by Penny Wylder
“We’re only five minutes from the clinic, though.”
“So quit wasting my time,” she says, leaning down to kiss me full on the mouth. “Let’s go.”
I quickly unzip my pants and pull my cock out. She slides her panties to the side, and I glide my fingers up and down her slit to make sure she’s ready for me. She’s hot and wet already. I position my cock right at her entrance, and with a hand, I push down on her hip, feeling her tight pussy stretch around me, enveloping me in perfect heat. I plant my hands on her luscious ass, and thrust up into her. She gasps and grabs onto the back of my neck.
She lowers her lips to mine, kissing me sensually as she slowly rotates her hips, pushing me deeper and deeper inside of her. “Your cock feels so good,” she whispers into my open mouth. “I love the way it fills up my pussy.”
Her words make my dick throb. I take her by the hips and press hard into her, feeling myself bottom out. She whimpers, her face contorting. “It’s so fucking big,” she moans.
If I’m hurting her, she does nothing to try to stop it.
“Fuck me harder,” she begs and starts to grind against me.
I reach behind her, grab her bare ass and squeeze it, hard. Secretly hoping to leave fingerprint bruises for her to find in the morning. “You better come fast,” I tell her. “We’re almost back to the hospital.”
She doesn’t disappoint, riding me hard and fast. Her wet pussy makes sucking sounds in the quiet cocoon of the limo. She bites her lip, trying to be quiet, but I remind her that the back of the limo is sound proof to the driver no matter how loud she gets.
She climbs off of me and strips off her panties, then climbs back on and starts to ride me again. The sound of her pleasure fills the limo, echoing in my ears. My own pleasure groans from my very soul. When I reach between her legs to thumb her hard clit, she screams and her body starts to spasm and my lap is soaked with her cum. As her pussy contracts from her orgasm, choking my cock, I can’t hold on any longer.
“I’m going to come,” I tell her urgently.
Instead of climbing off of me, she bears her weight down. “Come inside of me. I want to feel it.”
I have no more control, there’s no time to argue, and she refuses to get off of me, and so I explode inside of her. I feel the pressure of my orgasm vibrate in my groin. My vision grays and I am weightless, on a different plain.
She collapses on top of me, breathing heavy. I only come back to myself as the limo rolls to a stop. I want to just sit here, basking in the euphoria of my post orgasm, basking in her. But there’s no time for that. I snap to and we scramble to redress as the locks pop and the driver opens the door.
We try to appear as put-together as possible, but our clothes are wrinkled and disheveled, and her hair is a mess. Mascara gives her raccoon eyes and my face is smeared with red lip stick. The driver raises an eyebrow. He’s probably seen enough people in this position to know what just happened and to keep a professional poker face.
We start to walk back to the hospital entrance. I reach for her hand, but she pulls away from me. I stare at her, confused. She runs so hot and cold; I never know what to expect.
“We can never do that again,” she says.
“Claire, wait,” I say, but she disappears back into the Hope Center, and once again I’m left feeling like one huge, useless dumb fuck.
9
Claire
What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I control my libido around that man? I need to focus on work again. I’ve spent my entire adult life dedicating myself to school and becoming the best doctor I can possibly be. My job means the world to me. I’ve all but given up on the idea of marriage and children. So why is it whenever AJ is around my loins seem to catch fire? It’s like being a dumb hormonal teenager all over again. Not only that, though. He’s somehow sneakily crawled under my skin to where it’s not just sex I think about when I’m with him. I can easily picture myself waking up in his arms every morning, massaging his legs and back when he’s sore after a game or a long day of training. I’ve even caught myself thinking about what our children might look like and how the furniture in my apartment would make his house warmer. I’m losing my mind!
