by Lane Hart
“Samantha,” I scold her.
“Well, the swelling had gone down, before I walked around on it today,” she replies, her ivory cheeks turning rosy red.
“Let’s get you to an exam room,” I say, barely refraining from picking her up in my arms to carry her, not only wanting to get her off her feet but also eager to get her alone. Which is stupid, but she’s my patient. I have to take care of her.
“Jenny, I’ll show Miss Elliott to a room and get started,” I tell the receptionist as I lead Sam to the closest exam room. “On the table,” I order. “Take off your bandage, and I’ll go grab you a bag of ice.”
While I’m filling up a plastic baggie using the scooper in the ice machine, I consider shoveling a pile of cubes down the front of my boxer briefs to try and cool the desire before I have to be alone in a room with the sexy woman. I swear she has no idea how gorgeous she is. Instead, I tie a knot in the bag and wrap it in a clean towel before returning to her.
“Let’s see it,” I say as I shut the door behind me. “You really shouldn’t be on it more than an hour or two a day until it has some time to heal.”
Sam’s done as I asked, both of her legs stretched out on the exam table, the left foot bare with her jean leg rolled up to her calf.
Before I apply the ice, I prod the swollen skin with my fingertips, causing Sam to flinch. “Does it hurt?” I ask.
“A little,” is her soft response.
“I want to get the swelling down with the ice before we do the electro-therapy, so just relax, and I’ll come back in a little while to check on you.”
“Thanks, Dr. Matthews,” she says, and I really don’t like the reminder of all the reasons I shouldn’t want to touch her or kiss her.
“Grant,” I correct as I walk around the table so I can run my fingers over her arm. “Or have you forgotten what I promised when you’re no longer my patient?”
Sam’s fern eyes widen and her lips part before she shakes her head in response.
“Good,” I say, giving her arm a squeeze. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Chapter Seven
Sam
I had thought my memories of how gorgeous Grant was had been embellished in my mind, but I was wrong. He is…wow. I could just sit and stare at him all day and never get bored. He’s like a beautiful work of art, from the dark waves of his hair to his stunningly clear blue eyes behind his sophisticated glasses, the cute little cleft in the center of his chin up to his full, luscious lips…
“Sam?” Lips currently speaking my name.
“Huh?” I ask, noticing he’s removed the electro pad things and is rewrapping my ankle with a new ACE bandage.
“I said, you need to ice your ankle tonight and in the morning, but most of all you need to stay the hell off of it.”
“Oh, right,” I answer.
Guess that means our appointment is coming to an end. I don’t want to leave just yet. And I really don’t want to have to wait until Monday to see him again.
“Will you, um, need to check it tomorrow too?” I ask, chewing on my bottom lip nervously as I wait for his response.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” Grant answers without glancing up at me. “The office is closed.” Disappointed, my shoulders slump as he starts unrolling my pants leg. When he’s done, he looks up and says, “But I’ll probably be here catching up on some charts if you want to stop by.”
A huge, silly grin automatically stretches across my face after hearing his offer.
“Sure. Maybe around noon?” I suggest, already putting together a plan to surprise him by bringing lunch.
“Noon,” he agrees before running his fingertip up the center of my wrapped foot. “Now, I’m gonna carry you to your car, and you’re gonna promise not to hobble around tonight except when necessary.”
“You don’t have to do that. I can walk–” I start to say before Grant lifts me in his arms, cradling me against his hard chest. Instinctively, my arms go up, wrapping around his neck to hold on. “I’m too heavy!” I warn him.
“Do you think I would drop you?” he asks, his warm breath feathering over my face, drawing attention to the fact that our lips are only a few inches apart.
“No,” I answer, but it barely comes out above a whisper.
“That’s right,” he replies, hefting me up higher on his chest, one strong, thick arm behind my knees, the other behind my back. I imagine that if I could take a photo of us right now, he would look exactly like Superman rescuing an oversized Lois Lane.
