Jenkins and the Naughty Nurse: A Beyond Series Off-shoot

by Ashley Logan

  Sighing, she looks down at our bodies. "Okay, I probably didn't think this through adequately, because I've spent the day fantasizing instead of planning properly, but I'm clean and can't get pregnant, and a while ago, I may have run your name and numbers through the medical database to check your status on the matter and found that you're clean too. It was totally unethical, and not especially legal, and I should have discussed it with you properly before giving in to this crazy sex-frenzy, but I kind of lost track of what the hell I'm doing, because you're so fucking sexy, and loving and wonderful and-"

  "Holy shit. You're so much more deviant than your sweet face suggests. You spied on my medical data so you could plan to fuck me without condoms?"

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she nods.

  "You know I would have told you, if you'd asked," I say sternly.

  She nods again.

  "How long ago did you do this check?" I ask, trying to keep a straight face.

  She opens one eye, and then the other, studying me closely.

  Trying not to grin, I shrug my shoulders. "I'm only asking, because I got that check done when I started thinking about wanting to fuck you without rubbers. I figured we'd discuss it at some stage and wanted to be prepared. I also suspected you'd look it up."

  Blushing, she looks away. "I may have checked the day after your results appeared."

  "And you made me wait until now?" I ask, feigning offense for about two seconds before I laugh.

  Narrowing her eyes at me a moment, Stace averts her gaze as she tries not to smile, but then that mischievous glint comes into her eye. Circling her hips slowly, she ends the arc with a sudden flick that has my dick at immediate attention. It shuts me right up.

  "I was just kidding, Stace. Things have been kind of crazy between us, what with your mom, and you having a hard time really trusting me, but I knew you'd bring it up when you were ready. This was unexpected, but it's a good surprise. Really," I add when she seems unconvinced.

  Running a hand up her side, I coax her back to my lips. "Really, my naughty little nurse. I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be than bare, inside of you. The fact that I had to wait only makes it sweeter, because now I know you want me too."

  Bringing her lips to mine, I let her know how grateful I am for that fact. Breaking the heady kiss to catch her breath, Stace stares at me.

  "Why wouldn't I want you?" she asks, seeming confused. "You're everything I could ask for."

  I nod, lowering my hands to my wheels. "I know. I couldn't be more perfect if I tried."

  "Or if you walked," she says, calling my bluff. "You're the complete package just the way you are. You're my own personal hero and I happen to love sitting in your lap."

  "I did notice how much you like sitting on my complete package," I joke, scratching my head and avoiding her eyes.

  "Watch me," she whispers, rocking her pelvis into me for emphasis.

  My eyes snap to hers, but as she starts to move, there are so many other things that draw my attention, and I soon realize that she's leading me on the tour of her enjoyment.

  First stop, her rouged and plumped lips as her tongue licks around their parted rim. My dick swells inside her and she smiles, closing her eyes with the sensation.

  Somewhere in all of this, her hair has come loose and as she runs her fingers through her silky tresses and tosses them out of her way, the ends tickle my skin and make my muscles clench in response. This also has an effect deep inside Stace and she whimpers slightly, leaning into it.

  "Oh, Stace. You're so damn beautiful."

  "So are you," she whispers, peeling down one of her shoe-string straps and then the other as she slowly rocks her hips back and forth. Sliding her hands over her chest, she lowers her skimpy lace nightie to her waist, leaving it to bunch there like a belt as she rides me.

  I'm in pleasure overload. Torn between her squeezing her gorgeous tits and the sight of her soaking my crotch as my dick slides in and out of her, I don't know where to look. Her face wins when she makes a noise so damn hot, I grip her hips to keep from somehow losing her as she clamps down around me.

  The sensation is unreal and I pull her further onto my dick with each spasm, riding it with her and making it last.

  Building up what feels like a massive release of my own, I pull her to me.

  "Don't fucking stop babe," I groan, sucking a nipple into my mouth hard as she bucks into me.

