by R.S. Grey
So I’m not going to stop now.
Not when I know how good it can be. How true.
You’ll see.
Chapter Nineteen
As a courtesy, Dr. McCormick gives Lucas and me the day off on Monday so we can recover from the quarantine. Apparently, Mr. Holder is doing well down in Houston and I’m glad, but I can’t seem to think of anything beyond what happened in that exam room. It’s eating away at me.
My mom gets suspicious because I don’t get excited about homemade chicken pot pie on Monday night. In fact, I barely eat any of it. I sit across from her at our dining table as she regales me with stories of her weekend without me and I only seem to catch every other word, like she’s talking through a bad cell connection. She knows something is off, and I think that’s why she calls Madeleine over. She’s the special forces unit.
She arrives when I’m back upstairs, standing at my bedroom window and staring at Lucas’ childhood room next door. With his curtains drawn, I can’t see much.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” Madeleine declares, walking into my room with a bag in her hands.
From inside, she extracts a bottle of wine, chocolate, and sour gummy worms.
I don’t pick up on her ploy until I’ve made my choice and ripped open the bag of worms.
“Oh god. Something’s really wrong,” she says, shaky hand covering her mouth like I’ve just announced a terminal cancer diagnosis.
I toss the bag back on my bed and reach for the chocolate instead.
“It’s too late! You grabbed the worms! What the hell is going on?”
You see, Madeleine knows my tells: wine is for every day; chocolate is for your average, run-of-the-mill bad day; but gummy worms—those are for red alert, code black situations.
I don’t see a point in tiptoeing around the truth. My thoughts have been circling themselves all day. Her opinion might help.
“Lucas and I nearly had sex when we were in quarantine.”
After my sentence settles in my room, I think she has a mini stroke because her left eye starts to twitch and her mouth goes slack. I hold out a finger and tell her to follow my movements, but she shoves it away and grips my shoulders.
“What did you just say?” she asks, trying to shake sense into me.
“Lucas and I fooled around. Ow. Okay. Back off. Twice, actually. I think we would have had sex too if the CDC hadn’t been so punctual.”
“Ew!” She finally steps away and shakes away the images swirling around her head. Her hands cover her ears. “No. No. No. I don’t want to think about my brother doing that.”
“And you think I do?! We were practically forced into it!”
“What do you mean you were forced? Was that part of the CDC infection protocol? Boning your arch nemesis?”
“There was no way around it. What little air we had in there was thick enough to cut with a scalpel. The two of us just aren’t meant to be locked in like that—it could have just as easily ended with murder.”
“Are you being serious right now?”
“Yes. With that in mind, I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky. Honestly, Madeleine, it ruined every assumption I had about why he hasn’t been able to hold down a girlfriend all these years. The guy has skills.”
“STOP.”
“Sorry, you’re my only friend. You have to listen.”
“No. It’s not healthy.”
“Oh please. You were the one who wanted me to make nice with him! Well guess what, we made nice all right. We made nice all over that freaking exam room!”
Madeleine has fallen onto my bed and burrowed beneath my pillows to try to block out the sound of my voice. I continue anyway.
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot since they released us and I’ve decided it doesn’t change anything. I still hate him.”
“Of course.”
“Truthfully, the fact that he is skilled in that department pisses me off even more.”
“So what are you going to do when you see him at work tomorrow?”
“What do you think I’m going to do, Madeleine? Behave like the adult that I am. Since nothing has changed, I won’t change the way I conduct myself. Nothing has changed. One more time, say it with me: nothing has changed.”
“You don’t sound very confident.”
“Well by tomorrow morning, I will. Now pass me those gummy worms.”
When I stroll into Dr. McCormick’s office the next day, I am the picture of professionalism. I’m wearing my smartest black fitted pants and a cream silk blouse. My heels give me a few inches and my white coat has been freshly starched. I have brushed up on all the patients we will be seeing and I’ve confirmed there is ink in every one of my pens.