The problem is, my job at the Hope Center doesn’t seem to be as much of a time-suck as the rest of my jobs in the past have been. Most of the places I’ve worked have been under funded and understaffed. AJ has made it to where none of those things are a problem. I guess I have to take some of the credit too because I am damn good at running this clinic. Even those who resented the supposed way I came into the job, now admit that I’m very good at what I do. My credentials speak for themselves and so does the state of the clinic. It’s running like a well-oiled machine and that’s because of me. The staff has job security because of me. They get to go home to their families at a reasonable time and still make a great living wage because of me. If it were any other clinic or ER, that wouldn’t be the case and they know it.
Aside from that, the quality of care at the clinic is top notch. Every suggestion I’ve made to the board to improve the care we provide to our patients has been funded. We’d been working with a single room for x-rays, and I realized an additional room would cut waiting times significantly. By next month we’ll have the additional machinery. I’ve even had calls from other clinics asking me if they could come tour and take me out to lunch so they could pick my brain.
And because of how well I’m doing and how well AJ has done, not only am I making a great living, I also have more time on my hands and normal, human hours. I guess we make a good team in that sense. Working normal hours leaves me with too much time to think about other things. I’ve never been good with sitting with my own thoughts. I need to find a hobby.
I sit outside of the Hope Center, looking up at the building that has brought so much good to this city. A great man built it in my honor, a man who has been nothing but kind to me despite my steady, and not always kind, rejections. The same man who continues his ham-fisted attempts at wooing me. And the same man who makes my body come alive in a way that I’ve never experienced with anyone else.
I scrub my hands over my face. I need to get my head clear.
I go back inside the Hope Center and find Barbara, my counterpart on the evening shift. Barbara is a grandmotherly type with a sweet smile and an ever sweeter disposition. She’s one of the only people in charge who didn’t sneer at me or judge me when she heard I was engaged to our main funder. I wanted to hire her even though there were protests from others because of her age. Because ageism is illegal, they wanted to make excuses as to why we wouldn’t hire her, but her age and experience make her an asset and so I insisted. Now everyone is glad I held my ground. Barbara is one of the best employees we have.
“Hi Barb. Would you mind letting the floor supervisors know in the morning report that I plan to take some time off tomorrow?”
She looks worried. “Is everything all right? You never take time off.”
“Yeah, I think I just need a little me-time.”
“Of course, hon. Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll take care of it. Are you sure you don’t need two days? You’ve worked hard and you deserve it. There are plenty of bodies to cover it without even having to dip into the overtime bucket.”
“One is fine.”
“Take two,” she says with a stern, yet sweet look. It’s the kind of look a parent gives their child when they know what’s best and won’t take no for an answer. “Administrators orders.”
I can’t help but smile. “Thank you.”
The next morning, I somehow manage to sleep in until 9AM, a luxury for me. I can’t remember the last time I was able to sleep in, even on my days off. I’ve always worked so much that on my rare day off I had to spend every moment of my off time scheduling appointments or grocery shopping so I didn’t starve to death, or clean so my home didn’t fall apart.
It’s definitely a luxury, and yet waking up alone has never felt this lonely. Why have I gone
my entire life without someone and been fine, and yet now it suddenly feels all wrong? I can’t help but think how nice it was to wake up next to AJ and his warm wall of muscle behind me … as well as his hard cock pressed up against me.
Thinking about the way he touched me, the way his tongue felt when he kissed me, my body starts to react. My hand slides down my body, into my panties, and between the wet folds. I finger my slippery clit, plunging two finger inside myself. Grabbing the dildo from the bedside table, I work it in and out of my pussy, giving myself a thorough fucking until my muscles tighten and everything starts to turn a little foggy. I climax and then sigh. Yeah, giving myself orgasms feels great for a moment; they always do. But in the end it’s nowhere near fulfilling. Instead, I sigh, feeling disappointed.
Enough of this. It’s time to get a shower and let go of this self-pity and these thoughts of AJ once and for all. Problem is, even as I tell myself my thoughts are going to be AJ-free, I know that’s a lie. I’m going to fail because he has somehow managed to infect my every thought. But I’m a doctor. I can cure this. I have to.
