The Nurse's Not-So-Secret Scandal

by Wendy S. Marcus

  She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes. “This wanting a guy—without an alcohol inducement—is new territory for me,” she admitted.

  Good. Fig liked to explore new territory. “Come,” he said quietly. “I’ll get you set up for your shower.”

  She covered his hand with hers. “Will you join me?” she asked.

  God help him, he wanted to. But, “Not tonight.” She’d been through too much, may not be thinking clearly.

  “But I…”

  He covered her lips with his index finger. “Shhh. I’m trying to do the right thing here.” He could remember only one other time when doing the right thing was this difficult.

  Based on the appearance of her home, when Roxie exited the bathroom, Fig expected to find it trashed. Instead what he found surprised him. If he wasn’t mistaken, she’d left it cleaner than when she’d entered. There was not one hair in the tub, sink or on the floor. And with her head full of thick curls it defied logic to chalk it up to pure coincidence. The mirror and counter and even the tub looked like she’d toweled them dry.

  Why did she pay such close attention to the cleanliness of his home and so little to her own?

  As the tepid water sluiced down his body, Fig half hoped Roxie was only pretending to be asleep when he’d checked on her and that she’d join him. He’d done the right thing in turning her away. But if she persisted—and he’d left the door unlocked, hoping she would—he’d take what she offered—he was, after all, only human—and give her triple the pleasure in return. Because he wanted to lose himself in her as much as she wanted to lose herself in him.

  To his overwhelming disappointment, he began and ended his shower alone.

  After toweling off Fig peeked into Kyle’s bedroom again to find Roxie still asleep, her beautiful face peaceful, her lovely body resting uncovered on top of the comforter. The pull to join her on the bed, to cuddle in behind her and hold her through the night, was strong. He fought it, and in an act of willpower akin to walking away from a genie offering three life-changing wishes, Fig headed for the couch.

  The somewhat stinky couch with a rogue spring that made sleep impossible, as it turned out. Which was why he was awake when Roxie padded to the kitchen, quietly took a glass from the cabinet and filled it with tap water.

  “You okay?” he asked, sitting up to look at her over the back of the couch. She had an exotic beauty her wild hair and men’s underclothes couldn’t diminish.

  “Sorry,” Roxie said. “I tried not to wake you. Bad dream.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “Not really. I’d rather forget about it.” She pulled out a chair and sat at the table.

  Fig joined her.

  “I never thanked you for taking down my video.” She took a sip of water.

  He’d done a lot more than that. “Who told you?”

  “Victoria.” She smiled. “Boy, did you tick her off.”

  Because, while he’d deleted “Roxie Loves Coxie” from four pornographic websites, he’d left the links and attached something that would make people in this town think twice before they tried to exploit one of their own again.

  “I have to say I’m touched. No one has ever spread a malicious virus on my behalf before. Malicious gossip, yes. But a computer virus? Never. Did you see the line at Frankie’s Computer Fix yesterday?” She smiled again. He loved her smile, sometimes teasing, sometimes flirty, sometimes happy and fun. All the time exquisitely beautiful in the way it lit up her face.

  Inconvenience them. Teach them a lesson. It’s what he’d intended. “Failing to consider that employees at the hospital might try to access your video while on duty was an oversight.”

  “That locked up computers in the lab, Radiology and Engineering.” She laughed.

  On which he’d spent hours of his day yesterday working with the hospital’s IT department to correct.

  “I especially liked the hot-pink-and-black flashing ‘Pervert’ that filled the screens of the affected computers. Nice touch.”

  Fig crossed his arm over his midsection and bowed. “I aim to please.”

  Roxie stilled.

  They sat in a charged silence, staring at each other until Fig asked, “You hungry?” just to get the conversation started again.

  Roxie placed her elbows on the table and said, “Depends on what you’re offering.” She slapped her hand over her mouth. “What is wrong with me?”

