The Procedure

by Tabatha Vargo

  “Are you fucking someone else?” he asked abruptly.

  And there Michael was. I was wondering when he would come back to me. Looking up as if caught in the headlights, I stared at him, aghast. “Are you seriously asking me that again?” I countered.

  “Answer the question, Samantha.” He used his lawyer voice—his stern voice that rebuked any argument.

  “And what would you say if I was, huh?” I could hardly believe the words that were coming out of my mouth, but I enjoyed the response they garnered me. “It’s no secret you have your fair share of women. Why shouldn’t the same rules apply to me?”

  I was bluffing. Other men barely noticed me. With the exception of a kiss with Roman, that I was sure would never happen again, I was completely faithful.

  Michael moved across the room to me and grabbed my arm. His fingers dug into my bicep, pinching my skin. Red flushed his cheeks and his nostrils flared.

  “You’re mine. You got that? Whoever he is, get rid of him or I will.”

  Was that a threat? It sounded like a threat, but I wasn’t sure. Of course, the irrational side of me flourished under his jealousy. What kind of sick woman was I? I couldn’t help but feel like his reaction meant he still cared about me. If the thought of another man’s hands on me was making him this crazy, he had to still love me.

  When he dropped my arm, I reached out and rubbed the spots where his fingers had dug. His eyes followed my movements and sorrow moved across his eyes before he spun on his heels, leaving me standing there alone in the kitchen, still clueless as to where he was going.

  That night, I pretended to be asleep when he got home. He walked by the bed, and the scent of women’s perfume broke my heart all over again. The shower water turned on, and the bathroom door closed quietly. A tiny tear rushed down my cheek before I fell asleep.

  THE NEXT MORNING when I woke up, Michael was already gone for the day. With new reserve, I went to my closet, pulling out the white dress I’d bought the day before. A sweet summer dress that pinched my waist and made me feel pretty. If Roman wanted me to wear something sexy, then I was going to wear something sexy.

  After showering and blow-drying my hair, I applied makeup and jewelry before slipping into the dress. I checked myself in the mirror once more before leaving. I didn’t technically have an appointment with Roman, but after smelling the women’s perfume on Michael the night before, and remembering all the sweet words Roman had said to me the day before, I was in the wrong state of mind.

  As I sat in the waiting room waiting to be called back, excitement worked its way into my chest. I couldn’t wait to see what Roman thought of my look. Michael had already made himself very clear that I looked ridiculous wearing such an outfit, but maybe that was just him trying to belittle me as usual.

  The new nurse put me in an actual room instead of Roman’s office. I didn’t know if it was because she was new or if it was because I hadn’t had an appointment, but either way, when I stepped in and saw the paper-covered bed, I felt heat on my cheeks.

  Once I was in the room, I peeled off my jacket. I was welcomed by silence as I waited impatiently for the familiar sound of his clipboard and his light knock on the door. I jumped and stood, adjusting my dress, when his knock rang throughout the room. I tensed when he stepped into the room.

  Keeping his eyes on his clipboard, he spoke. “Good morning, Samantha. I trust you’re doing well today?”

  And then he looked up, his eyes widening just a fraction as they slowly moved across my face, down my body, and to my legs. I widened my stance instinctively, knowing that my dress would rise and show him some leg. I wasn’t sure what it was about Roman, but he made me feel brazen and brave.

  “Bloody hell,” he whispered to himself, his eyes moving their way back up to my face.

  His reaction made me nervous. Perhaps he thought the same things Michael did. Maybe he thought I was too old to wear a dress that was so sexy. I put my hands down to cover my legs a bit when my shyness slipped back in.

  “Is it that bad?” I asked. “You said I should wear things that made me feel sexy and pretty and well, this is…”

  “Completely delicious,” he interrupted.

  Heat enveloped my cheeks and moved through me.

  Quickly, he cleared his throat and went to his seat. He pulled on his white coat so that it covered the unmistakable bulge in his scrubs.

