Hot Bodies Boxed Set: The Complete Vital Signs Erotic Romance Trilogy

by Hughes, Jill Elaine

  Joanna flipped the television off and started walking back towards the nurses’ locker room to gather her things. But she hadn’t made it three steps before she heard a gruff voice echo on the linoleum just behind her.

  “You still have two minutes left on your shift, Watson.”

  Joanna spun around. Harlan’s azure eyes were bright as lasers even in the dimmed hallway lights, and they bore into her like knives. “Oh, come on, Doctor. I’ve been on duty for sixteen straight hours. Two minutes aren’t that big a deal at this point—“

  Harlan’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, they are. In medicine, every minute—every second—counts. Those two extra minutes you spend hightailing it out of here could be the difference between life and death for a patient who arrives in the surgery department with a hemorrhaging artery.”

  “With all due respect, Doctor, I don’t see any hemorrhaging patients hereabouts,” Joanna replied coolly. “Do you?”

  “That’s beside the point,” he said, taking a step closer to her. Even from more than ten feet away, she could swear she felt the heat rising from his body against the bare skin of her forearms, making her break out into girlish goose pimples. She absently rubbed at her arms—which only turned them into giant erogenous zones.

  “Watson, what I’m trying to emphasize here is that I expect 100% from my nurses 100% of the time,” he barked. “No slacking off on my watch. Not even for two minutes.”

  Joanna glanced at the gray steel clock mounted on the hallway wall. She watched as the second hand finished its rotation, then glanced back at Harlan, her eyes locking with his. “Well, the last two minutes of my shift are up. I don’t see any dying patients in the vicinity, and I also see my shift replacement coming around the corner. So if it will suit you and your out-of-control ego, Dr. Harlan Wilkinson, I will be going now. I have an urgent appointment with my bed.”

  With that tender expression of Carolina hospitality, Joanna turned on her heel and headed back to the locker room without giving Harlan a second glance.

  Four minutes later, Joanna was in the hospital parking garage. As she fumbled the key into the lock of her battered old Honda, she heard the heavy metal door of the stairwell slam shut, followed by the click of hard-soled shoes on asphalt. Momentarily terrified that a serial rapist had somehow followed her out to her car, Joanna froze, unable even to unlock the door to get into the relative safety of her vehicle.

  “Relax,” came a familiar male voice from across the parking structure. “It’s just me, Watson. Believe it or not, my out-of-control ego and I have to sleep too.”

  Joanna’s felt her cheeks color. Was there no escaping this man? She managed to get her car door open and tossed her purse and duffel bag into the passenger seat. She tried to coax her body into the car after them, but her feet had somehow glued themselves to the concrete floor of the parking garage.

  And all at once, her entire lower half went into flames.

  Joanna’s body was ripe and raring to go for another fuck, whether she liked it or not.

  Harlan seemed to pick up on this right away. “So what’s the holdup, Watson?” he chuckled. “If you’re as tired as you say you are, why don’t you just go home?”

  “I—“ was Joanna’s stammering reply. Her mouth went cottony when she caught sight of Harlan’s crotch. Even in the dim, smoky light of the darkened parking garage, Joanna could make out a tent in the man’s pants worthy of a three-ring circus.

  Harlan inched closer. “You know, I’d really like to join you on that urgent appointment you have with your bed,” he said. “I think a nice long stay in your bed would do the both of us a world of good. Unless you’d prefer to get busy right here.”

  Joanna stiffened. She tried once more to get in her car and drive away, and couldn’t. The more she stared at the enormous bulge in Harlan’s crotch, the more she wanted to stay right where she was so he could fuck her with it.

  The whole situation was way out of hand.

  Joanna slapped herself across the face. She had to nip this thing in the bud. She just had to. Joanna was a proper Southern lady. She had manners and decorum. She’d gone to her marriage bed a virgin, after all. What the hell was she doing in a parking garage in the middle of the night, seconds away from letting an arrogant, rude, uncivilized Yankee—not to mention her new boss—screw her brains out up against the side of a car?

  And why the hell was she so damn excited at the prospect?

