Hard Luck

by Liv Morris

  I follow his line of sight, my crazy hormones raging as I imagine myself sitting on top of his thighs and riding him. I lean against the sink counter area in the room for support. If he has a big cock, certain parts of me may actually combust into flames.

  “I need to keep this appointment on the down low.” He looks back up at me again, a cocky grin on his face. My knees grow weak at the sight. I feel my head start to tilt to the side and my mouth open in swoon-mode. I quickly stand tall and try to wash away his sexual magic. As if.

  “No problem,” I say in a low, sexy voice I didn’t realize I had. I sound like he just asked me to remove my clothes and I agreed.

  “I’ve heard there’s this law called HIPAA. You can’t discuss what happens between us. Kind of like an NDA.” Of course he would understand an NDA. He undoubtedly has women signing them before he sticks his dick in them. There’s probably a pile of them and a pen sitting on his nightstand.

  “Let’s start this entire appointment over, Brady. Pretend everything up to now was just a warm-up.” I take a deep breath, trying to go into medical mode.

  “My name is Cali Jones. I’m the physician’s assistant at this practice. I’m going to ask you a few questions about why you’re visiting today. You can answer them or not. Whatever we discuss in here will not be discussed with anyone other than the medical staff.”

  “But what about my name? Can we keep it to Brad?”

  What to do? What to say? I’ve never had this come up before. If the other doctors were here, I’d ask them for advice. I feel backed into a corner.

  “This type of request is new to me.” I move toward the spinning black chair by the desk and ease onto the cushion. There will be no more falling at this man’s feet, outside of the bedroom. As if that would ever happen.

  “I’ve never been in a situation like this before either,” Brady confesses. “But something’s up. I was just suspended by the commissioner for five games, so my coach told me to get things figured out.”

  “Sorry about your suspension,” I say, and I truly am, though not surprised after his outburst with the bat. He’s lucky no one was hurt when he threw it.

  “Thanks, but I lost control yesterday.” He takes off his Sox hat and stuffs it into the kangaroo pocket on his hoodie. “I hate wearing this thing since we’re rivals and all.”

  “You had a tough week.” I itch to reach out and comfort him by tapping my hand on his thigh, but I think better of it. Honestly, I’m surprised he’s confessing all this to me. Maybe it’s the medical scrubs I’m wearing that make him feel comfortable.

  “Did you see it?” Brady asks in a tentative way, like he’s hoping I have no clue what he’s talking about, but I do.

  “I was at the game.” And staring at your sweet ass. “I’m sure things will get better for you. Just have some faith.”

  I scoot my chair a few inches and face the computer screen on the desk. I enter my password and open the file Deidra started for Brady—I mean, Brad.

  “So, tell me what brought you here today.”

  “Things aren’t working right.” He points to his groin and does this low jazz hand like circle over the problem area.

  My gut reaction is to laugh at his comment, but by some miracle I don’t. Instead, I let a small smile escape, hoping he sees it as encouraging and not mocking.

  “Could you be more specific?” I keep my gaze locked on his face. Enough of my staring below his belt, it’s time to doctor up.

  “Can a dick need a break from sex? Like, it’s been overused and needs a vacation?” Brady asks, his face deadpan, and I try not to laugh out loud. No one has ever complained of an overused penis. It’s usually the opposite. Whatever brought him here today is serious to him, yet I’m not sure what the problem really is.

  “You’re having erection issues?” I ask. I can’t believe I’m actually talking to Brady Luck about his dick. I’d rather be discussing what it could do to me instead.

  “Something like that.” He looks away. I’ve never met a man while working here who’s comfortable with this conversation. And it has nothing to do with me being a woman. It’s more about their masculinity in general. Men are their penises.

  “A penis normally needs a recovery period between acts of sex. What do you mean by overuse, though?”

  “Well, I’ve gotten around and maybe it’s been too much.”

  “How many partners are you talking about?” I ask, needing to rule out a sexually transmitted disease.

  “I’ve probably had sex over two-hundred times in the last two years.” My eyes go wide in surprise.

  “With different people?” I say in a weak voice.

