Doctor Can't Get Enough

by B. B. Hamel

  “Oh, yes. You’re going to assist me during the surgery.”

  “What??”

  I stare at him, my mouth hanging open.

  He laughs at my reaction. “That’s right.”

  “No, hold on. You’re joking again?”

  “I’m not joking, hate to say it.”

  I shake my head rapidly. “No way. No way. Absolutely no way.”

  “Bailey—”

  “No way!” I stand up, losing my cool finally. “No way! I can be your little sex toy for two weeks, fine, I can handle that. But I can’t actually perform surgery on my own mother. I mean, I don’t have a degree, I’ve never even seen surgery before, I don’t know—”

  “Bailey,” he says, holding up his hands. “Slow down.”

  “Slow down? You’re playing some game when my mother’s life is at stake. I’m not playing around here, Westin. This isn’t some game or some joke to me. I’m desperate and you’re taking advantage of it and—”

  He stands up, looming over me. “Bailey.”

  I stare up into his eyes. They’re hard and cold suddenly and I take a step back, heart racing. “I can’t do it,” I say softly.

  “You can and you will.” He cocks his head at me. “How did you think this was going to work? You thought I’d get real nurses to assist? This is an illegal operation, Bailey. At least it won’t be sanctioned by the hospital. I can’t involve anyone else. That just leaves you.”

  I stare at him, heart racing, hands sweating.

  Slowly I sit back down. He looms over me for a moment longer before lowering himself down.

  “I can’t,” I say again weakly, feeling so pathetic.

  “It won’t require much,” he says softly, leaning toward me again. “I’ll train you over the next month or so. Your mom has that long, at least. For the most part, you’ll be supplying tools, regulating machines, providing suction. I’ll be doing all the real skill work.”

  I feel myself starting to shake. I hate myself for it, but I can’t help it. My legs feel weak and my stomach is doing flips.

  I can take him for two weeks… I can give him my body.

  But actually being in the room during my mom’s surgery scares me more than anything.

  “What if we screw up?” I whisper. “What if it goes wrong?”

  He leans closer and takes my hand. The gesture surprises me for a second. His fingers feel rough but firm and he looks me in the eye.

  “We won’t,” he says gently. “That’s a risk, of course. But we won’t let it happen. I won’t let it.”

  I stare back at him and strangely, insanely, I believe.

  I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s his gorgeous face or his confidence. Maybe it’s the way he’s touching my hand and the thought of giving every inch of my body to him for two weeks, letting him use me as he sees fit. Maybe it’s the excitement in my gut when I picture how it would feel to let his finger trail along my naked back.

  Or it’s all of that or I’m just desperate. But it doesn’t really matter why.

  I just believe.

  “Okay,” I say softly. “God, this is insane. But okay.”

  “Good girl.” He grins at me and gently releases my hand. “You’re going to be okay. I promise, we’ll get through this.”

  “And then what? We do this surgery, and then you can just… have me?”

  “More or less. You’ll come stay at my apartment for two weeks. I’ll make you feel things you’ve never imagined, and by the end of it, I’m guessing you’ll beg me to let you stay.”

  There’s that arrogance again. My fear is almost washed away by my anger.

  “Fine. How do we make this official?”

  He purses his lips for a second, considering. “I know,” he says. “How about you give me a little down payment?”

  “Down… payment?” I blink rapidly.

  He walks to the door and shuts it before coming back over to me. I feel his hands in my hair again, pulling my chin back.

  He bends over me and whispers in my ear. “Just a taste now… just a little hint of what’s to come.”

  And then he kisses me, long and slow, and god, I know I’m screwed.

  4

  Westin

  I can’t believe my luck.

  Two of the things I want most in life are just falling into my lap.

  First, an interesting surgery. I read the file and I really do think this surgery is going to help. It won’t be insanely complicated and, since I’ve done it before, I know I can pull it off. But it’s something of a challenge, at least compared to what I’ve been doing.