10
AJ
I should have known after all the media blitz surrounding mine and Claire’s engagement, it wouldn’t go unnoticed by my teammates. The moment I walk into the locker room there are questions, a lot of persistent, yet good-natured teasing about my hot fiancée and how I need to watch my back or one of them will swoop her up. They laugh when I’m grumpy and tell them to shut the fuck up. Last thing I want to think about right now is Claire and the latest rejection from her. Whenever I’m practicing, my mind seems to go to a different place. It shuts off and I am all body and muscle memory. I’m never too deep in my head because that tends to lead to mistakes. That’s how I’ve gotten to where I’m at now. On the field, I can compartmentalize. It’s off the field that’s the problem.
Eventually, all the hoopla dies down once the coach has had enough. We run drills, watch videos of the last game and talk strategy. Toward the end of practice, we run plays. I’m finally starting to feel good again. My body is tuned in, my mind is tuned out—at least when it comes to the distraction that is Claire, and I’m killing this play.
That is until the outside linebacker on the other squad hits me. It’s happened a million times in my career with no consequence, and yet today, my leg twists in an unnatural position and I go down. The screams of agony fill my head. Pain radiates through my knee and calf like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, like hot daggers slicing through muscle, bone, and ligament. It feels like my knee is on fire. Looking down, I’m afraid I’m going to see something horrific, like a compound fracture or my leg bent at an unnatural angle. But nothing looks out of place. That’s still no relief. The pain is unbearable.
I can hear the coach calling for the medics. Two stout women run toward me with med kits in their hands. I glance at the rookie linebacker who hit me. He looks just as terrified as I feel, his face a pale shade of green like he might be sick. Hurting your star player as a rookie is not the reputation you want, and despite the pain, I feel for the guy.
“Hey,” I call to him, pain changing my voice into someone I don’t recognize. His bottom lip wavers. I mouth the words ‘don’t cry’ to him. The last thing he needs is to get shit from the team. “Don’t beat yourself up. It was a good tackle and everyone here knows it.”
He nods, looking grateful. The waver in his lips stops and he stands straighter even though he still looks like he might puke.
One of the women tries to move my leg and my screaming reaches an octave I had no idea my voice was capable of.
“Get the stretcher,” one of the medics says. She’s calling for an ambulance. “This isn’t something we can treat here.”
And those words tell me everything I need to know about how bad things really are.
In the ambulance they give me something for the pain but it only takes the edge off and makes my vision a little fuzzy. My knee feels swollen, the skin tight enough to burst open. The pressure is excruciating. The icepacks don’t seem to be helping at all. I feel dizzy and taste bile rising in my throat.
“He’s going into shock,” one of the EMTs announces.
I feel myself fading. I grab the arm of my team rep who rode with me in the ambulance before I black out completely. “Claire,” I tell him. “Get Claire.”
The ambulance hits a bump. The pain is paralyzing. My mouth opens yet again to scream, and then suddenly everything goes black.
I don’t know now long I’ve been out by the time I finally wake up. Looking around, I know I’m at the Hope Center. I blink groggily as several doctors stand over me, talking amongst themselves. Claire is with them, nodding as they suggest ways to approach things regarding my care. I’m too foggy-headed to understand exactly what they’re saying. Claire glances at me and gives me the most angelic smile I’ve ever seen. God, she’s beautiful. The light shines around her like a halo. My groggy brain keeps saying, ‘I love you’, over and over. It’s a good thing my lips are too dry and cracked to open.
She takes my hand and squeezes. “Everything is going to be okay,” she says. I love her voice too. “All of these doctors are going to take care you.”
I peel my lips apart. Everything hurts. “You’ll watch over me?”
She smooths my hair, her fingers caressing my cheek. “Of course I will.”
