Ian: M.E.D.I.C.S.: A Steamy Instalove Military Medical Romance

by Pandora Snow

  "Slow. The strength in my arms is improving, but my balance is still unreliable. Once I'm steady on my feet, Sergeant Hayes will focus on strengthening the right leg. I was hoping insurance would approve me for a prosthetic, but I was denied. I don't think I can live in this damn chair for the rest of my life."

  I don't know what to say. His struggle makes my minor brush with cancer seem inconsequential.

  "Keep your chin up, Pete. Once you've been with us for six months, we can offer you additional benefits. We'll have HR work with the insurance company at that time to re-negotiate. Focus on the people in your life who support you, and don't be afraid to ask for help." I'm a damn hypocrite.

  "Thanks, Boss, you're a good man."

  "I appreciate that, soldier. Make sure all of the tags and signage are updated today for the weekend sale. Clock out at eleven am so we can add your remaining weekly hours to Saturday."

  "Will do."

  The day flies by, both Sarah and Mom checking up on me to ensure I ate my deliciously hearty meal. I sent Sarah a selfie of me holding the lunch bag over the trash can, pretending to throw the bag away.

  Her reply was nearly instantaneous, a selfie showing her seated in the car. With her curious fingers inside her blouse. On her nipple. Fuck. She wins this round. I text her back that revenge is sweet, just like her delectable juices.

  So far, I haven't experienced any unwanted sexual side effects of the prescription. I did feel pain in my groin after the second round of sex. That was probably due to her relentless cries for deeper penetration.

  God, I love her so much.

  ***

  "Great to see you, Ian!" Cyrus says, patting me heartily on the back.

  "Yah, looking good handsome," Snake grins, goading me before I've even sat down.

  "How's that sexy fiancé of yours? We agreed I'm second in command if you can't fulfill your duties." Cyrus smiles widely, half-serious at the pact we made as we were walking off the transport plane.

  His comment isn't funny right now. I wasn't going to have a beer, but the bottle in my hand will help cover my anxiety. I take a few sips, looking over to see Matthis walking in.

  "Sergeant Hayes, great to see you!"

  "Ian, hey man!"

  The conversation turns to Matthis and his new position at the Army Rehabilitation Center. I decide not to mention that Pete is working for me. Matthis seems to be under pressure already, judging from his reaction to the dark brown-haired gorgeous woman walking his way.

  Cyrus and I reach for barstools and order another round of beers for the lady and her friends. Snake is eating up their over amorous attention as he flexes his biceps. I watch Matthis' face light up with desire, staring longingly into her enraptured eyes. He deserves to be deliriously happy in a relationship, just like me.

  A woman screeches from across the room that her husband is choking. Matthis jumps into action, performing the Heimlich and saving the man's life. All of our jaws drop as we watch the next scene unfold in slow motion. Christine meets him halfway across the bar, throws her arms tightly around his neck, and plants a deep passionate kiss on his shocked mouth. Damn, I know exactly how that feels. It's heaven.

  As I glance down at my beer, guilt sets into my head. I should be home with Sarah, and I shouldn't have had alcohol. I tell the guys I have a woman to please and leave quickly. I'm going to pay for my sin tonight. Sarah will smell the alcohol on my breath. Maybe we'll turn the tables, and I'll let her give me the punishment this time, although I'm berating myself enough for both of us.

  My sweaty hands rub harshly across my face, embarrassment and shame coursing through me. Sarah is gently tracing circles along my stomach, laying her head on my rapidly beating heart. I couldn't fucking perform. I've never been unable to complete the mission.

  Panic is setting in my failure may be due to more than a single beer. Between last night's groin pain and my inability to pee when I use the restroom the previous few days, I'm guessing the root cause is medical.

  The doctor said to call immediately if I experienced any changes. I'll email Dr. Pritchett directly and see if he'll consult me over the phone. I absolutely positively can't have Sarah trying to fix this issue or offer her support. My job is to protect her.

  "Don't make too much out of this, Ian. I know you've been stressed lately, especially about work. Sunday I'd like to take a drive to Raven Rock State Park, maybe bring a picnic lunch. Getting back to nature will bring both of us some peace of mind."

  "Wonderful idea," I mumble, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head. My words to Pete remind me to practice what I preach and ask for support when necessary. Let's hope tonight's failed performance is a once in a lifetime show, and that my life returns quickly back to normal.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  "I need to see you in my office," Spence calls out as I walk down the hall. I'm still reeling from my inability to finish my manly duties with Sarah last night. She was sweet and supportive as always, packing me another healthy lunch and wishing me a good day.

  "Good Morning," I say as I walk into Spence's office, and he gestures for me to close the door.

  "I've got some bad news, Ian." That's never what you want to hear from your boss.

  "Corporate is calling for Benny to be fired due to the inventory discrepancy. The shortage of ten percent amounts to thousands of dollars in lost product. I hate this, but that's policy."

  I inhale deeply, the weight falling squarely on my already burdened shoulders to break the news. I'm still not convinced the product is missing, my nauseous gut telling me we're overlooking a critical factor.