  “I’m not one for repeats.” His response lacks any hesitation or shame. What a manwhore.

  The number shocks and disgusts me, sort of. I remember the feeling of being in his orbit at The Wit. He has a powerful pull and I might’ve been part of those two-hundred women, if he’d given me a chance. Still, I’m disappointed there are so many.

  “That’s a hefty amount. Do you use condoms?”

  “Religiously.” Funny, that might be the perfect word to use since women seem to worship his cock.

  “Well, you need a blood test to rule out any STDs. And I need to give you a physical exam.” His lip curls on one side in a cocky grin and I feel the smile between my legs. Damn him. I clear my throat and refocus. “I’ll give you a couple minutes to change.”

  “Whatever you want, Doc.” He gives me a little wink and my face heats up. I should tell him I’m not really a doctor, but I need to get the hell out of here and regroup before I see him undressed.

  Reaching inside the cabinet, I pull out a gown. “Remove your clothes and put this on.” I hand the gown to him while avoiding looking him in the eyes. Who would’ve thought I’d be asking Brady Luck to get naked, even if it is strictly in a professional way.

  “I’m good at that,” Brady quips.

  “No kidding,” I say under my breath as I leave the room. “That’s likely what got you into this mess.”

  As soon as I have the door closed, I race to the bathroom a few doors down and splash some cold water on my face. While dabbing it off with a paper towel, I resist the itch I have to call Taylor. I can’t experience this entire episode and not tell her, but I can’t say a word. Fucking HIPAA.

  Pulling my tinted gloss out of my scrub pant’s pocket, I run it over my lips and straighten my hair. I stare at myself in the mirror and begin to laugh.

  What the hell am I doing? It’s like I’m in a bar restroom primping myself for the hot guy waiting outside the door.

  I mentally slap myself and stuff the lip-gloss back in my pocket. He’s a manwhore with ED. What’s sexy about that? If I’m honest, everything, when the subject is Brady Luck.

  I exit the bathroom, resigned to take this head on. I have to laugh, because I’ll be examining the head of his dick in a minute.

  “Cali,” Jenn calls to me from down the hall in a shout-whisper.

  I stop and turn toward her before knocking on the door to room five. She motions with her hands for me to come toward her and I walk to meet her a few feet way.

  “It’s him. Can you believe it?” I give her no hint that I know what she’s talking about.

  Keep it professional, I say to myself.

  “Our patient is Brad Luciano. Understand?” I squint an eye at her, giving her no room to argue.

  “I do,” she says in defeat. “I fucking hate the HIPAA.”

  I put my hand on her shoulder and nod my head. No words need to be spoken.

  Walking back down the hall, I stand in front of the door that will lead me to an unclothed and gowned Brady Luck. I take a few deep breaths and glance down the hallway to see Jenn giving me the thumbs up sign. I chuckle at her audacity and knock on the door.

  “Ready in there?”

  “Yep,” Brady replies.

  Opening the door, I walk in and stop in my tracks. Brady has the gown on backwards. The ties and opening
are facing the front, exposing the majority of his legs. I bite my lip and scan—or more like lust over his strong, defined thighs and calves. He gives me a loopy smile. I smile back without thinking and wonder if he did this gown thing on purpose. One can never underestimate a manwhore.

  “Your gown.” I stay close to the door, pointing in Brady’s general direction, “it’s not on correctly.”

  “It is?” he says with way too much shock. The jerk knows he did it wrong. “All my equipment is upfront. I figured you would want better access.”

  “Access is one thing you know a lot about,” I say in a huff.

  “What was that?”

  “Never mind,” I mutter, reaching for the latex gloves in the dispenser by the sink. I push my fingers through the openings and give the edge a nice snap for effect.

  “Any latex allergies? Oh, wait—you’ve used over two-hundred condoms in the past two years. I’d say you’re okay with latex. Please, step down onto the floor.” He stands tall and I smile to myself as I take a seat on the black stool in front of him. I enjoy bossing him around.

  “Now, stand with your feet apart.” When he parts his legs, the Brady promised land greets me.

