heat.

In a huff of fury, irritated that my mind is fluttering with images of Dr. Reynolds between my legs and hindering my chances of cooling off, I begin to peel off my clothes piece by piece, teasing myself with a slow strip, imagining him whispering "show me," in my ear. All the way down to lingerie, I'm fine, but when my bra hits the floor and my nipples familiarly pebble from the breeze, I'm instantly back
there
. Uncovered, exposed, nervous but tingling, his large, muscular hands exploring me.

"I have to uncover your breasts."

His rich tone plays in my head as my own hands creep up to my heavy, aching peaks, mimicking his movements. Scenario in my head, I add what I wish he'd done and tug on my nipples, the force pulling all the way to my core. I fall back on my bed with a deep sigh, picturing him giving me the sensations I feel, begging me with his eyes for more.

"I will never repeat what happens in here.

It's almost real,
him
sliding down my panties now, slowly, kissing along their path, a low hum in approval of what he sees. Then—

Then the damn phone's screeching ring shatters my musing. I lay still, panting and naked, waiting for voice mail to pick up.
Ah, silence
. I squeeze my eyes shut and let my hand sneak down my stomach, one finger finding my weeping center, the other hand caressing my breast.

"This will be my fingers in you, Addison."

"God, yes," I moan, pressing my head back into the pillow, stroking my finger in and out of myself seductively slow. My tongue darts out, moistening my lips, lips that crave to taste his, to travel over his neck, down his hard chest. I run my nose through his dark brown happy trail, light hairs smelling of man tickling as my lips kiss their way down to give
him
a special exam.

"Little wider for me."

I bend my legs up, feet flat against the sheets and let my knees fall wantonly open to the side…as wide and willing for him as I can be.

Surely this is some joke. The fucking phone trills out again. I try to ignore it, speeding up the finger inside me, slick and seeking explosion. Someone's overly persistent and calling AGAIN, and my erotic mood's officially stolen away. Even more frustrated now, which I wouldn't have thought possible, I stomp, naked and soaking wet, to grab the damn phone.

"Hello?" I bark without even checking the ID.

"Moe? You okay?"

I release an exasperated stream of air. "Yes, Brady, I'm fine. I would've texted you later, jeez. Ever think I might be busy?" A deaf person would pick up the aggravation in my voice right now.

"I only wanted to check on you but you didn't answer my text or call," he says, sweet concern lacing his voice. "I got worried, that's all."

Well shit. I sigh heavily, feeling bad. "I know, I'm sorry. Helluva day. I'm dying for a long shower and an early night with a good book. I'll talk to you later, okay?" 

There's a pause, and then he softly replies. "Okay. Call if you need me. Anything and I'm there." With that he hangs up and I slump back into my sofa.

The "mood" vanished, I take an extended cold shower, slip on some light pajamas, and fall asleep by the third chapter of the new action-thriller topping the charts. Normally, I prefer a steamy romance, but opted not to torture myself further.

When I wake in the morning, I'm even crankier and exceptionally aware of my lack of release. Thanks to the vivid, vocal dreams, I tossed and turned through the night; so much for the book theory.

At least it's Thursday. Close to the end of the work week, Tiko night,
and
a morning I have time to head to the gym. That's always a way of boosting endorphins, as though I need more.

I skim through a shower, since there's another one coming up after my workout anyway, and pull my long, dark brown hair in a high ponytail. Bag in hand, dressed to work it hard today, I'm out the door fifteen minutes later.

The drive to the gym is a short one and the lot is close to empty at this time of the morning. I swipe my card and head to the ladies' locker room to put away my bag before I head to the floor. Turning the corner, hurrying to snag my favorite treadmill in front of the TV, I smack into the hard chest of Percy, my favorite To the Max employee.

"Sorry, Addison," he tries for an apologetic grin, "are you alright?"

"Fine," I toss a hand in dismissal and snicker, "since I ran in to you. How are you?"

Percy's always been nothing but a cheerful, helpful gentleman to me, despite Brady's blatant hatred toward him, but this morning something is off. He sighs heavily and glances away, then back to me timidly, as though having to talk to me is killing him. "Crap," he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Not sure what to do here. It's my business, job and all, but maybe not in the way where I should tell you, but you seem like such a nice person, and—"

"Percy," I place a hand on his arm, hoping to ease whatever's so obviously bothering him to the point of distraught rambling, "what is it?"

"Your boyfriend," he growls.

A relieved chuckle pops out. "I wasn't aware I had one of those."

"Brady? Your boyfriend?"

I shake my head and offer him a reassuring grin. "Not even close, just a good friend. So quit worrying." But… "Why, what'd he do?"

"Oh thank God," his whole body goes lax, "well sorta. I could have sworn you two were an item and I had no clue how I was gonna tell you he's
occupied
with the new blonde, uh,
female
member in the men's locker room. Some sounds are unmistakable, you know?" He blushes fiercely, such a gentleman. "But I still have to decide whether or not I should revoke their memberships."