Unbroken

by Aria Ford

  She looked around and looked at me. “Wow. Stylish,” she said. “You've upgraded a lot since I last saw you.”

  I chuckled. “I was a student then,” I excused myself reasonably. “I think I always wanted to be able to take you places like this.”

  She gave me a smile laced with melancholic sweetness. I felt my heart turn over.

  “Thanks,” she said. She swallowed and I watched her blink those beautiful soulful eyes. Then I was pulling out the chair for her and she was lowering that pert, sweet backside to the seat opposite me.

  “Great,” I said, taking a seat and lifting the wine-list. “Shall we see what's on offer?”

  She grinned. “Sure.”

  We perused the menu. There was, fortunately, a selection of vegetarian dishes. I made my choices absently, my whole mind and body focused on the five-foot-ten of lovely curvaceous-ness sitting in the seat opposite.

  “You had a good day?” I asked.

  “Mm,” she nodded. “Productive. Yours?”

  I chuckled. “I try not to think about work on the weekends,” I said. “Gives me nightmares.”

  She smiled. “What is it you do, exactly?”

  “Well...” I closed my eyes a moment, thinking about what to say. This was the first time we'd addressed my job, besides when she seemed so disgusted by my sudden transformation over to the dark side of corporate law. “I just look after the legal side of big companies,” I explained. “Consult with them on their legal issues. Not just Steelcore, obviously. But several big companies.”

  “Oh.”

  She was looking at the pitcher of water in the center of the table with its small arrangement of flowers. I tried to fathom what the “oh” was about, but couldn't guess. She didn't seem cross, but she didn't seem too impressed either.

  “I never asked you about your work, either,” I said, carefully changing the subject. “You say you translate books now?”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, reaching for the wine-list and having a look through it as we spoke. “I like the work. It's always bringing me new challenges.”

  “I'm sure,” I said. “Not that I know anything about translating books, mind you.”

  She chuckled. “It can be tricky. Sometimes I feel like my brain's splitting in half – a French half and an English half. I don't know what language I think in sometimes. Though I guess you know what it feels like to live a double life?”

  I stared and put down the menu. How the hell did she know that? “I'm sorry?” I asked.

  She chuckled. “Don't look at me like that, Drake. I didn't mean to insult you. I just meant that...well...I never imagined you selling out to big business. It must be hard to keep that balanced with the “other” Drake. The caring one.”

  “Oh.” Whew. I tried not to look to relieved. That was all she meant! I had thought for one crazy minute that by some strange means my double life had become public knowledge and it was only a matter of time before people at work knew. Crazy. It's the stress getting to me. And Liam and his worrying. Calm down. “I guess it is hard,” I said tentatively.

  “I imagine,” Ainsley nodded. “You ready to order?” she asked.

  “I sure am,” I nodded. “I'll have a Neapolitan salad as a starter. Yourself?”

  “Um, the crostini.”

  “And to follow?”

  “I think the chicken risotto.”

  I grinned. “I'm stuck with the eggplant lasagna.”

  “I wouldn't pity myself if I were you,” Ainsley said wryly. “If that's what I can smell from over there, it's awesome.”

  I breathed in, noticing she was right – the diners at the next table had ordered the lasagna. Just seeing it made my mouth water. That, together with the stimulation of my other appetites, was making me profoundly restless.

  “So,” I commented, as the waiter came over to take our orders. “Had to do any interesting translating work lately?”

  She gave a big sigh. I gave our orders to the waiter as she explained. “I had a really tough author to please last week,” she explained. “A French lady, writing a book dealing with immigration and its impact on culture.”

  “Hell.” I raised a brow. “That sounds like heavy stuff.”

  “It was,” Ainsley agreed. She took a sip of water and licked wet lips and I coughed as my erection got bigger.

  “I don't have to do such demanding stuff,” I said, reaching for my own water and hoping it would be iced and able to cool me off.

  “I'm sure your work has different demands, though,” Ainsley commented.

  “Not really,” I smiled. “Mostly legal stuff is boring.” I let my foot move forward under the table and my ankle subtly rested against her leg. I watched her face and saw, with some delight, how her eyes went big and her lips parted, just a little. Then she settled herself, composing her face into a smooth neutrality.

  But her ankle stayed where it was.

  I drank water and tried to remember how to breathe. Suddenly, dinner seemed like a challenge in staying in my seat without leaping over the table and pushing my tongue into that sweet pink mouth. I drew a long breath. I could do it.

  We chatted idly about our colleagues, the football season, the décor. The first course soon arrived. As I crunched through my salad and tried not to watch her lips gently enfold a slice of toasted roll, incising it with small white teeth, I let my foot creep forward under the table, rubbing her ankle with mine.

  She swallowed her mouthful and her eyes met mine. She moved her foot, but forward, not backward and away, as I might have feared. Boldly, her knee pressed mine. I almost lost consciousness with the wave of longing that surged through me.

  Easy, Drake, I told myself. This is the challenge. Sit still.

  I managed to keep my hands at my side, my leg rigid, but remaining where it was, pressing gently against hers. She gave a little sigh and stretched, seeming full after her first course already. I watched the contented expression on her face and tried not to imagine it in my bed.