  But second, and more importantly, there’s her. Looking so fucking sexy in that little black dress, I bet she has no clue. Her top is cut low enough to show off a bit of her perfect little breasts and they’re driving me absolutely wild. The dress clings to her body, showing off her curves. It’s appealing, it’s luscious, and I need it so badly I can barely breathe.

  Having her for two weeks, two whole weeks of tasting every inch of her body in any way I desire…

  It’s going to be heaven.

  But first, a little taste, just like I said.

  I kiss her low and slow, tasting her lips, her tongue, my fist in her hair. She kisses me back with a surprising hunger.

  I knew I wanted this the moment I saw her… but when she walked into that room wearing this little black dress, it all clicked into place.

  She’s right. I was avoiding her. I couldn’t be around her because I knew I’d do something stupid. I read that file, got my interested piqued, and knew that I’d give in to my desire sooner or later.

  I tried to stay away from that. I tried as hard as I could, but she tracked me down anyway.

  Now I know I’m fucked. I know I can’t stay away.

  I want this girl. I want her so badly I’m willing to risk my career just to get another taste of her.

  But this, this right now, this is my down payment. This is the little taste I need to keep going forward.

  I slowly kneel down in front of her. She kisses me as I go down, bending forward. I grab her hair tight, pulling her back suddenly, as I sit up on my knees and kiss her neck.

  “Just like I thought,” I whisper softly.

  “You thought what?”

  “Delicious.”

  I kiss her lips again, lingering for a moment, as my other hand pushes her legs apart.

  She lets out a soft gasp.

  “Are you… sure?” she manages to moan.

  “I’m very sure,” I whisper, a smile on my lips.

  I kiss her neck again and slide my other hand up her inner thigh. I feel her tremble and it drives me fucking wild. I reach her panties with my fingers, exploring gently, rubbing along her soft mound… and fuck, she’s wet already, soaking through the thin cotton.

  She’s been wet for a while then. I bet she’s been soaked since the moment she saw me downstairs.

  Dirty girl. She wants this as badly as I do.

  The thought drives me wild. I push her panties aside with my fingers, nice and deft and easy. I glide my middle finger up along her slit, gathering her wet, and I gently rub it along her clit. She moans as I kiss her, my tongue against her tongue, tasting her, drinking her in. I tease her with my fingers, sliding them up and down, rolling along her hard little bud, making her groan. I push her legs wider, forcing her dress up over her hips as I push her panties aide further.

  She groans when I drop down between her legs. I kiss her inner thigh as I grab her ass with both my hands. She tenses and I push her legs open again as I tease her pussy with my fingers, kissing her skin, her legs, her thighs, just above her pussy.

  She groans, rolling her hips. “Don’t tease me,” she moans.

  “You’re impatient,” I chide.

  “I just don’t want to get caught.”

  I slide two fingers deep inside her pussy. She gasps and groans. I smirk and cock my head. “We won’t,” I say. “Don’t worry. You’re all mine.”


  I drop back down between her legs and finally, finally taste her.

  I lick her top to bottom, trailing my tongue along her folds before finding her delicious little clit. God damn, she tastes incredible. I lick her in fast laps, sucking her and working my tongue along her spot. She grabs my hair tighter, rolling her hips, getting into it almost instantly.

  I knew she wanted it, god damn, I knew it. I could smell how badly she wanted my tongue between her legs.

  I suck and lick her, loving her taste, basking in her honey. I taste every inch of her before sliding my fingers inside her pussy, nice and deep. She gasps, tightening again, but I push her legs apart nice and wide. I won’t let her close up. I want to see every inch, taste every inch.

  I lap her clit, suck and lick it, while my fingers slide in and out of her tight spot. Her cunt’s incredible, delicious and honey-sweet. I can’t help myself, I groan, softly growling as I suck and lick her faster, faster, her wet dripping onto the seat of the chair.