  “What I mean to say is, you look very nice, Samantha.”

  I loved how he said my name. He didn’t call me Sam, with contempt dripping from his lips the way Michael did. He said my name like I was someone, like my name felt good moving around his mouth. It turned me on in the strangest way.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Taking a seat, I crossed my legs and placed my hands in my lap. I didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered to my legs again.

  “So how are things at home?” he asked.

  His question caught me off guard. It was weird for him to look at me the way he was and ask about my home life with my husband at the same time.

  “Uh, things are changing,” I said.

  His eye searched my face before he looked away and asked, “Changing how?”

  I explained to him everything that happened after I got home from shopping. I was honest about the entire event. His jaw twitched when I mentioned how Michael had grabbed my arm. I finished with how he’d come home smelling like another woman. I put my head down when I felt the tears rush to my eyes after the story. I was doing better, but I still felt embarrassed by the fact that my husband so openly cheated on me.

  I gasped when I felt his warm finger on my chin. He lifted my face up and looked down at me.

  “He’s an idiot, Samantha. Don’t you shed another tear for that man.”

  His finger moved up to wipe away the hot tear that leaked from my eye and made a run for my cheek.

  I nodded since my voice was trapped in my throat. His hand moved up, his fingers getting lost in my hair, and I closed my eyes to his touch. His other hand cupped the side of my face and I nestled into his palm.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered down to me.

  And then he leaned down and kissed me. Gripping his hands, I kissed him back. Standing without breaking the kiss, I moved into his space, the heat of his body soothing me, and a manly moan worked its way into my mouth.

  When I opened to him, he swept his tongue into my mouth, the taste of him coating my tongue. My fingers tangled in his hair as I pulled his kiss deeper into me. I couldn’t get enough.

  He moved me until the back of my thighs collided with the bed. The paper covering the bed crinkled loudly as I pressed against it. Instinctively, I lifted my leg, allowing him to move between my legs. His hardness pressed against my white, lace panties. Pulling back, he cupped my cheeks and looked down at me with heavy breaths.

  “What are you doing to me?” he asked, confusion in his eyes.

  And then his lips came down onto mine again and, again, I opened for him. His hand released my face and cupped the back of my knee. Slowly, he worked his hand up my thigh and under my dress until he was squeezing my hip. My dress was riding up, giving him full view of my panties, but I didn’t care.

  Leaning back, he looked down and closed his eyes on a growl. Working my hands up his chest, I pushed his white coat from his shoulders, leaving him standing in front of me in just his blue scrubs. He looked so sexy. His hair fell into his eyes as he moved in again, kissing me harder and faster. I dug my nails into his back, and he softly nibbled my bottom lip.

  His hand moved around my hip until his fingers were teasing the side of my panties and making me crazy.

  “Is this okay?” he asked against my lips.

  I thrust my hips forward, begging him with my body to touch me. “Please, Roman.”

  And then he slipped his hand in the side of my panties and ran his knuckles over me. Already, I felt as if I were about to explode. So long. It had been so long since I’d been touched that way—sinc
e my body had been so wet and ready.

  Breaking the kiss again, I leaned my head back and moaned his name. My legs fell open for him, and the only sounds in the room were our hard and fast breaths.

  Outside the room, it was business as usual, but inside, the heat was on high and I was about to break a vow I made nine years ago. Still, I couldn’t find any remorse for the moment. It was too right—felt too good.

  His thumb brushed my clit, and I bit into my lip so hard I was afraid I’d taste blood.

  “You’re so wet, love,” he whispered against the side of my neck before sucking the soft skin in between his teeth. “Tell me what you want, Samantha.”

  As soon as he asked, he delved two thick fingers deep inside of me, making me lift from the bed and thrust my hips once more.

  “I want…” I panted.

  I wanted him. On me. In me. All around me. I needed him.

  He worked his fingers in and out, circling my clit and drawing me into a frenzy.