  My mouth drops open wide in awe of his cock. The man is hung. Like a good eight inches long limp. I might stare at the thing for a few seconds longer than is professional, but I can’t help it. His cock is stunning on every level.

  “That’s pretty much the reaction I get from all the girls.” I take my eyes off his beautiful cock and look up at him. His grin tells me one thing: he’s a cocky bastard—literally.

  I squint my eyes at him, determined to press forward with the examination and carry on despite his smugness. “Well, I’m not a girl. I mean, I am a girl, but not that kind.”

  Reaching through the front of the gown, I take his balls in my hands and let my fingers travel the surface, checking for anything irregular. My head is turned to the side with my eyes closed, because I want to rely on touch only.

  I examine him in a medical way and feel nothing out of the ordinary. Turning my head back toward him, his penis hits me in the forehead—a perfectly hard penis that is likely nine inches long. It resembles something from a porno.

  My mouth drops open, which seems inappropriate, considering his cock can almost touch my lips. But his erection stuns me, and I have no idea what to do. He came to me because he couldn’t get in this situation and he is clearly hard as a rock.

  “Holy shit. Look,” Brady says, grabbing his cock. “You’ve healed whatever I had going on. Maybe my dick just needed a vacation after all.”

  I push back on the stool, scooting away from Brady. He’s pumping the hell out of his cock. If he blows, I’m going to be covered in semen. I don’t know what to do at this point. I’m tempted to just leave the room and ask him to get dressed as I shut the door.

  “I didn’t do anything. Promise.” I look up at him and his eyes are hooded and dark.

  “You don’t know how good this feels.” Brady smiles, rolling his head from side to side with his eyes closed, savoring each pump of his hand. I stand up and move toward the door.

  “Listen, I’m going to let you have some time to yourself. I’ll be outside, waiting.” He nods his head as his hand moves faster. I want to stay and watch, but it would be majorly unethical, so I dart out the door.

  Holy shit. I lean against the hallway wall. I massaged Brady’s balls and now he’s jacking off in the office. How the hell am I supposed to write this interaction in his file?

  Patient became erect and decided to masturbate.

  Hell, I didn’t even get to examine his penis or prostate. There could still be something medically wrong with him. One erection doesn’t mean everything is fine.

  “Ahhhhhhh.” A wail comes through the door of room five. I can’t believe I let a patient openly come in the office. It’s okay for a test sample but this incident was purely for pleasure.

  I pace outside the door and glance at my watch. I’ve spent too much time with Brady and now my appointments will be backed up all afternoon.

  “Mister, ah…Luciano?” I call through the door.

  “Yes. Come in,” he responds.

  Opening the door, I walk in and swallow hard, facing his perfect ass in tight, black boxer briefs. I have to plaster my arms at my sides to keep from reaching out and touching that sweet tush.

  “I’m so relieved,” Brady says, pushing his long legs through his jeans. He turns to face me as he grabs his sweatshirt off the table.

  “I bet you are.” My response sounds bitter, but for Pete’s sake, he just orgasmed after I touched him. This is all kinds of wrong. He pulls his head through the opening of the sweatshirt and tilts it.

  “I’m sorry about that, but I’ve been trying for days to get off.” He pulls the Sox cap out of his pocket along with his Ray-Bans and puts them on. These actions signal the conclusion of our time together.

  “I’m still concerned you might have other issues that haven’t been addressed.” He moves toward me and I step backward, but he keeps coming in closer. My backside hits the surface of the cabinet, boxing me in.

  “I have no idea what you did, but I’m fine now.” He bends down and gives me a little peck on the forehead, more like a kiss you would give a cousin. Dammit. “Brady Luck is back. Thanks, darlin’.”

  He taps me on the nose like he did at The Wit and turns to leave the room. Nothing comes out of my mouth as I watch this God of a man with the perfect penis leave.

  When the door clicks, I fall onto the small stool and move to the computer screen. How do I describe what happened with Brady in medical terms? If I write the exacts, that I let a patient jerk off in the exam room, my job is on the line, but I doubt Brady will tell a soul about today.