The top of Grant’s white dress shirt is stretched tightly across his broad chest, the top button open to reveal a peek of his smooth, tan skin.
“Samantha,” he says softly, drawing my eyes back up to his right before his soft, damp lips meet mine for the first time. And then the second and third, lingering a little longer each time they brush until I feel the stroke of his tongue against mine. A jolt of desire slams into me; and with a moan, I melt into his arms, trusting him to hold me up.
Is this actually happening?
Am I experiencing my first kiss with a gorgeous man too beautiful to be real? No, not just a man, but a freaking doctor?
When Grant pulls away, he whispers, “I want to kiss you” which makes me giggle.
“I think you just did,” I reply.
“Kissing patients is not allowed,” he responds.
“What if I’m not your patient?” I ask, trying to think fast. “Couldn’t you just treat me, you know, as a favor to a friend?”
“Hmm,” he mutters while studying my face. “I bet Jenny hasn’t entered you into the computer yet since she’s usually a week behind. If I’m not billing you, then I wouldn’t be acting in an official capacity when I treat you.”
“I won’t say anything,” I tell him because it’s the truth and more than anything I want his lips back on mine. “To anyone.”
“To be safe, you probably shouldn’t come back here,” he says. “Would you feel comfortable coming to my house instead?” he asks.
“Sure,” I promptly agree, even if my stomach drops at the thought of being absolutely alone with him…near a bed.
“I don’t want you to think that I…expect anything from you, because I don’t, Sam,” he says quickly. “I know you’re young, and despite the flirtatious things I’ve said, I won’t rush you into anything. I just want to kiss you, for now, if that’s okay?”
“I want to kiss you too,” I assure him.
“And maybe we can wait until your ankle is healed before we, you know, take it any further?”
“If that’s what you want,” I reply. While I’m nervous and a little hesitant, I’m not real keen on waiting for him to touch me for four weeks.
“No, it’s not what I want, but it’s probably the…prudent thing to do,” Grant answers. “Agreed?”
“Agreed,” I say with a smile.
“So, tomorrow? Noon? My house?” he asks, brushing the tip of his nose against mine.
I nod my agreement.
“I’ll have all the supplies I need for your ankle there and ready,” he responds. “And then if you want to stick around afterward, maybe we could find a movie to watch?”
“Sounds good,” I say before his lips return to mine, much more forceful this time when he slips his tongue into my mouth. God, it’s so hot and wet and…yum. I reciprocate as best I can to show him how much I like kissing him, so he won’t stop. And he doesn’t, not until we both eventually pull away breathlessly.
“You should probably go…for now,” he says.
“I should,” I agree, but he doesn’t move. “Are you gonna put me down or what?” I tease him.
“Oh, right,” he replies. “I’ll take you out to your car and come back for your crutches and backpack.”
“What about the woman out front or other patients?” I ask.
“It’s the end of the day, so Jenny is probably in the breakroom on her phone, waiting to bolt out the door.”
“You might need to get a new
assistant,” I suggest.
“You offering?” Grant asks, followed by a chuckle. Opening the exam room door, he strides off toward the front.
And he was right, the lobby and front desk are empty, only three vehicles remaining in the parking lot when he takes me to the car and places me inside.
“Thanks, even if carrying me was unnecessary,” I tell him.
“I think it was very necessary,” he argues, leaning down to steal a quick kiss that brings back the silly grin on my face before he heads back inside to grab my crutches.
Chapter Eight
Grant
I glance at the clock, again, and see that it’s only eleven-thirty.
Fuck.
This morning I woke up at six a.m. with a hard-on and couldn’t go back to sleep. So, I got up and jerked off in the shower, then started cleaning the house that I recently got settled into. Ever since I finished all my chores, the clock has been quite stubborn, refusing to budge an inch.
