by Liz K. Lorde
I was expecting a hard cock for sure, but I honestly didn’t think hard cocks went with the kind of fierce, cold control a doctor has.
I can almost imagine it: the things he’s going to do to me when we get home. The way he stares into my eyes as he slides into me, telling me I can’t move yet, I can’t look away—
“Stella,” Michael calls. “Where are you right now? Look at me.”
I clear my throat a little and look up brightly. I know my grin is just a bit naughty. It can’t be helped.
“I’m just thinking about you.”
I wouldn’t have believed his grin could turn me on even more, but now he’s rubbing my hand slowly with his thumb, too. Shit, what is this doing to my brand new dress and designer panties? Next time the waiter pops by, I’ll ask for a bucket of ice.
‘Champagne, madam?’ he’ll enquire, and I’ll say, ‘No my good sir, it’s for my crotch.’
“So, did you want to hit the theatre for a late show? I know we’ve done a lot today, but I think I’m starting to like spoiling you.” Michael dips his spoon in the creamy sauce and chases a bit of ice cream around the bottom of the dish. “It’d be even more fun if you weren’t spoiled rotten already, of course…”
I squeeze his hand back firmly and smile. “You like me spoiled rotten.”
I put everything I’m feeling right now into this smile. When we fucked this morning, I was a stunned virgin. Next time, I’m going to rock his fucking world.
As it turns out, you don’t need experience—I’ve seen all the celebrity sex tapes. It’s not about the moves.
It’s about owning yourself and your desires. It’s about being greedy, hungry, and doing anything your body tells you.
That’s what I liked about it, I think. I’ve never felt so free.
Last time, he fucked me. This time, I’m going to fuck him. I’m going to climb on top of that massive man stick, and I’m going to ride him home just like my old show pony, Monty.
I’ve got the thighs for riding this man, and if I don’t exactly know how to use them yet, I’ll figure it out soon enough.
“No,” I say, deciding on the spot. “I don’t want to see a show.”
“No? Not a theatre girl?”
“I want to go home and rip you out of those clothes.”
His grin is even more feral now, and I know he’s thinking about what he wants to do to me. My own smile jumps up a notch, thinking about how I’m going to surprise him.
Look at us—the two of us sitting here at dinner, grinning at each other like horny idiots.
“I’ll pay the bill,” he says eagerly.
He even gets up and heads for the maître de. And yeah, there’s a nice bulge in his pants while he does it. I’m totally into it, too.
But gawking at Michael turns out to have its setbacks, too.
As my gaze tracks him across the room, I see a young woman pulling an adorable little newborn from a designer pram. This is an upscale place to bring an infant, but seriously, when you’re loaded, people don’t give a fuck.
The woman cuddles the baby close and talks to it gently. It’s really sweet…until I start thinking about it too much.
Michael didn’t use a condom. I could be pregnant right now.
I’ve never thought about having kids. Ever. I don’t know what to think.
I know I feel, somehow, even more turned on by the idea that he has left something of himself inside me. It’s kind of cool, in a way. If I’m pregnant, then we’re forever connected.
Except that if this relationship moves any faster, we’re going to start breaking speed limits. I don’t even know that we’re in a relationship yet—and here I am, already eyeing up designer baby labels.
I feel Michael’s hand on my shoulder, and I look up at him. I get up, and he slides an arm around my waist, trailing his fingertips over my hip.
“Watch it,” I whisper, even though I love his touch. “We should get out of here before we rip each other’s clothes off.”
Michael is perfectly composed, nodding, smiling, and waving to people he must know there on the way out.
But as he leads me out the door, he leans in and whispers, “I’m not going to rip them off you this time.”
“No? Not the ripping type?”
“This time, I’m going to strip you slowly. One piece at a time. And I’m going to enjoy every single inch of that gorgeous skin while I do it.”
We step out on to the street, and Michael’s face darkens.
“Car should be here already,” he says with a frown.
The car isn’t here, and it’s raining.
Gross.
He steps over to me, cradles my cheek with his big warm hand.
“What’s wrong, princess? Don’t like getting wet?”
Before I can answer, he leans in and gives me one deep, amazing kiss that I can feel from my lips all the way to my pussy.
The horn toots behind us, and we dash to the car, sliding in across the smooth seats. I wipe my face instinctively and a smear of white, black and red comes off.
“Oh, no!” I exclaim before I can think, “My makeup!”
I’ve never been without makeup before. My heart is hammering. It’s like being naked on the street.
Michael gently takes my wrists and pulls my hands away from my face.
“Let me see.”
Lip trembling, desperately wanting to cover my face, I look up. I know I must look like a mess. Smeared makeup, dripping hair.
He just looks at me, icy blue eyes flashing, as we pass beneath street lights and signs. He rubs my lower lip with his thumb.
“You’re prissy, Stella. And you really are spoiled rotten,” he says, looking at me intently. “But I think you have never looked more beautiful to me than you do right fucking now.”
He leans in and presses his hot lips on mine. It’s more than sensual. My heart is opening for him…and so are my legs.