  With a barely-restrained roar, I unleash my pent-up force into her, setting off another explosive wave of her pleasure as she simultaneously grips my dick with phenomenal power within while the rest of her gorgeous body sinks into me; limp as a boneless mess.

  Holding us together, I melt with her; fully drained.

  She stays snuggled into me as I hold her and stroke her back. Kissing her head, I rest my cheek against her hair.

  "I love you, Stacey Lane."

  "I love you too, Bradley fucking Jenkins." Pushing herself up so she can see my face, she sweeps her long hair over her shoulder. "I mean that, you know."

  I nod. "I know."

  "Would you marry me?"

  She speaks so quietly that I'm sure I must've misheard, but something in her eyes...

  Pushing myself up straighter, I search her face.

  "Did you-?"

  She lifts one shoulder and adjusts her glasses, letting a lot of her hair come falling back down to cover one of her bared breasts. "I mean, I know I'm not very romantic, and that people normally plan out some sort of proposal thing, but-"

  I clear my throat to interrupt her. "Actually, I hadn't planned it exactly, but I did plan to ask you later tonight," I admit, reaching into my wheelchair's back pocket and pulling out the little box. "It's been taking me a while to decide how I would propose, because I can't get down on one knee," I say gesturing vaguely to my chair as I watch her wide eyes land on the velvet box. "I'd kind of settled on doing it in bed, where I could make it look kind of like I was on bended knee - if you used your imagination and pictured us from above, but that was a pretty stupid idea, really." I shake my head for even considering it. "You don't actually care about all that stuff. You don't need it. All you need to know is that I love you, and I'll keep loving you, and supporting you and Ryan until the day I die. And I won't even mention anything about how intrigued I was by that weird, impromptu discussion about how best to use my sperm - only that I sense that we're probably on the same page for the future. I promise to be loving and understanding of every devilish plan you come up with. If you need assistance to execute any such plans, I'm your man. I'll be your man for as long as you'll have me, because loving you and Ry is what has made me whole. You make me feel like the man I want to be; a man I can be proud of. I'd be honored if you'd be my wife."

  Opening the box to reveal the ring I'd bought her before her Mom died, I look up at her face again and brush away the tear that's traveling down her cheek.

  "So, will you marry me?" I ask with a grin, taking the ring from the box and offering it to her. I'm much more confident of a yes than I had been before she'd asked me first.

  Pursing her lips to keep them from giving her away, Stace wipes her eyes and shrugs before spreading her fingers, ready for me to slip the ring on. "Sure, I guess," she says, her face already starting to crack.

  Shaking my head, I sigh at her tragic efforts.

  "Babe, you're missing nonchalance by a country fucking mile with a smile like yours. Now gimme some sugar!"

  Pulling her in, I seal her mouth with mine, only remembering that I'm still inside her when she moans and starts to move as she returns my kiss. Stiff again in no time, I practically whine when she pulls back. Breathing hard, I watch her much nicer chest rise and fall in the same rapid manner as my own. Captivating as that is, I soon meet her eyes.

  Stace looks down.

  I don't want her to stop, and damn it if I don't look at my soaking crotch and get turned on by what I see, but I look my fiancée in the eye and prepare myself for whatever she has to sa
y on the matter.

  "This is going to get pretty messy," I say in a neutral tone before biting my lip and waiting.

  "Mm," she agrees, her gaze slowly rising to meet mine. "You want to add ice-cream?"

  "Fuck. Yes."

  Licking her lips, she drags her nails over my scalp as she steals my breath in another steamy kiss and I bump our way blindly to the freezer for the ice-cream.

  HEY AWESOME READER!

  Thanks for reading JENKINS and the NAUGHTY NURSE!

  I hope you enjoyed reading about Brad, Stacey, and some of the Beyond crew. If you did, I'd really appreciate it if you could leave a review - it'll help others to find this book.

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  I'd love to hear from you!

  If you’d like to read about Brad's wounded warrior buddies, follow the links to their stories:

  Bruno Jackson (Beyond Heat)

  Damon Shermansky (Beyond Touched)

  Or keep reading for a sneak peek of each.