That’s when I realize that I’m nervous about Samantha coming over, and I’m not sure why. Maybe because she’s technically my patient and I know I shouldn’t be seeing her? There’s nothing to worry about there…not anymore at least.
After Sam left the office yesterday, I dug her file out of Jenny’s stack and brought it home. Other than her two appearances in the office that a few people could’ve seen, we should be fine.
So why am I nervous?
While I have no intentions of sleeping with her today or anytime soon as I assured her, it’s not like it would be my first time with a woman.
During college, I had several serious relationships with beautiful women. Very open-minded, sexually adventurous women who eagerly jumped into bed with me and trusted me enough to let me have them in ways they had never experienced before. They always came back for more, and I would date the same woman for months until I grew bored and disinterested despite how many kinky things we tried to spice it up again.
So, if I’m not nervous about Samantha being a patient or being inexperienced, what’s got my palms sweating and my heart racing hours before she even gets here?
It must be her age.
Samantha’s ten years younger than me, and I’ve never dated anyone who was more than two or three years younger. She obviously won’t be as experienced as I am, but she’s a gorgeous college girl who I’m sure has had her share of boyfriends and guys fawning all over her. We can take things as slow as she wants. For the right woman, I can be a patient man.
Ten minutes before noon, I finally hear a car door shut out in front of the house. And when I look out the window and see her, with her rich brown hair blowing in the wind, her lean legs encased in form-fitting jeans and a skin tight blue sweater showing off her breasts, all my patience goes out the window. I want her naked in my bed, underneath me, like yesterday. Her innocence and beauty are breathtaking. And either it’s one helluva an act or she really has no idea how stunning she is even with the crutches.
I rush to the door to open it for her, taking her by surprise based on her red lips parting on a gasp and her green eyes widening.
“Hey,” I say rather breathlessly.
“Hey,” she echoes with a shy smile. Lifting the brown bag in her hand that I had overlooked because of the crutches, she says, “I brought lunch. Turkey sandwiches from Bailey’s.”
She brought me lunch. How…sweet that she would think to do something for me so simple yet caring.
“I hope that’s okay?” Samantha asks hesitantly, and I realize that she’s waiting for my approval.
“Yeah, of course. That’s perfect, thank you,” I tell her, taking the bag from her and opening the door wide enough for her to come through.
“How’s your ankle?” I ask as she makes her way inside.
“Good. Not much swelling today,” she replies.
“Great. I’ll take a look; and if it doesn’t hurt to put pressure on it, you may be able to get rid of the crutches and just wear a soft brace.”
“Oh, thank goodness. I don’t want to have to keep lugging these things around,” Sam says when she turns around and faces me in the center of the living room, her eyes taking in the place.
“Go ahead and have a seat on the sofa and put your foot up on the ottoman,” I instruct her while I pull up a chair on the other side. “We’ll take care of this first, and then we can eat and find a movie.”
“Thanks,” Sam says once she gets settled across from me. “You know, for seeing me after hours.”
“I wanted to see you after hours,” I assure her with a smile as I remove the bandage from her ankle.
The swelling has gone down significantly, so I have Sam walk to the kitchen and back without the crutches to see how it feels.
“Nice place,” she remarks on the way back.
“Thanks. I just got everything unpacked last weekend,” I reply. “Edson’s a small town, but it seems like the people here are…nice.”
“Yeah,” she answers with a nod.
“How’s that feel?” I ask her when she’s standing in front of me again.
“Not bad. Hardly any pain,” she assures me.
“Good; then let’s put the brace on you,” I tell her, gesturing for her to take a seat again so I can secure the gray and white Aircast walking boot around her ankle with the Velcro. “Wear this during the day and at night until I tell you otherwise.”
“Yes, doctor,” Samantha mutters and when I look up at her, she’s grinning at me.
“And do you know what the punishment is for not following the doctor’s orders?” I ask her with an arched eyebrow. She shakes her head slowly while biting her bottom lip. “Spankings or worse,” I tell her.