This could be an interesting ride.
Michael
The first time I hear the buzzing, I don’t know what the fuck it is.
But I catch on quick. That’s what I do, after all.
Phone. My fucking phone is ringing. It’s not even light out yet.
I carefully ease my arm out from around Stella and check the screen.
Emergency. Now.
If I don’t call back in few minutes they’ll just keep calling. I sit on the edge of the bed and look at what I’m leaving behind.
I know beautiful women. I’ve had them every which way before. But right now, looking at Stella, I can feel a deep rising heat in my cock, and it’s not like it used to be.
With her, I get harder than I thought was possible. She’s so damn ballsy but somehow also sweet and demure at the same time.
She’s fire. She’s ice. She’s everything.
It’s a contradiction that’s getting me so fucking twisted I can hardly bring myself to leave her.
When she started off with talking back to me, all I wanted to do was fuck that attitude right out of her.
Now…I’ve seen her gasp as I come inside her. I’ve seen her writhe like a cat and beg me for more.
I wanted a virgin, it’s true. But I didn’t know how it would affect me, seeing a woman come into her desire.
I have to turn my eyes away or else I just won’t leave.
Someone at the hospital is dying. They wouldn’t be calling me at—fuck—three in the fucking morning otherwise.
I chose my life, and I can’t abandon it now.
I hurry to the bathroom and throw on some decent clothes that are still comfortable. I want to rush right out the door, but, instead, I stop and look at Stella again.
Her naked body under the sheet is mesmerizing. She breathes softly and turns to her side.
It’s a good thing she sleeps like a log. She won’t have to be woken up by my phone five times a night. If she stays, anyway.
I haven’t forgotten about the plane I’m supposed to put her on in a few weeks.
I realize I can’t just walk out. It comes as a surprise to me, but I don’t want her to be sad or wonder where I am.
I jog to the kitchen and write a quick note. Sorry, Stella. Work calls. Be home soon.
It fucking bothers me that I have to do this. Love and leave. It reminds me of the same thing it always does: I’m too much for the women I’ve known.
Sexual appetite too strong. Too intense and driven. Passion can be frightening.
Not to mention the massive cock.
It’s left more than a few ladies begging me to do it just a bit slower and to ‘Grab the lube while you’re at it.’
I think about the way Stella can take me, and it makes me smile. Good memories.
There are terrible ones, too. Those same women telling me all I want to do is fuck and argue.
I say, ‘So let’s fuck then’ and they say they can’t, they’ve had enough.
They need time.
Or for me to find a woman with the sexual appetite to match mine.
I had wanted to tease and flirt and pull them into something passionate and compelling, but they just wanted to talk about what happened on Keeping Up with the Kardashians.
So, I find a woman that can handle that and tell her what exactly? I’m only going to be around when the living and the dead will let me? That I could miss the birth of my child or our anniversary dinner because I’m at the hospital?
And now I have found her. I’ve found a woman who can stand up to me, bite back, and bare her teeth at me.
One who can fuck like a goddess every day and then some. One who has an opinion on everything and who has the prettiest fucking mouth with which to tell me every last one of those opinions.
How can I ask her to just demurely wait around for me?
And that’s the problem. I want to her to wait for me.
But I can’t ask her to do it.
Right now, the note will have to be enough.
In the car, I call the hospital back and find out it’s a pile up. Casualties are flooding the ER.
I curse softly as I take in the details. My driver knows this is not the time to worry about tickets. He flies through every intersection.
When we arrive at the hospital, I don’t even wait for the car to stop moving before I leap out.
“Dr. Kirkwood!” a nurse calls out near the door. She’s got a cap and gloves ready and waiting for me.
I tear into the department. Stretchers are everywhere, with moaning people on them. Most are covered in blood.
I head for the quietest gurneys—the most injured. I push through the people, finally coming on a stretcher at the very back of the room.
There’s a little girl on it. Two scratched-up and bloodstained people—the parents?—stand sobbing nearby.
“Why is no one treating this patient?” I bark at the nearest doctor.
The ER head looks up and shifts towards me a little but doesn’t leave his patient.
“She’s going to coma ward, Dr. Kirkwood,” he says in a patronizing tone.
I don’t even know this one’s name yet, and I don’t give a fuck.
“Why?” I ask, trying to hold in my rage as I pull back the child’s eyelids and take her base readings.
She’s beautiful. Maybe six years old. Very pale and splattered with blood.
Light blonde hair and fine features. Could be Stella’s little sister.
Or her daughter.
Our daughter.
I shake the idea from my head.
“Her brain activity is down, and she’s not improving. We had to put her on a monitor. Coma ward is the best place for her.”
I lift the sheet and expose her side, which is still covered in blood-soaked fabric from whatever she was wearing in the crash. It’s not a pretty sight, but I’ve seen worse.
Dr. Nobody didn’t even bother to check.
I wave over my best nurse and we get to fucking work.