  The second course arrived as soon as the first had been cleared and I relished the soft, slightly-spicy lasagna. It was really good.

  “Mm,” I commented. “This is good. You're right.”

  She laughed. “I'm glad. So's mine.” She dabbed her pretty lips with a linen square before laying it in her lap again. I sighed.

  I wish I was that napkin. I wouldn't mind being on her lips or in her lap right now.

  I smiled at my wild imagination. She raised a brow at me.

  “What?”

  I looked steadily into her eyes.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  Her gaze held mine and it seemed like we both knew exactly what it was that neither of us would say. I felt my heart thump as she leaned forward and let her knee push, very gently, between mine. I gasped.

  “Should we stay for dessert?”

  “No,” I said in a husky whisper. “Let's take that home.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Drake

  I drove back to Ainsley's apartment building feeling like my whole body was in a vise. The tension was going to actually kill me. At the stoplight I let my hand rest on her thigh. It felt like silk. She tensed and I removed it almost faster than I believed possible.

  She sighed. “Don't move,” she murmured.

  I squeezed her knee and heard her gasp. Then, to my dismay, the light changed green and I had to pull off again.

  I drove the last mile or so with my lip clamped in my teeth, my whole body straining with longing. Eventually we reached the apartment block and I found a parking-space round the back.

  “Inside?” I asked, constricted.

  “Mm.”

  She slid out of the seat and I reached for her. My lips landed on hers and my tongue slid in between, pushing and probing. She tasted like mint and warmth and sweetness and my poor cock almost gave up right then, throbbing with longing.

  I kissed her passionately and she moaned, pushing her body against me as I wrapped my arms around her, holding her
close. I was shaking now, my whole body shivering with the thought of having her beside me on the bed.

  “Upstairs?”

  “Let's.”

  She led the way into the elevator. As the doors closed I wrapped my arms round her again, pushing my tongue into her mouth. She was leaning against me, rubbing her body on mine in a way that was going to endanger my sanity. I could feel the slow tremor of need throbbing and swelling inside me and by the time we reached the sixth floor I thought I was going to die.

  We stumbled out of the lift together, arm in arm.

  She stopped at her door, fishing in her purse for the key. I couldn't resist. I wrapped my arms around her and pressed my turgid hardness against that pert backside, reveling in the way it felt against me.

  She gasped and giggled and then we fell through the door together.

  “Where's your bed?” I whispered.

  She giggled. “In here.”

  I let her lead me up the hallway and into a darkened room at the end. She switched on the light, revealing a place with a stark white-covered bed and charcoal-dark walls. I smiled as she dimmed the light and then I walked over, my body surging with excitement as she pressed against me again.

  We collapsed onto the bed together. It was hard and her body under me was soft and sweet and yielding.

  I reached up and put my finger under the strap of the dress. Then, frowning, I reached round behind her to find the zipper. She giggled.

  She rolled over a little, letting me unfasten the dress. I was trembling, trying to focus, as I worked the dress over those firm high breasts and to the floor.

  Then I sat back and just stared.

  In the soft gold light of the lamps with her shoulder-length blond hair loose about her shoulders, dressed in a lacy bra and brief frilly panties, she was stunning.

  My eyes lingered on the tight cleft between her breasts, working down lower over the gentle roundness of her belly and to the parting between her legs. I could see the soft shine of her satiny panties and I lost all control.

  I bent down to her, growling in my throat as I planted kisses down that ivory smooth neck. Then I worked lower, my hands grasping and clutching as I felt over her breasts and around her back to find where her bra fastened over those high, full breasts. It came undone, freeing them and I greedily sucked her nipples into my mouth, first one and then the other. They were small and hard, just like I remembered.

  “I want you,” I growled.

  She sighed contentedly, her fingers twined in my hair. It was a strange feeling. I was with her, but it was different to how it had been. We were both older, more experienced, more mature.

  I felt my body shudder with desire to find out more about this new Ainsley, this hot, experienced, not-shy Ainsley who was reaching for my tie and gently untying it.

  “Let me,” I murmured.

  “Why?” she said crossly.

  “Because I'm faster,” I said with a shaky chuckle. She giggled.

  Then I was undressing at lightning speed. I felt my clothes drop to the floor and joined her on the bed. I was shivering as I knelt between her thighs. I reached for the satiny panties and very gently dragged them off.

  I stared down at her. Naked, she was even more beautiful than when she was clothed. I loved every single curve of her. I reached forward with a groan and let my fingers gently touch her folds. She moaned, eyes open wide with surprise. I gave her an inquiring look. May I?

  She nodded and I bent down, parting her thighs.

  She smelled sweet and spicy and the scent of her alone almost made me come. I made myself bend lower, taking her in my mouth.

  She cried out loudly and I smiled to myself, loving the fact that I could make her moan and pant. I took her clit between my teeth, working it gently as she sobbed and moved, her motions having the effect of thrusting her clit against my mouth and making her shout even louder.

  When she was shaking and shuddering, almost at the limit, I knelt up and plunged inside her.