  “Simple human attraction. You want me,” he added with a big, satisfied smile. And he wanted her right back, the proof—presently tenting his boxer shorts—impossible to hide.

  “So,” Roxie said, not denying it as she stood. “What do you think I should do about this attraction?”

  Lick me… Ride me. “Whatever you’d like.” Fig aimed for aloof. But leaned back in his chair and opened his legs, inviting her in.

  She RSVP’d in the affirmative by kneeling at his feet, reaching between his thighs and cupping him. “How are the boys?”

  Fine. “In need of a little attention.”

  “Can I tell you how sorry I am…”

  “I’d rather you show me.”

  She met his eyes then lowered her head. And kissed him—right where he most wanted to be kissed. “My, my,” she said, setting him free. “You are not at all a figlet, are you?”

  No, he wasn’t. “And you owe me…” he prompted her.

  She looked up at him, her eyes twinkling with laughter. “A huge, and I mean huge, apology.”

  Without further hesitation—thank you, thank you, thank you—she slid her mouth onto him and took him deep.

  “Apology accepted,” he choked out, barely capable of speech at the feel of every millimeter of his aroused flesh tightly encased in Roxie’s luxurious silkiness. She released him. Then swallowed him down again, and again and again in rapid succession.

  “My God.” She wasn’t kidding when she’d touted her skill. Or maybe he’d gone too long without, avoiding the challenges of having a woman in his life, even short-term. Either way, another couple of moves like that one and he’d be finished for the night. He plowed his fingers into her hair, gently guiding her, slowing her, taking back control.

  Roxie did not relinquish it easily. “That’s it,” he said, lifting her head, holding her firm when she tried to go back for more. “It’s my turn.” And to do it the way he wanted to, Fig needed her in his bed. Naked. “Come on.” He leaned forward, scooped her up and carried her toward the bedroom.

  “Big and strong,” Roxie said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Maybe my luck is finally changing.”

  “Baby,” Fig said, then kissed her neck. “In about half an hour you’re going to feel like the luckiest woman in the world.”

  * * *

  Roxie hoped he meant it. Fig certainly had length and girth in his favor. Whether he knew how to use them remained to be seen. He placed her on the bed. Calm. Unhurried. Time to pick up the pace. Roxie grabbed the hem of his navy tee, planning to whip it over his head.

  He stopped her. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “I want to see you,” she said. “Feel your skin next to mine.”

  “When it’s dark.”

  The early-morning sun was already peeking through the curtains. “Then I won’t be able to see you, will I?” Roxie asked.

  “Exactly.” He smiled and eased his weight on top of her, moved his mouth to her ear and said, “You smell so good.”

  “Why?” she asked in reference to why he wouldn’t allow her to remove his shirt.

  “It must be your natural scent. Because I used the same soap as you, and I don’t smell near as scrumptious.”

  “I meant…”

  “I know what you meant.” He shimmied down her body. �
��You have the most amazing breasts.” He cupped one and, while fondling its nipple, sucked on the tip of her other breast through her T-shirt. At the sheer pleasure of it, Roxie decided to let her request to see his chest drop. For now. When he lifted her shirt over her head, she didn’t argue. When he slid the boxer shorts he’d loaned her down her legs, she welcomed the cool air on her heated skin, welcomed his slow, confident touch.

  “You’re bare, too,” he said in awe and brushed his fingers across her mons.

  Too? The image she conjured excited her. Would he let her see? In her momentary distraction, Roxie wasn’t aware Fig had opened her thighs and maneuvered himself between them. Until he kissed her. There. And rubbed his soft lips along hers.

  “Lift your legs,” he instructed.

  She did, opening for him, eagerly awaiting his next touch.

  “Like this.” He closed them and turned her on her side. How did he plan to…?

  Whack.

  His hand connected with her backside. Hard.

  “What the heck…?” She certainly hadn’t expected that.

  Whack.

  He spanked her again.