  I lap her up and lose myself. She’s moaning now, moaning with wild abandon. We’re in this together, getting lost in it together. Her pleasure is my pleasure, her pain is my pain. I want her to feel good, to feel beyond anything she could ever imagine.

  And the best part is, I know this is just the start. Just the tip, just the taste.

  I suck her faster, licking her and working her harder. My fingers fuck her nice and deep and curl to hit her spot just so. I’m good with my hands, very fucking good, and she’s rolling her hips and moaning, hands in my thick hair.

  I love it, I fucking love it. I’m rock hard and pulsing with need for her but I’m not stopping, I’m not slowing.

  I want her to come. “Let me taste it,” I growl, commanding. “Let me taste it, you dirty girl.”

  “Oh, shit,” she pants. “Oh, god. Westin, don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

  “Say my fucking name again.”

  “Westin.”

  I growl and lick her faster, fuck her harder. My fingers work her in and out while my tongue laps her up, sucking and rolling along her clit.

  Her hands tighten in my hair. “Oh, fuck, Westin,” she moans, and I know she’s close. I don’t stop, I don’t slow down.

  I don’t show mercy.

  I make her come. I make her come hard, judging by how her body trembles and tenses and shakes. I taste every drop of her while she comes, loving it, loving her moans and her smell and her honey drops on my tongue.

  I can barely control myself. Slowly she comes down and when I’m finishing, I kiss her on the lips. I pull back, grabbing her hair, looking her in the eyes.

  “Lick them clean,” I whisper, putting my fingers to her lips.

  She sucks them, tongue rolling around to clean every inch, without a word. She looks into my eyes and I can see the desire there, buried beneath the anger.

  It’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

  When she’s done, I have to rip myself away.

  Not yet.

  Soon, but not yet.

  “Good girl,” I say, sitting back down.

  I watch as she adjusts herself. She stands, puts her panties back into place, and pulls her dress down. She fixes her hair a little bit before turning and glaring at me.

  “What now?” she asks, her face flushed from the orgasm.

  “I need to meet your mother,” I say. “We’ll arrange that.”

  “Fine. Then?”

  “Then, darling, we get to work.”

  She frowns at me for a long moment. “Don’t fuck me over,” she says softly.

  I smile at her sweetly. “I’ll fuck you as much as I want, Bailey. But I promise I’ll take care of your mother.”

  She only nods once before leaving my office, slamming the door behind her.

  I lean back in my chair and stare up at the ceiling.

  What the fuck did I just get myself into?

  Something bad. Something dirty.

  Something dangerous.

  But I like it. God, I like it. The danger, the dirt, the bad.

  It feels good because she loves it too, even if she’s finding it hard to admit to herself.

  That girl is going to be a problem. I know just two weeks won’t be enough…

  But I don’t think I was wrong when I said she’d be begging for more before those two weeks are up.

  In fact, I think she’ll be begging much, much sooner than that.

  I close my eyes, a smile on my lips, her taste on my tongue, and I picture exactly what I’m going to do to that sweet, tight body of hers, over and over and over.

  5

  Bailey

  I nervously kick at the mailbox, my arms hugged across my chest, watching the road with a strange feeling in my stomach.

  I don’t know why I’m just standing out there. My mother’s inside staring at the television like she always does these days. She barely gets up off the couch and I’m pretty sure she sleeps there most nights. Some days she’s better than others, but today she’s pretty bad.

  I keep thinking about that night in his office, about his hands on my skin, his mouth between my legs… and his fingers in my mouth.

  The deal we made is insane. I can’t think of it any other way. It’s pure insanity to think that we can go through with this. I mean, he wants me to actually be in the room and assisting him during an actual freaking surgery. I am so far from qualified, and yet if he’s asking, he must be serious.

  Which means the stakes are high. There’s no way a doctor like him would let anyone like me anywhere near an operation unless it was absolutely necessary… and the risk was high.

  As in, we might go to jail if we get caught.