  She was losing her mind.

  Now Harlan’s body was pressed up against hers. She could feel his arousal, hard and throbbing and insistent against her left thigh. She could smell it, too—that unmistakable coppery, musky, manly scent of sex enveloped her like a fog. “So what’s it gonna be, Watson?” Harlan whispered. “Are we gonna do this thing, or are we just gonna call it a night and go home?”

  “I—I don’t know,” she stammered. And it was true. She was at a total loss. Did she listen to her heaving body and slippery crotch and take the sexual satisfaction that was being served up to her on a platter, or did she do the rational, reasonable thing and get the hell away from there?

  It was pretty hard to listen to reason when her crotch was on fire.

  Joanna’s vagina vibrated from the intense need to be filled with Harlan’s cock, and her clit buzzed in anticipation of Harlan’s skilled surgeon’s fingers upon it. The instincts driving Joanna’s actions that night were purely primal—raw, animalistic, primitive. They made no sense, but they didn’t have to.

  Joanna’s lady parts had discovered a set of gentleman parts that made them feel good—better than they ever had in her life, in fact.

  And those lady parts weren’t about to go quietly into the night, either. They demanded satisfaction. And they would get it any way they could.

  Joanna’s right hand floated down to the waist of her scrubs as if propelled by invisible machinery. She tried again to stop herself, but couldn’t. Her body had taken on a will of its own.

  With two quick flicks of her wrist and fingers, her scrub bottoms puddled around her ankles. She made a move to pull the crotch of her panties to the side, but Harlan had already beat her to it. He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a condom, which he whisked onto his gigantic member in a blink of an eye. Before she could even realize what was happening, Joanna was flipped over facedown onto the hood of her Honda with Harlan’s huge cock inside her.

  Joanna had never been fucked from behind before—let alone doggy-style across the hood of a car in a parking garage. She’d always been a strait-laced, demure, missionary-position-in-bed-under-the-covers kind of girl. And it wasn’t as if her impotent ex-husband had been capable of introducing her to much else. He’d been lucky just to get it up at all, and had thought any variation on meat-and-potatoes lovemaking would put his erection at risk.

  Harlan’s erection sure as hell wasn’t at risk, however. He was so huge and was thrusting so deep, Joanna honestly thought his cock might thrust itself all the way through her body and end up coming out her mouth.

  And Joanna didn’t think that would be a bad thing, either. She wanted to know what Harlan’s cock would feel like inside her mouth very much.

  But first, she needed to get used to how his cock felt inside her cunt.

  And what a feeling it was. The sweating walls of Joanna’s vagina were stretched even further than they had back in the elevator. The angle of thrust created by her prone position across the Honda was so sharp and deep that her cervix almost seemed to explode every time the tip of Harlan’s cock hit up against it. Another advantage of being fucked on the hood of the car was the easy access it gave Harlan to her buttocks and labia. He had no problem whatsoever splaying Joanna’s buttocks wide with one hand as he held her body steady to meet his gargantuan thrusts, all the while rubbing and caressing her clit with his right. The result was an almost immediate—and seemingly neverending—vaginal orgasm.

  Joanna bit into the flesh of her left arm to keep from screaming. She couldn’t risk anyone in
side the hospital building hearing her cry out in ecstasy. She’d lose her job. She’d be humiliated, the laughingstock scarlet woman of the whole town. But even so, the knowledge that she was fucking a man in public—that she could get caught at any time—was more thrilling than anything she’d ever experienced.

  Anything but the wild ride Harlan was giving her right now, anyway.

  She’d never been fucked like this. Hell, with the exception of the elevator tryst earlier that evening, she’d never really been fucked at all. Compared to this, the fumbling, dull attempts of her ex-husband Bob hardly even counted as sex.

  Joanna had been desperate for some real sex for her entire life. And now, she was finally having some. The fact that she was having some with her arrogant SOB of a new boss in a public parking garage was merely a minor inconvenience.