Lucas has done the same. His hair is somehow thicker than usual. More brown. Begging for my hands. His jaw is freshly shaved, and his glasses rest confidently on the bridge of his nose. He’s a Ken doll masquerading as a doctor and it bothers me that he probably wakes up like this.
“You’re avoiding me,” he says as I brush past him in the kitchen. My mug is steaming with freshly poured coffee.
I pat his shoulder. “Not any more than usual, Dr. Thatcher. You’re highly avoidable.”
He reaches out and catches my hand before I can scurry back to my office. “I like that top you have on. How far do you think the buttons will fly when I rip if off?”
“Yes,” I reply, raising my voice. “I did have a good weekend. Thank you for asking.”
Dr. McCormick turns into the kitchen. I heard him coming down the hall before Lucas did. I smirk and he steps back, releasing my hand.
Dr. McCormick smiles cheerfully as he refills his coffee cup. He is jollier by the day, probably excited about the prospect of impending retirement. “Good to see you two getting along this morning. Quarantine must have done you some good.”
“I think Dr. Bell enjoyed it more than I did,” Lucas replies. “At least, she was more vocal about it.”
His double entendre rushes past with all the subtlety of a freight train, but Dr. McCormick offers no sign of recognition. I dig the heel of my shoe into his foot before turning away.
“Dr. Thatcher was the real trooper. In fact, confinement seemed to suit him. I think he would do well in prison.”
Dr. McCormick laughs. “I guess some things never change.”
Fifteen minutes later, Lucas and I are standing in the hallway, prepping to go see our first patient. It’s 7:55 AM and I am hot. Bothered. My picture of professionalism is devolving into more of a porny polaroid.
“Would you stop?” I blurt out, angry.
“Stop what?” he asks.
Practiced innocence drips from his chiseled features.
“Stop looking at me like you’ve seen me naked,” I hiss under my breath.
His mouth perks up. “I don’t think Pandora’s box works like that. How would you prefer me to look at you?”
“Like before. With hatred. A dash of contempt.”
“How about this?”
“Worse.”
With him standing right beside me, his chest pressed against my arm, I’m swaying like a haphazard stack of blocks. A clumsy toddler could knock me on my ass.
“Just look the other way will you? I’m trying to finish reading this chart.”
“I’ve already gone over it. Mr. Nichols. 58. Routine annual exam. Can I look at you again?”
“He didn’t mention any complaints on the intake form? And no. Nothing changes between us. What happened in that exam room stays in that exam room.”
“No complaints. He’s fit as a fiddle. I agree, the exam room is off-limits, so how about you meet me in my office at lunch instead? I’d like a round two, and from the way you’ve been eyeing me all morning, I know you would too.”
My eyes widen at his brazenness. It is said that eyes are the windows to the soul, but in that moment they expose my libido. I wish I had curtains.
I knock on Mr. Nichols’ door and stride in. It�
��s Lucas’ turn to take the lead.
“Good morning, Mr. Nichols. I’m Dr. Thatcher and this is my associate, Dr. Bell.”
“Why’s there two of you?”
I hold up my casted hand, which is now a blacked-out mess thanks to my attempt to cover up Lucas’ handiwork. The Star Wars cover-up was only temporary; I needed his handwriting and his hearts off my sleeve.
I perch in the corner while Lucas starts the annual. He’s listening to Mr. Nichols’ heart when I realize with a start that we’re back at the scene of the crime. This is the exam room. Mariah has replaced the Highlights magazines with fresh editions and my tongue depressor line is long gone. The rest is just as we left it. The wall where Lucas had me pinned is right in front of me. Taunting. When I blink, I see us there: Lucas pressed up against me, grinding his hips against mine. I see my head thrown back against the wall and his hands stripping me bare. I’m naked and his mouth is on me. Hot and wet. Dipping lower, making me moan.
