by Claire Adams
I resist the temptation to go too far before he’s safely back in bed, though I do lead him there with a new, dry towel in one hand while the other is wrapped around his erection.
He lies down and I tell him, “Be still.” I tell him, “Just relax.”
There’s no complaint.
I set the towel on the bed next to him and unfold it. He lifts himself and I slide the towel underneath him.
He eases himself back down and I start lifting my shirt.
“Need any—” he starts.
“I’ve got it,” I interrupt. “You just relax. Nurse Butcher will be with you in a moment.”
“You know, the title’s not nearly so intimidating when you’re getting undressed,” he says. “I don’t know if that’s something you’d want to do with all of your patients, but it’s really doing wonders for my morale.”
“Shh…” I respond, putting an index finger to my lips before returning both hands to my shirt and lifting it the rest of the way off of me.
I unfasten my bra and remove it, dropping it off the side of the bed.
“I’ve got to check your temperature,” I tell him.
I run my hands over his chest and down his hard abs, and I lower my mouth over him, guiding his tip between my lips. His skin’s cool from the bath, but he’s already starting to warm up against my tongue.
His hand comes softly, his fingers brushing through my hair, but I lift my head, telling him to just relax. When I feel him against my tongue again, he’s warmed up considerably.
With one hand around him, I take him a little deeper in my mouth. He lets out a long, low hum, and I feel him flex a little as I continue to suck him.
“Is this how you normally take a patient’s temperature?” he asks.
I answer, “Hmm-mmm,” with him still in my mouth. I don’t know if he really can’t understand the response, but he asks me to repeat what I said. When the vibration of my voice comes again, he takes a sharp breath in and I glance up at him to make sure it’s a good thing.
He just wanted to feel the hum. I’m happy to oblige.
My free hand finds its way to the button of my pants, which I unfasten. I pull the zipper down just far enough and I shimmy my way out of the fabric, leaving only my panties as a barrier between him and the incredible wetness between my legs.
I remove my hand from his shaft and lean forward, letting him come out of my mouth slowly. When he’s free, I kiss his stomach.
My lips slither up his body with a dozen soft caresses, and I take his hand as I kneel, pulling my panties down until they come to rest just above my knees.
I put his hand against my core and guide his fingers over my all-too-willing core. He lets me direct his fingers to my clit and then inside, and even though I’m purposely doing all the work, his touch is gravity.
Kissing his neck, I lift myself off my knees enough to straighten my leg and maneuver my panties the rest of the way off, and I drape myself over Mason’s body, feeling his hardness pressed between us.
“Now, what does a good patient do when Nurse Butcher is giving him a checkup?” I ask.
Okay, the singsong voice is a little much, but Mason doesn’t seem to mind.
“Keep still?” he asks.
“That’s right,” I tell him and slide up his body a little until my clit is moving over his rigid sex.
I grind against him, building the anticipation between our bodies until I cannot take another moment without him inside me. It’s a little funny, but in the heat of the moment, I all but lunge toward the nightstand, grabbing and pulling the handle of the drawer and snatching a condom from its box inside the drawer.
The wrapper’s open and then on the floor, the condom now resting atop his tip and now rolling down his shaft.
The waiting is torture, even though it’s a matter of less than ten seconds before I’m putting him at the sacred entrance of my body and pressing him into me.
His arms come up and wrap around me, but I lean back enough that Mason gets the idea and lets them fall to his sides once more. I think the plan was for me to keep going with the Nurse Naughty routine, but I couldn’t speak if I wanted to.
Maybe it’s because it’s been a while, but this feels different. There’s no worry or trepidation, only a pure desire to stretch this moment out until infinity gives up trying to measure it.
I kiss his neck, his lips. His mouth is warm, his lips soft and supple. My nipples harden against his skin, and I’m quivering with him inside me.
My breathing is erratic as I lift myself to my knees, my hands on his chest for support, and my eyes are half-closed as I coax the ember into a flame, his pulsating erection stimulating everything inside of me.
He’s looking up at me with dilated eyes, his mouth partially open, and I kiss him just a little too hard, just enough to pull him back a little. As my body holds him, I use a lot of those delaying tactics, edging him as close to the threshold as possible before bringing him back again.
The longer he’s inside, the less I’m willing to wait until I see his mouth come open, and I feel his chest beneath my hands, rising and falling with deep breaths.
His arms close around me again, but this time I don’t chastise. He’s lifting his hips as mine fall and he’s gripping my butt, keeping me so close to him.
My knees bend and straighten in rhythm and in the next moment, they’re useless beneath me. Mason’s hands are now on my back and he’s pulling me to him, the fronts of our bodies no longer distinct, but complimentary and I finally just let go.
My my eyes are locked with Mason’s, my heart racing when the levee breaks.
Mason’s looking up at me.
I’m writhing in ecstasy, almost glad that things have been so difficult recently, because now I am where I am. Mason holds me closer and I’m kissing his mouth, tasting his beautiful lips as the contracting muscles all throughout my body begin to lax.