  "I understand the policy, Spence, but I don't honestly believe any foul play is involved. Benny is an excellent employee and wouldn't intentionally steal."

  "I agree, Ian, but someone has to take the fall." For a brief moment, I consider putting my name on the table instead of Benny's, but that won't solve the issue.

  "Can you give me until Monday? I trust my gut, and my instincts tell me there's a piece of this puzzle waiting to be found."

  "I can do that. Our huge weekend sale will require extra staff anyway. We'll continue business as usual for now. I'm rooting for you, Ian. You have an exceptional ability to get to the problem's source."

  "Thanks." Buying a few days will give my brain a final chance to save Benny's job.

  I'm sitting in my car on lunch break, eating my healthy turkey and swiss whole wheat sandwich. Sarah slipped a post-it note inside the lunch bag with a happy face. I wish I could smile back right now as I check my cell phone and see Dr. Pritchett's number.

  "Good Afternoon, Dr. Pritchett. Thank you for consulting with me privately."

  "Of course, Ian. Tell me about the changes in your symptoms."

  I mention the groin pain, the issues with peeing, and my inability to maintain an erection last night. This failure hurts the most.

  "I'm letting the staff go at one for the holiday weekend. Come by this afternoon; we'll take a few X-rays. I'm proud of you for speaking up. Prostate issues are generally curable when caught early."

  "Thanks, Dr. Pritchett, see you at two." I'll text Sarah before I leave work to make sure she's home. Maybe I'll pick up a filet mignon, and we'll grill for dinner. That's a manly activity.

  Dr. Pritchett is efficient with the exam and takes a second blood sample for retesting. He insists there's still no cause for alarm and promises to call me tomorrow if he receives the results. Since I've only been on the medication for four days, the tests may or may not show improvement.

  My arms are filled with a summer bouquet of bright yellow sunflowers and a hefty brown bag of steak and potatoes. I walk in the front door, not seeing Sarah in the family room or kitchen. I put the meat in the fridge and walk towards the bedroom. The shower is running. That's odd.

  Work clothes are strewn in a trail leading into the steamy bathroom. I pass a pair of Alegria nursing shoes, colorful socks, and cotton chinos. Her proper white blouse is on the perfectly made bed, and her
cotton bra is hanging from the door handle.

  Dammit. I can't tell her about my phone call with the doctor. She's going to extraordinary efforts to support me. Bless her thoughtful heart, she's planned every moment of this afternoon seduction to prove how much she loves me.

  The final invitation to this tempting foray, soft lace panties, are wrapped around the shower door handle. I throw them on the ground, after taking a deep intoxicating inhale of her scent. The mirrors are fogging up, jazz music playing in the background. I know exactly how this show is going to end, as does my growing cock.

  My clothes tear off my back, and I step under the hot flowing water, pressing her soapy slippery body against the tile and consuming her mouth. The water is heated, my body is hot, and her eyes are scorching. I turn the nozzle towards the shower door, so I can take my time ensuring every inch of her body is properly washed.

  I waste no time gliding my slippery hands up to her swelling breasts, cupping them gently as my thumbs brush her nipples.

  "That feels amazing," she breathes, massaging her fingers through my hair and lifting her right leg seductively around my hip. The soap, and my searing touches, have made her body slick with need, and she's not afraid to show me.

  "You're so sexy, so beautiful. What do you want, Sarah?" I begin slowly moving my right fingers towards her core while my left fingers continue cherishing her sudsy peaks. She gasps out as I penetrate her folds with my index and forefinger, thrusting in and out.

  "I'm waiting, fiancé. What do you want?" She's pushing her tongue back into my mouth, her left leg coming up to cross with her right behind my back.

  "Connection, Ian, deep intimate soul-crushing connection. Please, fill me."

  I let her simmer for a few more minutes, removing my fingers and replacing them with my full erection against her quivering folds.

  "Like this?" I ask, basking in her unabashed desire to receive all of my pleasure.

  "Deeper," she pants, grabbing my ass and pressing me into her.

  I allow one more minute to pass, her wild eyes ready to explode.

  I thrust to the end of her limits with a hard, penetrating stroke, throbbing with each strong clench she releases against me. Two more life-giving blows are all it takes to burst us into synchronistic orgasm.

  The euphoric feeling of our symbiotic release is calming my soul, chasing away my lingering concerns. I can still sexually please my woman. Thank God for small miracles.

  She's lounging on the couch while I prepare the steaks, flipping through the stacks of magazines my Mom gave her. I'll wait until she's fed before telling her I have to back out of tomorrow's plans.

  "Thanks for bringing home dinner and cooking it up, that was delicious." Sarah's satiated in every way, my strength/prowess as a man renewed. Now might be the right time to break the unpleasant news.

  "I have to work tomorrow, Sarah. Probably a double shift. We kicked off the weekend sale early, and everyone's pulling extra duty."