  “You’re so small here,” he said, pressing his fingers in deeper. “When’s the last time?” he asked.

  I knew what he was asking, but my brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders. Opening my eyes, I looked up into his. “A year,” I squeaked.

  It was the answer he wanted. I could tell by the look of triumph on his face.

  “When’s the last time you came, love?” he asked.

  His thick accent dripped with need as he continuously plunged his fingers deep into me over and over again. When he picked up his pace, the sounds of my wet body filled the room—louder than our breaths.

  “So long…” I panted.

  Was that really me? The woman who sounded seductive and full of need couldn’t possibly be me, but it was. Roman brought her out of me and was holding her on a tight leash with his two long fingers.

  Reaching out, I pulled at the strings holding his scrubs up. I no longer cared about what was right or wrong. I wanted to feel him deep inside of me. I wanted to explode all around him the way I never had with Michael.

  He stopped me with his other hand and made a ticking noise with this tongue. “No, beautiful. Let me pleasure you.”

  He pressed his forehead to mine, his lips brushing mine occasionally as he continued to twirl my clit with his thumb and penetrate me with his fingers.

  His breath rushed against my lips and mine on his until I felt myself unraveling inside of my stomach.

  “So close,” I panted. “Please, Roman. So close.”

  He kissed me again and then responded, “Come on, love. I’ll catch you.”

  His words sent me over the edge. I cried out, and he quickly covered my mouth with his. I came hard and long, my body shaking against his as I moaned my release into his mouth.

  He continued his sweet torture until I was sure I couldn’t take anymore before he pulled his fingers from me. Cold air rushed in, filling me and making me shiver. My stomach ached from holding myself in that strange upright position, so I let go and collapsed with my back onto the bed.

  I breathed deeply, trying to catch my breath, and felt the loss of him when he stepped away from me and went to the other side of the room for a box of tissues.

  When he held them out to me, I looked up to find his expression full of guilt. Reaching out, I plucked a few tissues from the box. Sitting up, I looked at him and saw a mix of emotions move over his face. He was regretting me, and I wasn’t sure I could handle being anyone else’s regret.

  “FORGIVE ME,” I said out loud on a deep exhale.

  I was asking forgiveness from her and in general, for what I’d done. It was wrong. So bloody wrong, but she felt so amazing and smelled so sweet. Even afterward, the way her big, dark eyes were staring up at me, I wanted to push her back down and lose myself inside of her. But I couldn’t. I’d already let it go too far, and I knew that I had to quit seeing her.

  I was jeopardizing everything I’d worked so hard for. Samantha was a married woman. Unhappily married, but still married. I’d never been one to step on anyone’s toes, and there I was with my hand up her skirt and her sweet, honeyed juices on my fingertips.

  I didn’t even wait for her to say anything. Instead, I shoved my arms back in my coat and left the room. When I made it to my office, I shut the door behind me and leaned against it. Taking in big gulps of air, I breathed deep. I was still sporting a raging hard-on for Samantha, and no matter how hard I tried to take my mind off her, she was everywhere.

  The quiet, shy woman was gone in an instant and in her stead was a seductress. She moaned and moved against my hand like her life depended on it. I’d never get her face out of my mind. The way she looked when she came apart in my hands. Her mouth open in ecstasy and her eyes closed as if the sweet torture was too much for her.

  TWO DAYS LATER, and I still couldn’t get Samantha off my mind. I’d spend my days at work, seeing patients and doing surgeries, and then I’d go home and take a hot shower with her on my mind and my cock in my hand.

  But worse than that, I was starting to get jealous. Just thinking about her going home to Michael would make me crazy. Thinking of her sleeping with him would put me in a rage that I hadn’t felt since I was a young boy. He wasn’t good enough for her, but then again, neither was I. I was a wretch who put his hands all over another man’s wife.

  “So how are we feeling today, Miss Tori?” I asked as I reached out and ruffled her dark hair.