For a minute, I just lie here, enjoying the closeness, the warmth.
I look up at him, asking, “Did you get there?”
“It’s all right,” he says, caressing my upper back with his fingertips.
I sit up straight.
He’s still inside me.
“No, it’s the nurse’s job to take care of you,” I tell him and I give him another kiss before changing positions and starting again.
Chapter Twenty-One
Dances with Furyk
Mason
It’s almost a week since Ash insisted I take some down time, and I have to say, I’m feeling pretty good.
Chris’s trial came and went and, while I know he worked out some kind of deal between his lawyer and the prosecutor, he didn’t take the easy way.
Most people, at least in that courtroom, were upset the judge was willing to go along with a single, one-year sentence in which he’d pay for all his crimes concurrently. For me, though, it was vindication. A year is far too long to have been something Chris actually wanted.
Maybe I have too much faith in my brother’s ability to manipulate, but I can’t help knowing he could have conned his way into a better deal if he’d really wanted to. No, a year for Chris is a hell of a gesture.
It’s getting close to time when Ash knocks on my door. I open it, saying, “We’d better hurry. I don’t want them to disqualify me for walking in half a minute late.”
“Not to be judgmental or anything, but I seriously doubt those people care that much about punctuality,” she says.
“Ooh, accusing the guys in the pit of being occasionally late for things,” I tease. “Negative vibes hurt your karma, bro.” I try for a hippie voice, but it comes out more latent-drug-addict than flower child.
“Whatever,” she says. “Grab your stuff and let’s go.”
I bend down and pick up my duffel bag, telling her, “Got it, let’s bounce.”
We head to the car and I toss my stuff in the backseat.
As I’m getting in, Ash says, “So, I got a call today.”
“
Yeah?” I ask, closing the door and leaning my chair back a little. The way it’s sitting straight up, Jana’s mom must have been in here last. You’d think for someone constantly stoned on substances most people have never even heard of, she’d have a worse posture, but no. The woman insists on sitting straight up at all times.
“It was the cops,” Ash says. “They dropped the charges.”
“That’s wonderful,” I tell her, giving her hand a squeeze. “So does that mean you’re done with everything or are you still going to have to testify against the parents?”
“I’ve still got to testify,” she says. “I’m not looking forward to that, but it really is the best thing for them. If they’d managed to get to South America, even if they didn’t end up getting shot for saying something stupid—something I’m always a little surprised hasn’t happened already—they’d still be running for the rest of their lives. I’m sure by the time everything is said and done, they’ll get out of there with some time to have a life for once. I just hope it’s a good one.”
It can’t be easy, knowing you have to testify against your own parents. I got off the hook when it came to Chris’s trial. The prosecutor didn’t need me because I never witnessed any of the many, many charges facing my brother. The defense didn’t want me as a character witness because, well, he heard what I had to say when asked about my brother’s history.
I don’t think what I had to say would have been too much help.
Maybe if Chris had ever gone into specifics about the crap he’s pulled, I might have gotten the subpoena, but he’s always been smarter than to gloat too much in front of me. Me, I’m much happier having had as little direct involvement in the process as possible.
“How are you doing with that?” I ask. Yeah, I ask questions like that now. I’m growing.
“Eh,” she says with a dismissive shrug, but she’s just covering. Having a brother like Chris, I know it’s going to take some time.
Ash follows the directions her phone announces and it only takes a couple of hours to get to where we’re going.
We pull up in front of an old warehouse, surrounded by a chain-link fence, topped with a single, seemingly endless line of barbed wire.
“It says we’re here,” Ash says, looking out her window, “but I don’t think that’s it, do you?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “That’s it.”
“Where are all the cars?” she asks.
“Half a mile away in any direction of your choosing, probably,” I tell her. “We try not to park in front of where a fight’s to be held unless there’s some way to make it look like we belong there. That’s never really been my job, so I don’t know what all goes into that, but we‘re probably going to want to keep going down this road, at least a little further.”
“Do you know how to get past the fence?” she asks.
“Not yet,” I answer. “I’m sure we’ll find some gap, though. There’s always a gap.”
“I’m asking because I should probably let you out here so you don’t burn off too much energy on the walk back,” she says.
“Aww,” I tease, “you’re actually starting to get into this a little, aren’t you?”
She scoffs and says, “Of course not,” but she’s looking out the window when she says it and she avoids eye contact immediately afterward.
Given enough time and exposure, everyone gets into MMA eventually. I honestly think it’s an instinctual thing.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell her. “It’ll be good to get a little warm up on the way.”
She shrugs and pulls back onto the road. We’re a little ways further down the winding street before we start coming across cars parked randomly at the side of the road.
Ash finds a good place a little further down the way and we get out.
I’m pulling my duffel bag out of the backseat, but Ash latches onto the strap, saying, “I’ve got this. You just worry about getting your head in the game.”
Yeah, she’s getting into it.