  Oh, god. I feel a little dizzy and have to lean against my mom’s mailbox for support.

  She lives in the same house that I grew up in out in the suburbs. It’s a small house in a neighborhood where the lots are practically right on top of each other. It’s an old neighborhood, but there are sidewalks and people are friendly, so she likes it here. Or at least, she did until she got sick.

  Now she can’t go anywhere. She’s basically trapped in her house. I come here a few times per week, do her laundry, do her shopping, do her cleaning. I’d be here full-time, and honestly someone should, but I just can’t. I need to work as much as I can, even though I can’t work full-time and still try to take care of her.

  It’s a mess. This whole thing is a mess.

  And yet I keep feeling his hands on my skin, his lips against mine… that orgasm ripping through me.

  I shiver even though it’s not chilly out. I’ve never felt like that in my life… not even close.

  I watch as a plain black sedan turns onto the block. I figure that’s probably not him, except it’s slowing and parking out front. The windows are tinted, but otherwise it’s pretty nondescript and boring.

  Westin steps out of the driver’s side and leans against the door for a second.

  “You look good,” he says by way of greeting.

  I force myself to smile. “Thanks for coming.”

  He smirks. “Like you did last week?”

  I sigh and roll my eyes. “You make it so hard to be nice to you.”

  “I don’t need you to be nice, sweetheart.” He walks over to me and bends down. I feel a rush of excitement, but he only kisses me softly on the cheek. “I just need you to follow through with our deal.”

  I blush a little. “I told you I would.”

  “I know. And I believe you. Besides, your little down payment has left me… hungry.”

  I raise an eyebrow and he just smirks at me. I have to turn away before I lose all control and throw myself at him again.

  Stop it, Bailey. Calm down. He’s just an arrogant asshole doctor. You’re doing this for your mother.

  Except I’m not sure I’m only doing it for her now.

  I lead him up the front steps but I pause before going inside. “She’s in a lot of pain,” I say softly. “She’s not… herself. The
house isn’t the way she wants it to be.”

  “I don’t judge,” he says, his tone gentle and honest.

  I believe him. I hate that he makes me believe him.

  “Fine. Come on.”

  I take him through the door.

  The living room is a mess. There are empty food containers, half-empty glasses, and other random detritus thrown about. My mother’s sitting on the couch, half reclining really, her legs outstretched and a permanent grimace on her lips.

  Myra Phillips, my perfect and wonderful mother, looks like a corpse. She’s at least thirty pounds lighter than she used to be, and she was never a heavy woman. But now she’s nearly skeletal. It’s scary but I know it’s hard for her to make food for herself, and her pain meds take away her appetite, so more often than not, she just doesn’t eat unless I’m around to force her.

  Her hair used to be long, blonde and full, but it’s stringy and needs a cut badly. We have the same nose, the same eyes, but I have my father’s complexion and hair, or at least so I’m told.

  She turns her head as we step into the room and tries to smile. It looks horrible.

  “Mom, this is Dr. Turner. I told you about him.”

  She nods a little and winces. “Right. I remember. How much did you pay him to get him to come here? Don’t tell me, it’s probably inappropriate.”

  I glance at him and he’s grinning huge. I blush and look away. “He’s just here to help,” I say quickly.

  “I bet. Doctors never make house calls, honey. How’d you lure him in?”

  “Ms. Phillips?” he asks, stepping forward. He suddenly takes control of the room, just like that. It’s surprising, actually.

  “Call me Myra,” she says quickly.

  “Okay, Myra. I’m Westin. Your daughter was very… persuasive.”

  Mom tries to laugh, grimaces, stops herself. “I’m sure she was. My daughter doesn’t take no for an answer. She never did.”

  Westin chuckles and walks over. He sits down on the couch, leaving one cushion between them. “She’s tenacious, all right. But what really interested me was your case file.”

  “You read it?” she asks. I hate the hopeful note in her voice. It drives like a dagger into my heart.