Doctor Steamy

by Kristen Kelly

  “Little by little,” I said.

  “Right. Soon you’ll be sucking me off like a champion.”

  His head dove between my legs, tickling my inner thighs as I positioned his cock along my tongue. I heard an intake of breath when I rolled my tongue along his tip.

  “A little more,” he coaxed. “I need a bit more.” His body dipped down so I didn’t have to lift my head off the pillow and soon I had half that steely dick inside my mouth. “That’s it, just like that. Ah, fuck. Yeah, that’s good.”

  While I was trying to take more in of this sexy man above me, I started to lose my mind.

  Even though my jaw ached from stretching, I couldn’t stop. I loved the taste of him. The growls and gurgles he made and his scent overwhelmed me. I felt on fire and driven, resolved to bring him to the best climax of his life. Maybe then he wouldn’t leave me. Maybe then he’d say he loved me. But that was ridiculous right?

  I could imagine that hot, wet cum spurting all over my face. So sexy. And my own climax was off the charts as I wriggled along his tongue. Soon I couldn’t get enough of either. It was like my brain was taken over by lips and tongue and cock.

  He started to piston in and out, begging me to go faster. I loved his sounds. His grunts. The way I was making him lose control.

  His lips danced over my pussy. “Oh God.” As I pulled and caressed his cock, a hot liquid flooded my throat. I struggled to take in as much as possible and then swallowed.

  It felt dirty, and bad, but oh so wonderful.

  BY THE TIME PATRICK left, I was so keyed up from our date, so overflowing with love for this man, that I couldn’t sleep a wink. So I stayed up late watching a black and white movie featuring Spencer Tracey. Back in the day, Tracy must have been the hottest actor on screen but what I loved most about him, was his quick wit. He reminded me of Patrick. I drank a little wine and fell asleep on the couch.

  I was in the middle of a delicious dream where Spencer Tracey and Patrick are fighting over me. No, they weren’t fighting, were they? They were sharing me! Body parts were everywhere. Heated breaths and growly voices and at one point I think I actually had an orgasm because my heart seemed to be beating outside my chest. When I looked up, I saw it on a shelf somewhere across the room. Now, what woman would want to wake up from that?

  Oh God, this was as glorious a dream as it gets. If this was heaven, I wanted to die right here and now.

  In my bed.

  Like this.

  I wasn’t waking up for anything...or anyone.

  The bed began to move. Was this an earthquake?

  An incessant pounding in the far recesses of my brain.

  Glass breaking.

  Shit! Someone was breaking in.

  Too groggy and confused in my half-dreamy state, I wasn’t even sure I heard what I heard, so I grabbed my terry cloth bathrobe, threw it on, and padded out of the bedroom. Either I was too dumb to be frightened or the bravest woman on the planet because when I caught sight of the man standing in my living room, his hand bleeding all over my carpet all I could think of was, how the hell do I get blood out of a carpet?

  A broken beer bottle lay just inside the kitchen and judging by the looks of my floor, the bottle had been full; the linoleum gleaning wet.

  “Tom?” I was still groggy, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. “It’s...” I glanced at the clock above his head. “—three a.m. What are you doing in my living room?”

  “Didn’t you get my message?” he replied, eyes red and wild looking. He shifted from foot to foot, eyes roaming around the room as if he were looking for something.

  “Message? What? No. What are you doing in my house?”

  “Hi Delly.”

  “Tom, it’s the middle of the night, for God’s sake.”

  “It is?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I missed you, Delly.”

  Was I still in a dream? No. This was a nightmare.

  “Is this about your razor?” I asked stupidly.

  Who in their right mind breaks into his ex-girlfriend’s apartment to return a razor at three a.m?

  He blinked his bloodshot eyes. “Huh? Oh. Oh, yeah.”

  “How did you get my address?”

  He took something out of his pocket, tossed it on the couch.

  “My phone!” I scooped it up and dropped it in my pocket. “I knew I left that at Susan’s.” I glared at him. “You. You stole my phone?”