Her blanch tells me that she’s never had her ass spanked, at least not by a lover.
“Don’t worry; you would like it,” I promise her with a wink. “Now let me grab some plates, and we’ll eat.”
…
Sam
I can’t believe I’m here, in Grant’s house, alone with him.
After the remark he made about spanking, I’m certain that I’m way out of my league. Like in a whole different universe than this man.
I’m barely able to eat any of my sandwich since the butterflies flapping around in my stomach refuse to share their space.
We start watching some action movie, Grant sitting so close I can smell his citrusy masculine scent and feel the warmth of his body heat.
All of my muscles are tense from trying not to move an inch, and I’m practically holding my breath during the movie, trying to anticipate what, if anything, he’ll do. Will he hold my hand? No, he’s not a thirteen-year-old boy.
He said in his office yesterday that he wanted to kiss me, but he hasn’t shown any interest today. Did I hallucinate our incredible kiss, him holding me in his strong arms?
“Samantha?” Grant asks suddenly, making me jump next to him. That’s when I notice the credits for the first movie are rolling. I have no idea what we just watched even though I was looking at the screen the entire time.
“Yeah?” I ask him, keeping my eyes on the television.
“Are you okay? You seem a little…tense,” Grant says, placing his palm on my leg, just above my knee. It feels like his touch is hot enough to scald me through my jeans.
“I’m fine. Great, actually,” I lie.
“Sam, relax. I’m not gonna attack you,” he assures me, but then his hand moves further up my thigh, and he adds, “Unless you want me to?”
Yes! Yes, I want you to attack me; I’m just a lot shy and a little nervous. Instead of saying any of that, I turn to look at Grant, and he flashes me a stunningly perfect smile.
“Tell me something about you,” he says. “Have you always lived here?”
“Since I started school,” I reply. “My dad was a captain in the army, so we moved around a lot. When he came out, my parents bought a house in town, and we’ve lived here ever since.”
“Wow, so I should definitely stay away from your fathe
r, right?” Grant teases.
“That would probably be a good idea,” I tell him since my dad is pretty strict. “So, where are you from?”
“Virginia Beach,” he answers with a smile. “My parents are still there. I planned to go back after school, but there were no jobs in the area, so I had to take what I could get, where I could get it.”
“Do you miss the beach?” I ask.
“Of course,” he replies. “There’s nowhere better to live.”
“Do you visit your family often?”
“Not but once or twice a year around the holidays since I left for college. I’ve just been too busy.”
“That’s too bad,” I say. Wanting to know more about him --- heck, everything about him, I ask, “Are your parents still married?”
“Yes, a rarity nowadays, but they’re still as much in love as when I was a kid, maybe more,” he admits with a grin.
“Mine too,” I agree.
“Do you have any sisters or brothers?” Grant asks.
“A younger sister. Stacy’s thirteen; she’s in the seventh grade.”
“A much younger sister,” he remarks. “I’m an only child.”
“Must have been a lonely childhood.”
“It was, which is why I read so much growing up. I’ve always been a bookworm. My mom’s a librarian, and my dad is an optometrist, so it was pretty much genetic.”
“Wow, they sound…smart,” I tell him.
“If I had to guess, I would say you’re pretty damn smart yourself,” Grant replies, reaching over to smooth a lock of hair behind my ear. “You seem mature for your age, or maybe it’s all your sexy height,” he teases before he pulls my face to his, kissing me with the same head-spinning intensity from yesterday.
Oh my God, he’s such an amazing kisser. I’m pretty sure I could stay right here on this sofa with him for the rest of my life, his tongue stroking mine, his hand cupping my face, his clean, masculine scent washing over me, his big, powerful body looming above me as I happily melt into the sofa cushions. Unsure of what to do with my own hands, I reach up and run them over his broad shoulders and down his back, just touching his warm, hard muscles through his shirt because I can.