  She smiled up at me, gauze hiding half of her face.

  “Today’s been a good day,” her mother said, exhausted.

  It wasn’t fair. Such a young soul going through so much. It hurt every time I visited her, but I couldn’t help myself. She reminded me so much of my little sister. It was one of the main reasons I’d agreed to do her surgeries, even knowing the risk that came with them.

  My sister, Rachel, was in an accident when she was four. My mother had a hot teapot on the stove, and my sister pulled it over on herself. The right side of her face was burned pretty badly, and she was left with a terrible amount of scars.

  She grew up just like any other kid, but once she got up in age, the kids became cruel. I could remember her begging our father to take her to a plastic surgeon. We had the money to have any surgeries she might have needed, but Father simply said it was unneeded.

  It was needed.

  Rachel wanted to look like everyone else. She used to cry about how mean the kids were and the things they’d say. Until finally, when she was seventeen, she couldn’t take it anymore. Finding your baby sister dead on her bedroom floor wasn’t something you ever got over.

  I decided then that when I was done with school, I’d go to university for plastic surgery. I swore that I’d always help those in need.

  Samantha Aldridge wasn’t in need—she was beyond perfect, but she wanted. She wanted her husband to look at her the way he looked at other women. She wanted to be someone she wasn’t, and I couldn’t, no matter how much she had begged, even think about the possibility of changing her.

  After doing surgery, and visiting Tori afterward, I washed up and went back to my office.

  STEIN CONVINCED ME to attend another gala, and I grudgingly went. Charity benefits and things of that nature I was totally fine with attending, but going somewhere to watch rich people try to outdo each other in groups was always such a bore.

  Sitting at the bar, I ordered another drink and smiled at the bartender. She was a nice lady, and I could tell she didn’t want to be there anymore than I did.

  “Thank you, love,” I said, taking a sip from my glass and watching the light blush run up her cheeks.

  Turning to face the crowd, my eyes landed on Michael Aldridge. He was in his usual spot among the masses, making a group laugh at whatever he was saying. A young brunette moved up beside him, and I watched as he whispered something sweetly in her ear. She licked her lips and smiled before stepping away.

  The bloody bastard.

  I wasn’t sure if it was the drinks or everything from the last few week
s pushing against my back, but I moved in his direction. He turned to face me when I moved up next to him, and his eyes sized me up.

  “Can I speak with you for a minute, Michael?” I asked politely.

  Distrust moved over his eyes before he turned back to his audience, grabbed his drink, and stepped away.

  We moved to the bar, where he silently ordered another drink with a flick of his finger.

  “What can I do for you, Blake?” he asked, aggravation thick in his voice.

  “Well, you can start by keeping your hands off Samantha,” I said sternly. I took a swallow from my drink, my eyes staying on his above the glass. Red marked his cheeks, and his brows pulled down.

  “Excuse me?” he asked innocently.

  “Don’t play stupid with me. I ran into Samantha the other day, and I saw the bruise on her arm. The funny thing is that it looked remarkably like a man’s fingerprints.”

  He adjusted his tie and took a big gulp from his drink. Before he could say anything, I continued. “It’s no secret the kind of life you lead, Michael. Different women without regard for your wife. Your admirers over there look up to you, but we real men know the truth.”

  “And what truth is that?” he asked.

  “You’re a piece of shit who isn’t good enough to kiss your wife’s toes, much less her lips. However, your relationship with you wife is none of my business.”

  “You’re right. It’s not,” he responded.

  The fact that he hadn’t denied my accusations about Samantha’s bruises didn’t go unnoticed.

  “Do what you will with your little whores, but make sure you keep your hands off her. Got it?”

  I didn’t wait for him to respond. Instead, I stepped away from the bar and made my way across the room to Stein and a group of my colleagues. I felt her eyes on me from where I stood, but I kept my eyes fixed on Stein as he spoke of his latest patient and her procedures.