I turn to the idiot doctor. “Are you aware she has a small wound, likely from a projectile, which is common in three-car pile-ups, especially to a small person sitting in a booster seat?”
I’m ice right now. Ice and fire. Fuck this idiot for missing this.
He has nothing to say. Not one word of defense. He just stares at me.
I throw the chart at a nurse and tell her to prep a surgery for my patient. She bolts out of my way as I approach Dr. Asshole. I’m already rolling up my sleeves, preparing for scrubs.
“She was dying on that cart you, asshole,” I hiss. He has sweat running down his hairline. “All because you couldn’t be fucked to do a proper examination. Thirty seconds ago, I didn’t give a fuck what your name was, but now I’m going to make it my business to find out—right after I save this little girl’s life.”
I don’t wait for a response as I stride out of the room.
I have a life to save.
Stella
I wake up thinking of Michael. There’s a smile on my face even before my eyes fully open. I know it’s probably impossible, but from the way my cheeks ache, I think it’s been there a while.
A contented sigh escapes my lips as I roll onto my back, half expecting the punctual doctor to already be awake and looking at me.
The smile fades when I see his side of the bed, empty.
I’m more than a little disappointed. My dreams last night were a bit rough, and I could really use some attention right now.
I know I’m an adult, but I still require a good snuggle after having bad dreams.
After the ones last night, I could use more than a snuggle.
It seems silly in the light of day, but I still can’t get the image out of my head. The dark outline of a man, standing at the foot of the bed, watching me sleep.
It sends a shiver down my spine despite the warm room.
Enough of that.
I throw the blankets aside, exposing my naked body to the morning air. Nudity really has become my calling card as of late.
Will have to try harder to fix that…or not.
I skip over to the closet. Thoughts of bad dreams and absentee doctors slip easily from my mind. Who has time to think about those things when they’ve got a closet full of brand new designer clothes, right?
I grab a Gucci dress. It’s a little fancy for a day around the house, but it’s made from the softest fabric I’ve ever felt. Red silk falls around me in waves as I slip it on, taking a moment to thank the powers that be that Michael didn’t manage to get his hands on it.
Had he torn this one, heads would have rolled.
Or so I like to think.
In reality, I probably still would have wound up on my knees in front of him.
The man really is impossible to stay mad at.
I make my way to the window to check the driveway. As I suspected, his car is gone.
I don’t spend long wondering where he is. Instead, I decide to take the opportunity to get…better acquainted with my man.
I mean, come on. Leaving me here alone like this is practically an invitation to snoop. What kind of mail-order bride would I be if I neglected his invitations?
Feeling thoroughly justified, I head to the dresser.
It’s a massive hulking thing, probably made out of the kind of tree that’s now extinct. The surface is so glossy I can practically see my reflection. It occurs to me that I don’t know if he does his own cleaning.
Probably. I can hardly imagine him letting a stranger into his house.
I start at the top and work my way down.
Socks, underwear, shorts.
Boring!
Until I reach a drawer on the bottom, that is. It slides open easily, as did the others. I’m thrilled to see its contents are something other than clothing for a change.
Inside sits a small wooden box, more polished than even the dresser.
I lift the lid, fully expecting to find some porn or maybe even a gun.
Instead, I find myself gazing at a stack of paper.
Taking t
he top sheet, I scan quickly over its contents.
Discharge papers? Like…military?
I’m not sure why he wouldn’t have mentioned it. Frankly, I’m fucking impressed.
Apparently, the good doctor is more than meets the eye.
I scan the page again, locking onto the highlights.
Medic, honorable discharge, acts of valor…
Definitely seems like the kind of thing someone would brag about. But not Michael, of course.
I set the page aside, digging deeper into the stack.
More military forms, different commendations, that sort of thing. At the bottom of the box, though, sits a stack of photos.
One of Michael in his lab coat, standing beside a smiling child.
Another of him in the same getup beside a clearly overjoyed old woman.
Him and a zit-faced teenager, him and a little girl…On and on.
Scrawled across the backs are names and dates:
Eddie Prince-01/16/17
Ruby Smith-04/02/15
Jane O’Neil-03/19/12
There are dozens.
It occurs to me about halfway through the pile that I’m looking at people whose lives he’s saved.
I smile broadly.
Here I thought I was gonna find porn.
I put everything back, putting extra effort into remembering the right order. If I were him, I might shout these things from the rooftops, but he clearly has them hidden for a reason. No need for him to know I’ve been here.
I close the drawer and look around for something else to discover.
Hell, it’s a big house, and it looks like I have some time on my hands.
I poke around his office next, thoroughly inspecting his massive oak desk, relaxing in his leather chair. Then, I move to the closets, the attic…
I bypass the bathrooms, having already been in them just days ago.
I go through room after room, each more disappointing than the next.
Hours go by before I give up, having found nothing even remotely interesting since the wooden box.
I miss Michael, I’m bored, and I still have no idea where he is.
He could have at least left a note.
I half expected to find one during my little exploration, but after covering most of the house, I’m sure there’s none.
Asshole, I think, trying to feel mad.