  Joanna lifted her chest up off the hood of her Honda and braced herself on her forearms. She wanted the last few moments of this fuck to be the deepest, hardest, most intense of all—and she could tell from the sound of Harlan’s breathing that his orgasm was close. She raised her rump up off the hood and into the air at the steepest angle she could muster just as Harlan thrust into her for the final time. This time, Harlan hit Joanna’s G-spot at the exact moment he exploded—sending her over the edge one final time in an interstellar leap of her own.

  Harlan collapsed on top of Joanna, pressing her into the dirty, dingy hood of her rattling old Honda. Hardly a romantic afterglow, but that didn’t matter. This coupling was never about romance in the first place. It was just about getting laid, pure and simple.

  Harland withdrew and rearranged his pants. “Thanks, Watson,” he said, all business again. “I’ll see you back here tomorrow.”

  Joanna was stunned. “But—“

  Harlan tipped an imaginary hat at her, a poor Yankee attempt at being a Southern gentleman. “What happens here, stays here,” he said. “Good night.” Then he turned on his heel and headed for his car. He was gone before she could get dressed.

  Joanna got dressed and sighed. She was mortified—again. Was this really what casual sex was supposed to be like? She had no experience in such matters. She didn’t know what to think, how to react. No proper Southern lady lets strangers fuck her over the hoods of cars—let alone enjoys it as much as she just had.

  At one level, she was hurt that Harlan had done a classic “wham-bam, thank you ma’am” and hightailed it out of there as fast as she could. But at another level, it seemed like a perfectly natural way for him to end things. Did she really expect Harlan to cuddle her and stay the night on the hood of her car? That would have been ridiculous.

  The question remained—how was a formerly proper, demure Southern lady supposed to act now that she’d fucked her boss twice in one workday, and liked it? How did former Southern belles blend back into polite society once they’d had wild sex on the hoods of their late-model cars?

  They didn’t have a chapter on that back at charm school, that was for sure.

  SIX

  Shirley Daniels had never understood what made Joanna Watson tick. And she didn’t expect to start now.

  Shirley was still in the locker room, too stunned at Joanna’s sudden exit to finish getting dressed. What had she said to make the woman so mad? All Shirley did was comment on Dr. Harlan Wilkinson’s hot bod—which the man had in spades, asshole or not—and Joanna Watson had acted as if Shirley had punched her in the face.

  What the hell was up that woman’s butt, anyway?

  What, indeed. Shirley figured it probably had to do with Dr. Harlan Wilkinson. The man certainly seemed to have an effect on people. On women, especially.

  And Shirley figured if the man could turn her—a cold, frigid fish if there ever was one—into a buzzling bundle of orgasmic nerves, she could hardly imagine the effect the Yankee surgeon was having on the beautiful, sensual—and freshly divorced—Joanna Watson.

  Hell, for all she knew, the two of them were probably off fucking over the hood of a car somewhere.

  But Shirley wasn’t going to let that bother her. She wasn’t the jealous type. And she had business of her own to take care of.

  Shirley headed out of the locker room to check the OR duty roster. She silently thanked God when she saw there were no more operations scheduled for the day. And she wasn’t needed at her parents’ nursing home tonight, either—for once. Finally, after weeks of double shifts and long nights caring for her decrepit parents, she could go home at a decent hour and give her tired feet and back a rest.

  But going home for a rest was the last thing on her mind.

  For once in a very long while, Shirley Daniels had a free evening to spend however she liked. She’d been looking forward to this free time all week—even if she’d had absolutely no idea what to do with it.

  Until now.

  The melty buzz that was fast growing in Shirley’s crotch as she skipped up and down Covington Community Hospital’s twisting, dingy hallways towards the parking garage told her exactly what she would be doing with her free evening. When she finally made it to her car and slid her key into the ignition, she knew there was no arguing with the impending news flashes rising up from her cunt.

  Tonight, Shirley Daniels would get laid.

  The only problem was, she had no idea how to go about making that happen.