  “I just wanted to see you, Del. You’re my only friend.”

  A stab of guilt hit me in the chest. I didn’t hate Tom, and I probably was his only friend. We’d broken up because he was...clingy at times. Actually, all the time. I’d never actually told him where I lived. When we’d dated I made him pick me up at Susan’s house.

  “I’ll get that razor for you,” I said, but when I turned, I lost my footing on the spilled beer and catapulted into the kitchen table, conking my head.

  “Crap,” Tom exclaimed. “Are you all right?” He bent to help me up.

  When he did so, I felt the moistness of his palm against my head. I glanced down at the hand steadying me on my feet. “I’m fine, thanks, but you’re... Oh God, you’re bleeding, Tom. Shit!”

  As I got to my feet, I grabbed hold of his hand, inspecting the wide gash in the middle of his palm. “Why the hell did you break my window? Can’t you just use a doorbell like normal people?”

  “There’s a doorbell?”

  “Here...” Grabbing a towel from the kitchen, I wrapped it around Tom’s hand. I took his other hand and placed it on the injured one. “Hold the pressure there.” I opened a cabinet in the kitchen and took down my first aid kit. “This will feel cold, but it will kill the germs.” I sprayed antiseptic on his palm, making him hiss out of his teeth. “Big baby,” I muttered while giving him a warm grin.

  His eyes were big, like a huge puppy dog’s. Again I felt selfish for cutting him out of my life like I did. I think the only reason we did date was because I felt sorry for him. “Always loved your smile, Delly.”

  “Uh huh. Now where did I put those bandages?” I started rustling through more cupboards. “Shit.” Then I checked my junk drawer.

  “I’m sorry, Delly. Really I am.”

  “Yeah. I know. I’m sorry too.”

  When I’d finally located the gauze, which was wrapped around a stuffed kitty on a bookshelf, I bandaged Tom’s hand, securing the wrapping with two metal clips. “There,” I said. “But you should probably see if it needs stitches.” I looked at him with a soft eye. His hair trimming and I wondered if he’d been eating right. “Now what am I going to do with you?”

  “Can I sleep over?” he asked with a wide grin.

  “No.”

  His face fell. “I didn’t think so.”

  “But how about this? We’ll get together sometime next week. Okay? For lunch or something. And...”

  I hoped I wasn’t making a mistake but I was tired and feeling charitable. “You can call me, Tom. You can call me and we can talk.”

  His eyes brightened. “You’ll talk to me? You won’t just send it to voicemail?”

  “I won’t send it to voicemail.”

  “Not now though. We both need sleep. Next week?” I asked, hoping he would get the hint I wanted him to leave.

  “Well...”

  “Tom, it’s the middle of the night! I have to work in the morning.”

  “I guess you want me to go, huh?”

  “We’ll get together next week,” I repeated.

  Then the door flew open and all hell broke loose.

  .

  CHAPTER 11

  Patrick

  The last few days at work were exciting to say the least. I’d arrested four perps caught breaking and entering some little old ladies’ house on the East Side of town, one prostitute, and some idiot who threatened to blow his head off if I didn’t get his wife to take him back. She didn’t. The bloke did not blow his head off. Thank God. Not that the guy was anything w
orth saving—judging by all the shit his wife told me—illegal gambling leading to the repossession of their house, several DUIs, and basically the guy was a complete scumbag, but homicides were the worst for goddamned paperwork. So I was glad to disarm the bleedin’ eejit and hall him in. Turned out, he had drugs on his possession too.

  I wasn’t half a mile from home when my police scanner flipped on in my squad car. What I heard next, froze the blood in my veins, my heart kicked into high gear, and sweat poured down my back. One of the guys I’d asked to survey Delila’s front door every so often, reported seeing a guy breaking a window to get inside.

  Instead of placing my bubble on the blue Ford Fusion unmarked patrol vehicle, we decided it safer to remain undercover on our approach.

  “How far?” I asked my partner beside me.

  “Ten minutes.”