The pop of a nitrile glove snaps me back to reality.
Lucas is done with the annual. He’s assuring Mr. Nichols that we’ll use an in-network lab for his workup. He’s leading me out of the exam room after him and I’m only a touch more cognizant than a houseplant.
“You look pale,” Lucas says.
There is concern in his voice—concern!
So I grip the lapel of his white coat and drag him after me. The hallway is empty and his office is too. It’s tinier than mine. I’ve never been inside because I never had a reason to go in before, but now I have a reason and that reason is inconveniently located between my legs.
I confirm no one spotted us slip inside and then I close the door tight. Click. We are alone. I lock it too. We are really alone. Lucas is shocked.
But I’m already stripping off my white coat.
“Listen Romeo, I’m only using you,” I say.
My white coat is tossed onto his chair.
“I want to get inside your head, dull your edge,” I continue.
My silk blouse is inverted over my head and tossed to the floor.
“I need you to fall for me. I want you to hand your heart over willingly so I can break it. That way, you’ll leave and give me the practice.”
My pants are unbuttoned and I’m stepping out of them.
“It’s the oldest trick in the book, Lucas.”
I stand before him in a matching lace set that I put on that morning for no good reason. His gaze devours me from across the small space. His hands fist. Relax. Fist again. Then his mouth curls and he starts to strip off his white coat.
“What a coincidence, Daisy. I’m only using you,” he declares.
He tosses his coat onto the back of his chair and my stomach dips.
“I want to fuck with you. Make you fall in love with me.”
He steps toward me.
“So that when I break your heart, you’ll leave and give me the practice.”
My heart is pounding in my ears. My knees are shaking. His hands cup my neck and he tilts my head back so that his next few words are delivered right against my mouth.
“And believe me, I really want to fuck with you.”
My knees give out at the exact moment Lucas turns me around and hauls me against him. I’m a toy in his arms. Pliable. Bendable. His hands wrap around my chest and caress my breasts through my bra. He’s rough. Possessive. I reach up and string my hand through his hair as he tugs the cups down and takes my bare breasts in his hands. They’re heavy in his palms, filling up his grip, and he groans in satisfaction, so very pleased.
He kisses my shoulder and circles his palms, tightening on my nipples so that when he drags his hands lower, the evidence of his touch lingers behind.
If he appreciates the size of my breasts, I appreciate the size of his hands. They grip my waist like I’m nothing. They press me in, caging me between him and his desk. His left hand reaches back up for my breast and his right hand flattens against my navel. He dips lower. Steady. Gentle.
My lace panties are thin, nothing against him. His hand slips around and covers my warmth over the lace. My belly clenches. My nerve endings sizzle.
I’m not aware of any sound escaping from my lips until his left hand leaves my breast and covers my mouth.
“You’ll get us caught,” he warns. “Then nobody wins.”
The warning should scare me, but I left reality the moment I stepped inside his office. Maybe he knows it because he doesn’t remove his left hand as his right one glides back and forth between my legs. The heel of his palm passes over my center, right over my bundle of nerves, and I buck against him. He whispers in my ear.
“Should I try that again?”
I’m nodding like a fool.
He smiles against my neck and drags his hand back and forth, back and forth. Each region of his palm provides a different texture. Hard. Soft. Abrasive. Smooth.
I think he’s going to make me come like this until his hand hooks inside my panties and he tugs them to one side of my inner thigh. One finger becomes two and he’s fucking me like that, against his desk.
I try to fall forward, to rest my upper body on the cold wood, but he keeps me pressed against him. I shiver when he slips two fingers in, and again as he slowly drags them out. My desire seeps from a place of primal instinct, of intuition. My neolithic brain is reduced to basic impulses. Moaning. Gasping. Clenching.
“I’m going to make you come like this, Daisy. Just like this.”
Sounds like a fucking plan, I want to shout at him.