  She cried out and I groaned in sheer amazement. I had forgotten it felt so good.

  “Oh, man,” I sobbed aloud as I moved back and thrust all the way into her again. “Oh, man...”

  She was groaning incoherently and I pushed out and pushed back and pulled out and pushed back and my body was starting to throb and shiver and convulse...

  She screamed and sighed and I felt all the tension go out of her all of a sudden. Her eyes were closed, mouth fallen open partway with her full-on pleasure.

  I pushed in and out with complete release now, moving faster as I plunged in and out, in and out...then suddenly, my body was pulsing and I groaned aloud as a massive climax left me helpless and moaning, incoherent with wonder in her arms.

  I collapsed and we must have laid like that for quite some time because I woke, much later, which meant I must have slept quite heavily, and kissed her.

  I rolled off her and lay beside her and we slept like that the remainder of the night.

  Touch Me Doctor

  CHAPTER ONE

  Matt

  “Things are coming together,” I said, looking around my new office. “Still not perfect by any means, but it’s in good enough shape to start seeing patients on Monday. Wouldn’t you agree, Janelle?”

  “Of course, sir,” she said, standing in the doorway of my office. “It’s been ready for a while now. You just can’t see it because you’re too hard on yourself, Matt. You have been since I began working for you.”

  “That’s not true,” I said, frowning. “Well, maybe I am. But maybe that’s what it takes, right? That’s what it takes to get things done the right way. High standards and an exacting eye are what it takes to succeed.”

  I sat down behind my new desk and ran my fingers over the rich mahogany wood. Janelle hovered anxiously in the doorway. I bit my tongue to keep from saying something I shouldn’t. Sitting behind this desk gave me all the power when it came to the relationship between doctor and receptionist. Taking advantage of that power dynamic was wrong. I would never do it, but sometimes Janelle made it so damn difficult. She’d been my receptionist for almost four years now and still didn’t seem any more comfortable with the role than on the day she’d started. It frustrated me, and I had to force myself not to take those frustrations out on her, just because she was my subordinate.

  She was so jittery all the time, always wringing her hands in front of her or else tucking her hair compulsively behind an ear. She always told me exactly what I wanted to hear, and although that was something every man wanted some of the time, no man wanted it all day, every day. It bored me and exhausted me, all at the same time.

  “It’ll be fine, at least for now,” I said in answer, standing and stretching before moving to my office window and peering out at the perfect mid-June San Diego day. “It’s all we’ve got to work with for now.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I mean what I said. What else could I mean?” My patience with her wore thin. I couldn’t keep the edge of annoyance from my voice.

  “I’m sorry,” she answered hesitantly, using that wounded bird voice that always made me cringe a little. “I can see how that sounded like a stupid question. I only meant—”

  “The study?” I interjected.

  “Well, yes, Dr. McCormack. The study was exactly what I was thinking about.”

  I nodded, not bothering to turn from the window and acknowledge the conversation Janelle tried to start with me. Of course she wanted to know about the study. As of late it seemed that the fucking study was all anyone wanted to talk about when it came to a conversation with me. Even the bartenders in my favorite restaurants asked me about it every time I came in, which only made me want to find new places to drink. I’d worked on nothing but the study for the last six months or so. Despite everyone’s interest in my work, the actual substance of my research would undoubtedly bore the piss out of 99 percent of the population. But for me, it was everything. I put all my efforts and passion into it aft
er my life started to go to shit.

  The study in question was a pilot study on a cheaper sepsis-control protocol I’d been developing, and it had very much been my baby. It was an unusual protocol the seemed to go against the current thinking on the subject. Because of that, other doctors and researchers in the medical field were simply unwilling to get involved. They worried about tarnishing their academic reputations. That was where I and many of my colleagues differed, much to their closeted disdain and my chagrin. Many of them were all about the academia. They cared about it more than they did anything else and based many of their professional decisions on that fact.

  Unlike them, I was a private clinician and couldn’t care less about my academic reputation, whatever it may be. More than a few of my colleagues called me crazy, but all I cared about was developing a better, more effective treatment, and I wanted to make that treatment available to as many people as possible. It was the reason we became doctors, or so I had always believed, to help people, to make their lives better, and to save lives. It was my job to do that, and as far as I was concerned, getting my study off the ground was currently the best way for me to do that very thing.

  The problem was, the same thing that gave me the freedom to pursue studies like the sepsis-control protocol was also the thing that made it impossible for me to continue without the aid of outside funding. I wasn’t a part of some corporate, money-making machine. I wasn’t teamed up with a pharmaceutical company that would take my treatment and jack up the price. And I wasn’t one of those doctors with more money than God.

  I ran a small office, and I did so on my own. Obviously, I made more than the average working man, but a lot of that money went back into my research. What was left over wasn’t close to the kind of money required to fund my own project. That got into sums of money I could never hope to earn, given the choices I had made for my practice. And the bitch of it was, this situation was a sort of catch twenty-two. The only way I’d ever earn enough money to fund the study would be by completing the study successfully. Even by selling my treatment cheaply, it would still bring in massive amounts of money. But I didn’t have the money to get there.