  Why was he holding her down? Did he think she wouldn’t like it? Was he planning to do more than a little spanking? She tried to wiggle free, wanted to discuss boundaries.

  Whack.

  It felt so good.

  “Don’t you ever knee me in the groin again,” he said.

  What? He was disciplining her for real? She almost laughed.

  Whack.

  “And if I do?” she challenged. Hoping for more.

  Whack.

  Yessssssss!

  “I’ll do a lot worse than a few smacks on the behind.” An excited tingle spread from her invigorated right butt cheek to her core. She trembled.

  He noticed. “Damn it, Roxie.” He removed the hand holding her down. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  She smiled but didn’t let him see. “Please, sir. May I have another?”

  “Well, that takes all the fun out of trying to teach you a lesson,” he said.

  “Maybe for you.”

  “Time for plan B,” he said, spreading her thighs and settling himself between them once again.

  “What might plan B entail?” Roxie asked, hoping she’d enjoy it as much as plan A, liking Fig’s attempt to control her in the bedroom. Attempt being the operative word. Since the age of sixteen, no male had ever mastered Roxie. And no man would.

  “I’m going to make you beg,” Fig said.

  Not likely.

  “I’m going to drive you so wild with lust you’ll do anything, promise me anything to let you come.”

  “Let me?” He had to be kidding.

  He licked up the seam of her sex until he reached it, the epicenter of her sexual being. And he set to work. Like he’d read her instruction manual from cover to cover, he did everything right, ultimately robbing her of her capacity for speech. And since she’d started enjoying sex, Roxie couldn’t remember that ever happening before. All she had to do was think it—harder—to the right—faster—deeper—don’t stop—and he obeyed. They were of one mind. In sync. Absolute perfection. Her breathing heavy, she rocked beneath the onslaught. So close. Almost there. Ready, oh, so ready to explode. To release every bit of frustration with her mother, guilt over the fire and fear for the future.

  Then the connection broke.

  “Don’t stop,” she commanded, gripping his head in her hands, trying to steer him. “Higher.” She could feel it building. Could taste it and smell it. “Please.”

  “I told you I’d make you beg.”

  Damn him.

  He flicked his tongue in rapid little strokes. Side to side. Oh, yes! He exhaled, his breath heating her. The sensation grew again. This was it. Roxie braced herself. Ready. Finally.

  He stopped.

  “Say it,” he said.

  As if she had any clue what the heck he was talking about. “More licking. Less talking.” She wanted action, not dissertation.

  “I won’t ever kick, knee, squeeze or touch, with intent to do harm, Fig’s boys, as you call them,” he said, holding perfectly still about six inches away from where he should be using his lips and tongue for far more important things than talking.

  Roxie couldn’t wait. Needed more. Now. She reached down between her legs to take care of herself.

  “I don’t think so,” Fig said. Balancing on one elbow, he took both her wrists in one hand and stopped her.

  “Your danglers are safe. Okay?” Roxie panted. “From this moment forward, the only reason I will ever touch them is to worship them and slather them with my affection. Now back to work.”

  He chuckled.

  “Pleeaassee.” Roxie did, in fact, beg.

  Fig did not make her wait. Good man. Super-terrific-talented man. And just so he could enjoy himself, too, Roxie wrapped her legs around his head. Just like he’d wanted.

  “You are an oral sex phenomenon,” Roxie said, lying on her back, her body limp, still tingling from the aftereffects of the fiercest orgasms—yes, as in plural—of recent memory. Maybe ever.

  “We’re not done,” Fig, who lay beside her, caressing her and, although she didn’t think it possible so soon, arousing her all over again, whispered seductively. “I am nowhere near done with you.” His tongue traced the inner rim of her ear.

  “What’s your fancy?” Roxie asked. “Top. Bottom. Standing. Sitting. Dressed. Undressed.”

  Fig rolled on top of her, his arousal hard and heavy. He lifted his shirt and pressed his naked chest to hers. Smooth and muscled. So good.