  "No," she laments, "we're tasking cakes tomorrow!" Let's be honest here, I want to say. The only thing grooms are interested in tasting on their wedding day is the bride.

  "I'm sorry, but Mom is super excited about spending the day with you. Just promise me we won't end up with some pink champagne nonsense."

  She laughs, always understanding. "Do you want to know a secret?" she smiles seductively, sliding her hand along my knee. I do now.

  "The only taste bride's care about on their wedding day is that of their husband."

  "Show me," I growl in a heated rush, standing and carrying my fiancé across our bedroom threshold. I'm thankful to the stars above for this forever girl in my arms. She's renewed my faith in myself, and our soon to be realized happily-ever-after.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "Hanging in there, Benny?" I ask, bouncing from computer to customer on this hectic Saturday.

  "You bet, boss," he replies. "I haven't seen Pete for two days, is he on vacation already? He just started?"

  Dammit, something else I forgot to do yesterday between worrying about my job, my health, and my girl. "I'll call him in a few, I'm not sure," I reply. Right now, there's an angry customer issue escalating to management.

  "Good Afternoon, sir, how can I help you?" We're out of stock on a particular type of carpenter nail he needs to complete a weekend project. The scanner shows three boxes in stock, but the computer shows zero. This doesn't make any sense.

  "My apologies, sir. I can have them here in-store Tuesday or ship them directly to your address."

  "What type of nail?" Benny asks, the man describing the dimensions.

  "Let me show you a potential substitute. We can give you a couple on the house to try." The man agrees, and Benny walks him to aisle two. I nod a thank you to Benny and head to the back to check on Pete.

  Dear Lord, not another soldier. Pete's girlfriend answered the phone and sadly told me he committed suicide Thursday. She even apologized for not contacting me, but I wouldn't hear it. I offered my deepest condolences and wished her peace and comfort.

  The mental and emotional stress of returning to civilian life is often what takes good men down. After years of strict routines and orders, they're suddenly left lost, alone, and in many cases, unwanted. I need to call Matthis when I have a free moment. No doubt he's taking the news personally too.

  Sarah's sent me half a dozen pictures of cake styles and says she and Mom are enjoying their day. Unfortunately, there's no time to reply to her text. Dr. Pritchett is ringing.

  "Yes, Dr. Pritchett," I answer.

  "Ian," he says in a calm even tone of voice. "Your condition may be slightly more advanced than when we first diagnosed this Tuesday."

  "What exactly do you mean by advanced, doctor?"

  "We may need to treat you invasively for a few weeks. As we discussed previously, this has been caught early, and I'm still optimistic you won't suffer any long-term consequences."

  Holy. Shit.

  Despite his authoritative words, my mind is quickly spinning out of control. I would undoubtedly have increased issues with my sexual performance. The stress of potentially being unable to father a child with Sarah would be devastating to all of us.

  "What's our next move, Dr. Pritchett?"

  "I'm scheduling an appointment at the Carolina Cancer Treatment Center on Monday. They have the doctors and technologies to prescribe a healing protocol. I'm sorry, Ian. I know this news is unsettling, but please keep your mind on the positive. We'll talk next week once they've completed your evaluation."

  "Thank you, doctor," I say sadly and hang up.

  My fingers begin texting Cyrus. Even though we've been distant the last few weeks, I can count on his unswerving support. I need to talk this through with a squad brother, someone I trust with my life. He responds in seconds, ordering me to bring pizza and beer. I'm feeling so sorry for myself I don't care what I eat or drink tonight.

  The last person of the day I have to disappoint is Sarah. She calls me upon receiving my text. I told her I was going to hang out with Cyrus. I knew she wouldn't let me off the hook that easily.

  "Ian, you don't sound well. Why can't you come home and talk to me?" Her voice is cracking with uncertain emotion. I can't tell her why I need to talk to Cyrus tonight. Besides, I still haven't assimilated the barrage of bad news. I don't want to lose control in front of her.

  "I'm sorry, baby, but it's guy stuff. I promise I won't be out too late. I love you," I say quietly and hang up. Thank God the day is almost over. My conversation with Cyrus will be hard, but nothing compared to facing Sarah with my life-changing decision.

  ***

  "Damn, Ian, you sprang for the imported beer. Thanks!" he smiles, inviting me in. His apartment is clean and straightforward, similar to mine. He grabs the bottle opener and paper plates, motioning to have a seat on the black pillowed couch.

  "Is this couch new?" I ask, inhaling the manly leather scent.

  "Yes. You look like hell since I saw you Thursday night. Wh
at's wrong?" No need to mince words with my squad brother.

  "I have prostate cancer," I say bluntly, opening two bottles and toasting to nothing.

  "Shit. What stage?"

  "Precancerous right now, but my symptoms are getting worse. I'm going for extensive testing Monday to determine the most effective protocol."

  "I'm so sorry to hear that. Do you need me to go with you? Because I will."

  I'm fighting back burning tears, the impending decision I'm about to make breaking my heart in two. Cyrus would do anything for me, including this.