But then his fingers pump faster and my retort sounds a lot like, Yes. Please. God, Lucas.
A ripple of desire travels from the base of my neck to the very tip of my spine and he feels it. He uses it as an excuse to go harder, faster. I’m sweaty against his chest. My fingers are tugging strands of his hair hard enough to yank them free. I’m close and I need him to know it. I’m feeling those first few tendrils of pleasure, such an intoxicating promise of what’s to come in a few seconds. If only he keeps going. If only he touches the exact right spot. If only his left hand slips up to circle my nipple and the added sensation is a catapult.
I.
Am.
There.
His mouth captures my earlobe and he gently bites as I grind my hips against the palm of his hand. Again and again, I shake and shudder against him. One wave carries into another and eventually my soft cries turn to panting, and then my breathing starts to steady.
“We have another patient,” he reminds me, amused.
My eyes pop open and I’m back at work. Dr. McCormick is right on the other side of the door, talking to Mariah in the kitchen. I step out of his reach, hit the desk, step back into him, and then sort of volley around like a short-circuiting robot. I’ve yet to regain my motor skills.
“Right, the patient.”
I feign calmness as I run in small circles, gathering my clothes. My blouse is so wrinkled that a few shakes won’t cut it. I tuck it back into my pants and then try to conceal as much of it as possible under my white coat. I don’t even dare think of what my hair and makeup must look like now. And Lucas? My eyes avoid him by any means possible.
“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Lucas says, reaching out to straighten my white coat and then tucking a few strands of my long hair behind my ear.
“Yes.” My voice is shaky. “My thoughts exactly.”
As we slip stealthily back out into the hallway, I realize I have no clue what page that is, or even which book I could find it in.
The 7 Habits of Highly Dysfunctional Enemies?
Chicken Soup for the Horny Soul?
Chapter Twenty
At lunch the next day, Lucas comes into my office uninvited and drops a steaming mug of coffee on my desk. He’s even taken the time to add a splash of cream.
“What is that?” I ask, keeping my attention on the mug and not Lucas standing beside my chair.
“Coffee.”
A small kindness from him feels like
a diamond ring.
I push the thought aside and reach for the plate of coffee cake I saved for him.
“Cake,” I say, handing the plate over to him.
I’m amused by the fact that we’re feeding and caffeinating each other like an old couple. Considering the events of the last few days, I suspect we’re subconsciously keeping our energy up in anticipation of impromptu office orgasms.
I take a sip of my coffee and he takes a bite of cake. We hold eye contact while we do it, like we know it’s poisoned.
The coffee is just the right temperature.
“Do you own jeans?” I ask casually, motioning to his pressed slacks.
“I had them on during quarantine.”
On second thought, the coffee is too hot. I set it down with a sigh.
“Well put some on Saturday evening. You and Madeleine are coming to game night. My mom has been insisting.”
It’s a lie—she hasn’t brought it up in weeks. It’s my idea. It’s too late to ignore Lucas, and for the time being, it’s impossible to put any space between us. So, I’ve decided to use controlled environments to study him, to see if I can figure out his motive for acting the way he has. It’s the closest thing to a date that enemies can have.
“What if I’m busy on Saturday?” he asks coyly.
“That would make me the happiest girl in the world,” I say, clasping my hands in mock prayer.
“I’ll let you know.”
He’s posturing, but I already know his answer. Criminals can’t help but want to return to the scene of the crime.
“You do that,” I say, turning so he can’t see my smile.
My mom is tickled pink that I am not only willing to attend game night, but that I’m taking the initiative to plan it.
On Friday night, we’re at the grocery store getting supplies. “We need appetizers and finger foods. Lots of drinks. Definitely Jack and Coke.”
“Isn’t that Lucas’ favorite drink?” my mom asks.
“Everyone likes that drink, Mom.”
“Not me, gives me acid reflux.”
“Okay, everyone under fifty likes it.”