  “Seat belts,” I ordered. “Gonna be a fast one, pal.”

  I turned on the siren, and Mateo braced himself. We flew right through Oak Square, through three stoplights, and almost hit a guard rail when we turned right. I didn’t care. There was no way I was arriving in the East End any later than the next five minutes.

  Matteo appeared stiff, his face a mask of terror. “Yo, Chief. She’ll be fine,” he finally said. “She’s smart. You said so yourself. Wouldn’t do us any good to get killed on the way over.”

  “If I’d insisted on making her keep a gun in that hellhole...”

  “Making her? Now that’s a good one. You under the impression we can make women do anything? Wow, slow down, man. You almost took out that parked car!”

  I grunted, and then took another corner, this time climbing halfway up on the bank and full-speed ahead, still laying on the siren.

  “Fuck it.” I turned the wheel hard, doing a u-turn. Again. “Goddamned Boston One-Ways.”

  Rubber peeled from the tires.

  The engine roared.

  I glanced at the clock on the dash. Ten minutes. I still had ten minutes.

  Enough time for any sick low-life thief, escaped rapist or sadistic murderer to do whatever he planned to do.

  The bile in my throat rose. Like the sludge you find underneath a bridge, it burned against my tongue. Sour, with a taste of disgust; it practically gagged me just thinking about another man laying hands on Delila.

  “Damn, why couldn’t she live in a better class of town?” I’d tried my damndest to convince her of that, warned her about the vagrants that frequented her neighborhood late at night, but all my advice... “Stubborn,” I muttered.

  “Women,” Matteo agreed.

  “Let me guess. You offered her money and she refused.”

  “I was just trying to help and she took it all wrong. All I wanted was to keep the woman I loved safe.”

  Love? Where did that come from?

  “Did you tell her that?”

  “Of course, but she’d interpreted my suggestion as trying to take over her life.”

  “Imagine that,” Matteo said. He was holding onto the door, his body gone rigid. “What is it with women these days?”

  “Dunno. They get turned on by a big strong guy, but when one of us offers to use our strength to help them, they get upset. And Delila—God help her—seems to be the leader of that ‘I can do it all’ group. She is one independent—and too stubborn for her own good, tight-assed lady.”

  “That’s why I’m single,” Matteo said.

  “That is not why you are single.”

  “Where did you meet this one anyway?”

  “Maguire’s Pub.”

  “Hmmmph.” Then he added, “So she’s a lot like you, huh?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Stubb... Never mind.”

  “So, what’s she like anyway?”

  “She reminds me of the stories my grandmother used to tell about my mother during the Troubles. Planting bombs and sneaking messages in Belfast. I remember my Da insisting she stay home. They got in terrible fights over it.”

  Matteo gave me a strange look.

  “Not that. She’s just...resilient and headstrong. That’s what I meant.”

  “Oh.”

  “When you’re a kid, stories like that sound heroic. I thought my mom was some sort of super hero, but now...” I shook my head, dispelling the angry thoughts of my mother never coming home at night. Missing all my graduations. Never being there. I knew Delila wasn’t mixed up in anything like that. She was sweet. A college student who would never consider doing anything illegal, but I couldn’t help recognize that same streak of stubbornness.

  I kept driving.

  “Sometimes good people got caught up in bad situations. I don’t want Delila to end up like my mother.”

  I parked on the other side of the street under the cover of darkness, but with enough light to see the entire block. It seemed quiet, serene, except for a black Lexus that pulled up to a bare-legged, scarlet-dressed lady, her hair in loose black waves. As she leaned into the car’s window, it struck me how the neighborhood had been created by connecting several islands using a land fill. It seemed appropriate for what went on here.

  I checked my sidepiece, then said, “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  We got out of the car, looked both ways and headed for Delila’s apartment. I took out my revolver, motioned to Mateo, go around back in case the perpetrator tried to escape. Then I knocked once.

  Twice.