  Deciding to play it safe, I list his main complaint as erectile dysfunction, then add that the patient experienced an erection during examination and left before the examination was completed, leaving out the fact that he completed himself.

  “Cali,” Jenn opens the door and comes in, “there are three rooms with patients waiting for you.”

  “I’m sorry, but Mr. Luciano was a handful.”

  “I bet he was.” Jenn winks at me and I laugh while entering applicable medical codes into Brady’s chart.

  “You have no idea,” I say as I follow her to room three. “What’s up next?”

  “Sixty-five year old man. It appears his equipment isn’t working either,” Jenn says with a tease. I shake my head.

  “I’m going to need all the wine tonight.” I grab a hold of the doorknob and take a cleansing breath before entering. Here goes equipment failure number two.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Cali

  Two days have passed since Brady walked into the office and I still can’t shake off the experience. The sight of his long fingers gliding over his perfect cock, the way his face looked when he closed his eyes in ecstasy—those images are branded in my brain permanently. I close my eyes and Brady appears in living color, but the memories have come in handy at night when I’m alone in my bed.

  Sitting at Dr. Richards’ desk in front of the computer screen, entering the details of my last patient’s medical situation, I’m struggling to focus. I need to bleach Brady out of my mind. With Dr. Richards gone, I’m up to my elbows in dicks, balls, and prostates.

  Dr. Richards and Meredith are the proud parents of a newborn girl named Charlotte, and I can’t wait to see her. Dr. Richards promised to bring her by on Friday afternoon, right after we close the office. Which reminds me, I need to go shopping later this afternoon for a baby gift.

  “Cali…” Jenn peeks through the open crack of the office door.

  “Hey. What’s up?” I peer at her over the screen.

  “You have a call on hold. It’s a Brad Luciano.” She waggles her brows.

  “What?” I ask in total shock. I didn’t think he’d have the nerve to contact me after the “incident.”

  “He’s asking for you by n
ame.” Jenn gives me a knowing look and moves inside the office. “His exact words were, and I quote, ‘I need to talk to Cali, the hot doctor with the pretty blue eyes.’”

  “Holy shit,” I exclaim in a long breath. The man has put me in the most unprofessional and awkward positions since he walked into this office. He’s exasperating and hot as hell—and the hot part is too hard for me to ignore.

  “Line one, sweetie.” Jenn gives me her standard thumbs up and a quick nod, then closes the office door behind her as she leaves.

  I straighten in my chair and try not to picture a cell phone lying against Brady’s scruffy, chiseled jawline, but my thoughts go there anyway. Damn him and his crazy sexiness.

  I take a deep breath, clear my throat, and remind myself to act professional, even though I feel like a sixteen-year-old girl who hopes the guy on the other end is asking her out. Taylor’s right, I need to get laid like yesterday.

  “Hello, this is PA Cali Jones.” My tone is steady and calm, like I have no idea who’s on the other line, but my heart flutters in my chest, not to mention my hands are sweating.

  “Doctor, I need to see you again.”

  “First off, Brady,” I say, refusing to play games and use his fake name—there’s no need, “I’m not a doctor. I’m a PA. And second, you need to make an appointment. I would suggest you make it with Dr. Tanner. Let me transfer you to the front desk.”

  “Wait, Cali. I don’t want to see anyone else and I don’t care about the PA, doctor thing. I need you.” He needs me?

  “What do you mean?” I tap my fingers on the desk blotter as I wait for his answer. He sounds so sincere and helpless. Like I’m his last hope.

  “I tried to fuck two other women and nothing happened. Nothing. But hearing your voice right now, I’m hard as a rock.”

  Who in the hell does he think he is—or, more like, who does he think I am? His good luck sex charm? And the guy has some nerve talking about who he’s trying to fuck.

  “You’re repulsive, Brady,” I say with complete and total contempt. Like he’s the most despicable creature in the universe, though I know he’s not. He’s hot as hell and I might find humor in the fact that I’m the one who gets his “equipment” working. But I’m his health care provider, not some chick he met at a bar…even though we did meet at a bar. Shit, this is so messed up.