That’s all the reassurance I need. I trust her. As I slip under once again, I’m left with the feel of her skin as she intertwines her fingers with mine.
11
Claire
The problem with AJ’s leg is beyond my area of expertise. As much as I’d like to take control over his care, that’s not what’s best for him. I’m just grateful the doctors on board allow me to sit in on everything. I trust them. With everything going on and the chaos surrounding it, I find being in the operating room too much. I’m in the way and I’m not thinking clearly. I need to take a step back and let the experts do their jobs without my nervous tension mucking up the vibe in the room.
I go out to the waiting room where Carson sits, his leg bobbing maniacally. He stands up when he sees me. I wave my hands in a sitting motion. “He’s still in surgery, but everything is fine. He’s in the best hands possible,” I say and explain to him what most likely happened to his leg.
“How long will it take him to recover?” Carson asks.
“I can’t answer that with certainty, but in all likelihood, he’s probably looking at several months.”
Carson nods his head, looking gutted over the news. I know his relationship with AJ goes beyond agent and athlete. They’ve become friends and I see genuine worry there.
He sighs and looks at me with a defeated smile. “I just want to warn you that you may feel some pressure to do certain things now, but AJ made it clear to me before all of this happened that you are your own person and you’re not to be forced into anything.”
I can tell he’s being purposefully cryptic. I have a feeling he means I’m going to be thrust into the public eye after this and will probably be asked to make statements to the press and fans about AJ’s injury and recovery. There are HIPAA compliances against talking about patients’ medical records, but AJ is transparent with his fans, and because I’m his fiancée and not his primary, the public will be looking to me for answers.
“I understand. I’m AJ’s fiancée now. I will stay that way until the two of us decide otherwise.”
Carson smiles and reaches over to squeeze my hand.
Now I’m wondering if I’m really up to dancing with the wolves outside. AJ has barely been at the Hope Center for an hour and already they have the building surrounded. We had to usher the fans into the corner of the parking lot because they were blocking the ambulance entrance. All of the cards and flowers and stuffed animals will end up being taken to the pediatric ward or will eventually fill up the dumpsters. A word or two from his fiancée, who just also happens to be the doctor running the hospital where he’s being treated, will go
a long way in placating the horde. But can I handle all of that right now with everything going on?
Well, I guess it’s a good thing I put on a nice outfit before getting the call from Carson.
I take in a deep breath and put on my best doctor face. “Let’s do this,” I tell Carson. I’m going to need his strength and guidance. I’m not exactly sure how any of this works. I’ve never been in front of cameras before. The hospital always had PR specialists for that sort of thing. Now it’s up to me. Not as his doctor, but as his fiancée.
The moment I step outside, I’m being bombarded by the cavalcade of microphones, recorders, and cameras shoved in my face. Carson is great at getting people to back off, assuring they will each get their turn when it comes to questions and answers. Eventually they back off enough for me to breathe.
While making it clear that I’m uncertain of the extent of the injury, I assure them that AJ is in the best care possible, and that I am in constant communication with his doctors and they are keeping me in the loop on his progress.
One particularly eager reporter shoves his way to the front of the pack and stabs his microphone at my face. The whole thing reminds me of a bunch of zombies with their arms outstretched, thirsty for blood and brains. They’re relentless.
“Will AJ’s injury effect your long-term relationship plans?” he asks.
I’m confused at first, not sure how his injury could possibly affect anything that has to do with our relationship. Then I get it, and my confusion turns to anger. When I realize he’s implying that I might leave AJ now that he’s hurt, the professional façade slips off my face and my fangs come out. The reporter withers from my icy stare, shrinking back just a little.
“You don’t know me,” I snap at the man. “But AJ does. He’s known me most of our adult lives. And even with all the fame and glory, out of all the women in the world, he chose me. You don’t walk away from that kind of love because of an injury. Till death do us part, those are the vows I’ll be taking, but those apply long before a the ‘I do’s’ happen. So back off.”