  My heart pounding, I didn’t wait more than three seconds for an answer when I heard voices coming from inside. My revolver raised, I pushed opened the door and rushed in so fast I didn’t realize I had slammed into something.

  Or someone.

  “Patrick?”

  “Delila...” I scanned left, right, but didn’t make eye contact because I needed to say in control. I resisted the urge to go to her, take her in my arms and check every inch of her body for bruises. The blood on the side of her face made my pulse race. Someone had hurt her, but who?

  There was someone behind the door. “Freeze,” I shouted. “And raise your arms in the air. Come out where I can see you. Now!”

  From behind the door, came a skinny, pimple-faced kid looking about as scared as a rabbit in a fox den. One hand was raised but the other was holding his nose which was bleeding like a sieve.

  “Shit, man. You broke my nose.”

  “Shut up,” I shouted.. “Get on the floor and spread your arms and legs.

  “What?”

  “Patrick, what are you doing? He didn’t...”

  Ignoring Delia’s please, I said, “Place your hands behind your back,” Then with one knee on the kid’s back, I cuffed him and yanked him up roughly.

  “Patrick. Stop. Will you just listen to me?”

  What would make her protect a known burglar?

  “You know this guy?”

  “We...we used to date.”

  “Of course you did.”

  He looked much more suited to a woman in her twenties. All of a sudden I realized how ridiculous her and I must look together

  “What’s going on, Delila?”

  I’d seen it all before. Jilted lover trying to get back in to a woman’s good graces. Even slapping her around and they take the bugger back. Didn’t make sense. Never did.

  “You’re bleeding. Don’t tell me there’s nothing going on. Why are you protecting this low life?”

  “He’s not... I’m not... You’ve got a lot of nerve.”

  “Um, um,...Officer I can explain,” the kid mumbled, arms high above his head. Now that I got a good look at him, I could see he was high on something. At least I thought so. I pushed him toward the door just as Matteo showed up. “Get him in the car,” I said. “I’ll take a statement from the lady.”

  I pulled the kids arms down and shoved him toward Matteo.

  Delila stared back at me, her mouth parted. The left side of her face had dried blood on it and her cotton bathrobe appeared wet. “Patrick...Patrick stop him! You can’t arrest him if I don’t press charge
s.”

  I scanned the shattered glass, followed a stream on the floor leading to a broken beer bottle. “That’s true. I can’t but I can keep him twenty-four hours. He’ll be okay. I promise.” I touched her head, noticing that she winced beneath my touch. Then I let the back of my hand glide over her cheek. “If anything ever happened to you...”

  “It’s not my blood.”

  “Oh. We better get you to a hospital anyway and get the bump on your head checked out.”

  “No.”

  “No? Listen, Delila, you might have a concussion. Can you just do what I tell you to do?”

  “Excuse me.”

  “Please.”

  “Are you going to let my friend go?”

  “In twenty-four hours. Unless his drug test comes up positive.”

  “Then I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  My jaw set and God help me—against my better judgment—with all the fear and apprehension I’d felt when I thought she was being attacked, I shouted, “You are and you will.” It was a long shot but I had to try.

  She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I. Said. No.”

  “Then maybe I should arrest you as well.”

  “Try me.”

  “Why are you making this so difficult?”

  Her eyes burned into me as she stepped back. She opened the door and said, “Thanks for the house call, Officer, but you can go now.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Delila

  It did not make sense or maybe it did.

  I stared at the same piece of paper Susan showed me the previous week, wondering how and why justice had prevailed so quickly.

  “I don’t understand,” I told my sister. “I thought this would take weeks, maybe months. How is it that something this serious can be just dropped like it was nothing in a matter of days?”

  “Damn if I know,” Susan said, stirring a big pot of some sort of goop on the stove.

  “What are you making, anyway?”

  “Play doh.”

  “Just what the world needs.”

  She took a small vile of food coloring, removed the cap, and squirted a few drops of red into the pot. “According to the lawyer, they didn’t have much of a case against me after all. The lawyer said it was a scare tactic to see if Jason told me any secrets before he died.”