  BEYOND HEAT

  The Story of Bruno Jackson and Scarlett Warner

  I wouldn’t say dancing with the elderly is my calling in life, but I’ve had a lot of practice and I’m very good at it. I can whisk an old lady about the tiles with such ease and attention, she need never worry about the phrase ‘hip reconstruction’. After weeks of grueling rehearsals for our unorthodox dance crew's performance in tonight's GlamSlam charity fundraiser, I don’t really feel like more dancing, but I made a commitment to help and I’ll see it through. When it comes to securing a hefty donation from a wealthy benefactor at this post-performance cocktail party, I feel confident it will be my dancing that’s going to seal the deal, because aside from being good on my feet, I’m really not very charming at all.

  Making several comments about my ‘beautiful gray eyes’, Ms. Rumford’s disturbingly soft hands run up and down my bare forearms, making me regret rolling up my shirtsleeves. From the look of concentration on her face as she watches her hands, I get the feeling she is trying to decide if the caramel tone of my skin is genetic, or just a really decent tan.

  Leaning in close, I whisper, “I was born with it,” before spinning her away as far as I can whilst still supporting her.

  Her eyes flash to mine and she gives me a wicked grin.

  “I had a black lover once.”

  Trying not to laugh, I pull her in close again as the music winds down.

  “So did my father. Thank you for the wonderful dance, Ms. Rumford. I hope you’ll support the cause as generously as you’ve kept my company. Thank you for keeping me from harm on the dance-floor.”

  Holding on to my hand longer than is appropriate, she leans in closer.

  “You flatter me, young Bruno. If I were a less mature vintage, you might be in serious trouble.”

  “I don’t doubt it for a second,” I reply with a wink. “But if you keep my hand any longer, I’m afraid we’ll both be in trouble right now,” I add, nodding towards her approaching husband.

  Sighing a little, she reluctantly releases my hand as the next song starts and her husband reaches for her. Watching them with a smile as they waltz slowly away, I turn toward the bar and stop.

  Leaning over the bar and pointing the barkeep to the lowest shelf of his refrigerator, is the most appealing sight. My pulse quickens as I appreciate Scarlett’s perfect ass. The pale yellow fabric of her dress clings beautifully to her well-defined rear before falling to the floor in a shimmering cascade. Smiling as the bartender retrieves her favorite low-budget beer from the fridge, she stands tall again and tucks a loose blond curl behind her ear.

  Swallowing hard, I approach the bar slowly, frowning a little as my eyes trace the lines of her gown. The fabric is cut in an older style, suitable for sensible young women from the fifties, private school headmistresses, and nuns. It covers her too much, and knowing she’s intentionally chosen this design to hide her scars annoys me more than anything. Despite the overly-conservative dress, she is the most beautiful woman in the room and I hate knowing she never thinks so.

  Taking up beside her, I gesture to the bartender that I’ll have what she’s having. Rolling his eyes in an unimpressed manner, he bends to retrieve another bottle and begins pouring it into a glass. I begin to object, but Scar stays me with a hand on my arm.

  “I tried to tell him it already comes in a glass, but he insists we at least make an effort to appear classy. According to him, swigging cheap beer from the bottle at this bar, even when dressed very elegantly, is the height of offensive behavior.”

  Raising my gaze from her hand on my arm, I meet her green eyes and stop breathing. Scarlett doesn’t usually look at me as she does right now. At best, I sometimes get a brief smile, or maybe a bigger one if she thinks I’m not looking, but right now she’s grinning at me as if she truly likes me. Blinking twice, I turn to the bartender as he offers me the beer in a tall, frosted glass. He seems almost grateful when I remove the cheap drink from his presence and thank him.

  “So people are meant to think we’re drinking fancy beer?” I ask, taking a sip and trying not to look at Scarlett for fear of never breathing again. “Does fancy beer even exist?”