The bag is light enough it won’t be a problem, but she’s not letting go of the strap, so I finally relent and let her take it.
“Huh,” she says, lifting and lowering the bag a few times. “You really don’t bring much, do you?”
“There’s really not a lot to bring,” I tell her.
As we’re walking back toward the building, Ash is silent. This allows me to focus on what’s about to happen.
It’s been five days since the last time I hit the gym, so I’m not at my peak. I snuck out a little earlier today for a few quick sets, but even if I’d had all the time in the world, I wouldn’t have wanted to push it too hard.
There’s too much riding on this, and I’ve got to hold the balance.
We get to the abandoned warehouse and my eyes start moving over the fence, looking for whatever entrance has been provided for tonight’s event.
We have to walk all the way around to the back before we find the gap in the fence.
Ash hands me my duffel bag when we get up to the fence and I toss it, trying to get it over the fence, but the bottom catches a couple of barbs and just kind of dangles there. I can worry about that once I’m on the other side, though.
We get through and I climb up the fence a little to get a good angle on my duffle bag, but still end up tearing a long line out of the bottom of it.
I don’t care. Today, I am calm, clear.
Finding that kind of peace was a little difficult earlier when I got Dr. Sadler to tell me exactly how she knew so many specifics about my life. Honestly, I was expecting her to say something about her years of training and how she can spot pain a mile away. I didn’t expect her to tell me that she likes to keep a private investigator on the payroll to look into new clients.
Her explanation was that those who drop out of therapy early are usually in the first few weeks. If they can get past that point in the first session, everyone’s happy. That’s what she said. “Everyone’s happy.”
What a loon.
Still, that loon does give advice I’m actually willing to take and she’s bound by doctor-patient confidentiality, so I left her office without calling the cops.
As we approach the building, I’m starting to get a little nervous that we haven’t seen anyone. Usually, there are a couple of guys standing outside with a cigarette, but I’m not even seeing a bouncer at the only door on this side of the building.
As we get a little closer, I can start to hear voices coming from inside the building and the adrenaline starts.
If I can beat Furyk, I have a chance to win this whole thing. I don’t know who I’d be going up against in the final, but from everything I’ve heard, Furyk’s really the only guy on the scene that might be able to take me down.
We get to the door and Ash tries the knob, as I’m now cradling my duffel bag, trying to make sure nothing falls out of it.
It’s locked.
“What do we do?” she asks. “Should we try the front?”
“I don’t think they’d go through all this trouble only to have the entrance facing the road,” I tell her.
“What should we do then?” she asks again.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess we could knock,” I tell her.
Ash tilts her head a little to one side, peering at me before turning back toward the door. She knocks.
The door opens a crack and a voice says, “What’s the password?”
Ash turns toward me, mouthing, “Password?”
“There is no password, dickhead,” I respond. “Are you going to let us in or what?”
Believe it or not, that’s the password.
The door opens the rest of the way and Big D comes into view.
“Oh hey, Ellis, glad you could make it,” he says.
“I didn’t know they tapped you for this,” I tell him. “Couldn’t find anyone better, huh?”
“That hasn’t stopped them from trying,” D says, extending a fist for a bump.
My hands are full, but Ash i
s kind enough to reciprocate the gesture for me. Big D just smiles and moves to one side.
“I’d watch that Furyk guy,” D says. “I’ve never seen him fight before, but I’ve heard the stories.”
“Is he here?” I ask as Ash and I make our way through the doorway and into the large, empty space that is the inside of the building.
“Yeah,” D says. “At least I think he was the one surrounded by people wearing shirts with his last name on the back of them.”
“How tacky,” Ash says.
D smiles big, saying, “Now I remember you. How’ve you been, girl?”
“Logan here yet?” I ask.
D’s not listening, though. He’s taken Ash’s hand and now he’s kissing the back of it like he’s James Bond or something.
“Flirt with someone else for a minute,” I tell him. “Where’s Logan?”
“He’s here somewhere,” D answers, not even acting like he’s going to look at me while he says it. “He’s pretty pissed at you, bro.”
“What?” I ask. “Why?”
“Ellis!” that booming voice comes, making my question redundant. “What the hell man? I haven’t seen you all week. I thought you weren’t going to show.”
Logan’s coming toward me. He’s not smiling.
“Seriously,” he says. “You think you can just come in here after sitting on your ass all week and take on someone like Furyk? Are you trying to throw this match?”
“Do you have any actual advice or did you just want to bitch at me for a while before the fight?” I ask.
“You’re right,” Logan says, lowering his head. He adds mystically, “The fight comes first.”
Logan tells me what he can about Furyk, though it’s not much. The thing the guy’s most well-known for is his stamina, something I’m sure I’m lacking after taking so much time away from training this last week.
Ash and I hold hands as we make our way through the crowd. I’m occasionally stopped by random guys from my pit, who each has a different, often contradictory, opinion of how I should go into the fight.
After a while, we head toward the back of the crowd and I quickly change from my street clothes to my trunks.