  “Me likey.” Roxie massaged the bare skin of his back while holding him close. “Kiss me,” she said, wanting to taste him, to experience his luscious mouth in a new way.

  He kissed her ear and the enchanting cove beneath it. He moved on to her neck and chin. He hesitated.

  “Kiss me.” She lifted her head to meet him halfway…and her lips connected with his cheek. Why?

  Fig didn’t give her time to ponder. He slid his hand between her legs and plunged his fingers inside of her. Shallow at first. Then deeper. Over and over. Each time the heel of his hand rubbed and teased and increased her stimulation exponentially. An accomplished multitasker, he used his mouth to lavish attention on her breasts.

  Roxie’s mind went blank. Again. Her only thought. More. “I need more,” she said, rocking her hips, meeting each of his thrusts. “You.” She thrust one last glorious time. “Inside.” She pulled him on top of her. “Me.” She tugged at his boxers. He lifted. She yanked them down.

  His bare flesh met hers.

  She let out a breath. “You feel so good.”

  “So do you.” He went up on his arms, looked down at her, and rubbed her sex with the length of his, in long, lazy strokes. All too soon he rolled off of her.

  “No.” She made a grab for him.

  “Patience, my sweet.”

  Aroused and wanting, the word patience did not exist in her vocabulary at the moment.

  He reached for a condom from a drawer beside the bed and held it out to Roxie. “Care to do the honors?”

  Heck yeah. She took it. “You mean they make them this big?” she asked. Because, hello, Fig had a package every man of her intimate acquaintance would envy and any woman who swung toward heterosexual would kill to have inside her. Roxie opened the wrapper and tossed it to the floor.

  He smiled. “I have to special-order them.”

  He sounded serious, but mischief danced in his eyes.

  “But do you know how to wield such a fine instrument?” She rolled the condom into place, praying he did.

  “Why don’t you tell me?” With a je
rk of his hips, he rested at her entrance. “You ready?” He dipped inside. A sample. A tease.

  So ready. Like she’d been waiting for this moment—for him—all her life. “Impress me,” she challenged.

  Boy, oh, boy, did he. Fig didn’t rush, his style more finesse than frenzy. Thorough and thoughtful. It worked. He watched her as he slid in and out of her body. Intense. Controlled. Like her satisfaction mattered. Like she mattered.

  And, well what d’ya know? Roxie—a “sprint to the finish so we can do it again” kind of gal—relished each slow, sensual stroke. He kept her on the sublime edge, an optimum place to languish.

  Then she saw it. A hitch in his facade. He thrust deep and closed his eyes. Stiffened, but not in orgasm. More like trying to regain charge of himself. Sweet man.

  “Don’t hold back,” Roxie said, clamping her legs around his butt, locking him to her and setting a pounding pace. “I’m there. I’m ready.”

  Fig let out a breath, collapsed on top of her and buried his head in the side of her neck.

  “Let yourself go,” she said, in between panting breaths.

  “My God,” he said, reverence in his tone. “You are amazing.”

  Roxie liked the sound of that.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

  “You can’t.” At least not as a result of sex. But she was growing to like him. A little too much. And with that came the probability he’d hurt her at some point. If she gave him a chance. But she wouldn’t think of that now. Not while he filled her so completely and held her like he never wanted to let her go.

  “I can’t stop,” Fig said. “I’m going to…”

  “Me, too,” Roxie answered. And she did. Again. But this time, it was so much better, the experience so much more powerful, because Fig accompanied her, his heated breath coming in spurts and moans against her neck, his body rigid and twitching, a comforting weight on top of her.

  She felt a connection that transcended sex.

  He didn’t roll off of her when he was done. He didn’t say something crass like, “You are one hell of a lay, Ronnie.” “That’s Roxie.” “Sorry, honey.” He didn’t head for the bathroom and return carrying her clothes. He didn’t offer to call her a cab or stretch and tell her how early he had to get up in the morning.