  Scarlett giggles and turns to face the room. “Fancy-schmancy. It all ends up as piss anyway.”

  Choking on my brew, I cough as I laugh. “I don’t care what the bartender says. You are all class.”

  Laughing again, I shake my head and watch the wealthy guests of the charity cocktail party as they schmooze. I want to tell her that she has more class than any of these characters, but she’ll only shoot me down. I’d like to tell her how beautiful she is, but she’ll think I’m lying, or teasing her like the jerk she thinks I am. Gritting my teeth, I realize I don’t want to say nothing. I can’t say nothing; she’s perfect.

  Sighing, I tone it down. Way down.

  “You look nice tonight, Scar.”

  She looks down at herself and doesn’t answer. Taking a long drink of her beer, she avoids my eyes as she lowers it again.

  “Thanks. You too.”

  Finishing her beer, she sets her glass on the counter and studies her shoes a while before looking around the room slowly. “You think Vi and Serge got away alright?”

  “Definitely. They haven’t come back and even that guy that was bothering them seems to have left. I bet they’re home, all loved up and sweaty by now.”

  “Good.” Scarlett looks over her shoulder as the bartender makes to take her glass. “Fill it again please Maestro. All this dancing has got me thirsty.” He nods his understanding and sighs.

  Catching my eye as she turns back around, she smiles a little. It bewitches me completely and I must know the reason for it.

  “What was that?”

  Looking as if she’s about to speak, she presses her lips together and shakes her head.

  “Is that meant to make me less curious?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  “What do you mean?” she asks innocently.

  “What I mean is, normally you tolerate my existence. Occasionally you might refer to me as your friend. But you have smiled at me more this evening than you have in the last month at least, and now you’re refusing to discuss it. Should I be worried? Have you hit your head? Do we need to scan you for brain damage, or is there an actual reason why your face is lighting up in my presence?”

  Scarlett’s eyebrows knit together and she puffs another curl from her face.

  “I’m not trying to upset you,” I add quickly. “I like that you’re smiling at me. With me. Whatever it is, I like it. I just don’t know what I’ve done to make it happen.”

  Tucking the curled strands back into her professionally styled up do, she sighs when they fall straight back out. I can almost imagine her internal monologue cursing
whoever invented curling irons and just wishing she could run her fingers through her hair and tie it in a simple, straight ponytail.

  “You don’t know why I might smile at you?”

  “Huh?” I stop imagining running my hands through her hair and meet her eyes. “Should I?”

  Frowning more deeply, she purses her lips and shrugs. “Maybe not.”

  Now I can’t stop staring at her lips. Closing my eyes to keep from looking insane, I squeeze them shut tighter. “Please just say what you’re thinking, Scar.”

  Sighing, she remains silent. Opening one eye, I find her drinking and I take a gulp of my own beer. Looking at me sideways, she seems half puzzled and half annoyed.

  “You didn’t feel anything when we were dancing on stage tonight?” she asks, lowering her glass.

  I drain mine dry as my head spins. Wondering if I have visibly paled, I put my glass on the bar, hoping Scar doesn’t see the tremor in my hand.

  Did I feel anything?

  Every second in her presence sends my blood thrumming through my veins and an intense ache through my body as it heats beyond all reason to some feverish level of desire. On stage tonight, I got to touch her, and hold her as I danced the role of her lover. The sensation was overwhelming.

  My fingertips had blazed across her skin as I’d let her stray only so far before reeling her back in more closely than I should have. Close enough to hear the tiny gasp she didn’t mean to give me. Her eyes had meet mine with questions that her body already seemed to know the answers to.

  It should have been an act; an artistic use of costumes and body language combining to fool an audience into imagining a fascinating connection coming to life on the stage, but the emotions I’d portrayed had been real. Romanced by the routine, Scarlett had slipped readily into the role of my counterpart and lost herself to the immense passion between us. It was as if all my stars had aligned when the fire we’d usually reserve for arguing, had kindled something else between us. Each touch had become a searing reminder that I was a man, and she was a beautiful woman.