  It had been so long since Shirley had gone out on a date—or even cruised for good-looking guys at a local bar—that she was totally clueless about how to attract a man, let alone find one willing to fuck her. And it wasn’t as if Statesville, North Carolina had a swinging singles scene. There were only two options for meeting single men in this godforsaken town: at the Dew Drop Bar on Main Street (which wasn’t much of an option, unless she was desperate enough to go home with toothless old men with faded Navy tattoos and tobacco juice in their beards); or at the First Pentecostal Church of the Nazarene’s weekly Singles Supper (not an option either, since Shirley was an atheist who abhorred church folk).

  It looked like Shirley would have to get the hell out of Statesville if she wanted to get laid tonight. Either that, or she’d have to hire a professional.

  She checked her watch. Eleven-thirty. The night was still young. And she wasn’t due back at the hospital until eleven a.m. the next morning. Plenty of time for her to make an overnight trip to partake of a little big-city action in Raleigh. Or maybe some tight college-boy action in Chapel Hill. Both options sounded equally tempting.

  She was freshly showered and wearing her tightest pair of Levi’s and a new halter top. She always kept a makeup kit in her glove box, she could be glammed up in no time. She has a brand-new pack of Trojans in her purse, so she was ready for action. And if she wore her hair down, she could easily pass for ten years younger. Plenty young enough to attract some hot college-boy ass.

  Shirley started the car and checked her roadway map for the quickest route to Chapel Hill. As an alumna of the university there, she knew where to find the frat houses and college bars that were sure to be chock-full of horny, redblooded American boy-toys that would be all too eager to bed an older woman, even on a school night.

  Shirley’s body was a live wire for the entire ninety-minute drive to Chapel Hill. By the time she rolled into the center of the college town, it was almost one in the morning, and the houses on Fraternity Row were mostly dark. But there was still one fraternity house lit up with the bright lights of a weeknight college party left on the block—the Sigma Nu house, all the way at the end of the campus’ main drag.

  A slow smile spread across Shirley’s face. She remembered the Sigma Nu house. She remembered it well.

  Because believe it or not, there was a very brief time in Shirley Daniels’ life when she was not the cold frigid fish with no social life that she was today. Fifteen-odd years ago, when she was a coed on the University of North Carolina’s campus, she was a bright young freshman pledge at the UNC Chi Omega chapter looking for a fratboy to accompany her to her sorority’s Enchanted Spring social. She�
��d found her date (and so much more) within the walls of the Sigma Nu house—and that date had been the boy she’d given her precious virginity to. They dated for three years, breaking up just before Shirley graduated nursing school. But they’d parted on good terms, and Shirley had always thought fondly of the handsome young fellow who’d been the vehicle for her sexual awakening.

  And now, at age thirty-four, Shirley Daniels was undergoing a second sexual awakening of sorts. Why not go full-circle and pick up her boy-toy in the very same frathouse where she’d been deflowered up against a wall more than fifteen years ago? For old times’ sake.

  She had plenty of years of fruitless, frustrating celibacy to make up for, after all.

  Shirley parked the car, checked her makeup in the rearview mirror, and took a deep breath for courage.

  She needed plenty of courage for what she was about to do.

  Shirley marched up to the frathouse’s front door and banged the heavy brass knocker. She had to bang it several times to be heard over the thumping bass and loud voices of the party within, but she finally got an answer.

  The most beautiful twenty-year-old she’d ever seen opened the front door. He had a pair of stunning ice-blue eyes, which looked her up and down, then twinkled. Obviously he liked what he saw.

  “Hey, what’s up?” the boy-toy asked in a deep, gravelly voice that sounded much older than its owner’s tender years. “Wanna party?”

  “You know I do,” Shirley chirped.

  She swept past him into the swooping front foyer she remembered so well from all the visits she’d made to the Sigma Nu house in college. A quick glance around showed her that even after fifteen years, almost nothing in this testosterone-soaked house of hedonism had changed. She recognized the beat-up, duct-taped brown leather couch as the very same one where she’d shared late-night drunken trysts with her very own Sigma Nu pledge so many years ago, along with the grimy, scuffed walls and the piles of empty beer bottles and pizza boxes that were the signature décor of fratboys the world over. In a way, she almost felt as if she’d come home from a long, hard journey.