British Bedmate (A Series of Standalone Novels)

by Penelope Ward

  —Simon

  Every time I considered leaving my room, I would grab the framed picture of Ben and stare at it. The urge to go to Simon was so strong; I basically hadn’t put down the framed photo of my deceased husband in an hour. I was lying in my bed, holding a picture of a dead man while fantasizing about one who was very much alive and in the other room. With the door cracked open waiting for me. There was one part of Simon’s note that I just kept reading over and over.

  I want to make you come. Hard. I want you to get lost in me and I want to hear you say my name over and over while we fuck.

  While we fuck.

  While we fuck.

  I was pretty sure that Ben had never used the word fuck like that before. Did we even fuck? We made love, sure. Our sex life was normal—at least, I think it was normal. Don’t get me wrong, the passion wasn’t the same as when we first got together. But after ten years, both of us working full time and raising a child, it was normal to have some of the desire dwindle, wasn’t it?

  While we fuck.

  I looked at the picture of my husband and sighed. We didn’t fuck. Not even in the beginning. And I felt guilty for that now. Maybe we should have been fucking. I certainly didn’t do anything to entice him to want me the last few years. Was it my fault our sex life had gotten boring? I rested the picture of Ben over my heart and laid my hand over it. I could feel my heart beating out of control beneath my fingers.

  Shutting my eyes, I tried to force thoughts of Simon from my mind. But it was no use. Visions of his hard, sculpted body hovering over me had infiltrated my brain. So, here I was, a thirty-three-year-old, single mother lying in my bed all alone with a picture of my dead husband held to my heart while I visualized fucking another man.

  Fucking.

  Not making love.

  I needed my head examined.

  After two hours and no sleep in sight, I decided the only way I was going to be able to get any rest was if I got everything I was feeling off of my chest. Flicking on the light, I carefully set the framed photo of my beloved Ben on my nightstand and then opened the drawer and dug out a pen and piece of pretty stationery. I would write down my thoughts to clear my mind. I had no intention of actually giving the letter to Simon, so there was no reason to filter anything I said.

  Dear Simon,

  In your letter you said that you noticed my eyes when I looked at you and thought I might be attracted to you. Well, there has never been a more true statement. From the first time I saw you in the emergency room, I was drawn to you. While you were busy digging a fish hook from my ass, I was relishing the feeling of your big hand touching me and imagining what it might feel like for you to…

  I stopped and sucked on the top of my pen, rereading what I’d written down. I knew exactly what I’d imagined that day, but yet I was too much of a prude to pen the words. How could I, a woman who was too prudish to even write down my sexual fantasies, possibly fuck a man like Simon? I gave myself an imaginary smack in the head and forced myself to continue. If writing this letter was going to be cathartic and allow me to get some rest, I had to at least be honest. So I continued.

  While you were busy digging a fish hook from my ass, I was relishing the feeling of your big hand touching me and imagining what it might feel like for you to fuck me from behind while I was bent over the exam table. I also imagined your finger in my ass. Which is actually pretty strange for me, since I’ve never done any sort of anal play. But there, I said it. That was my first thought of you. Basically, in the first ten minutes of seeing you, I was imagining your dick inside of me and your finger in my ass.

  I laughed after writing that last sentence. Never in my life did I talk like that, but it was definitely fun writing it down. It was freeing to say these things, even if I’d never have the nerve to say them out loud or give the note to Simon. I thought he should know that, too.

  By the way, Sexy Simon, as long as I’m telling you my innermost thoughts that I’d never have the nerve to actually share with you—random thought: Did you notice that never and nerve have all the same letters? That’s pretty interesting since nerves probably lead to a lot of nevers. But anyway, back to you, my Sexy Simon. After that first encounter in the emergency room, I came home and masturbated to thoughts of you. It had been the first time I’d used my vibrator in years—since my husband died. You awoke something inside of me that I’d thought was dead.

  So, yes, I’m attracted to you. In fact, attracted just doesn’t seem to be a strong enough word to describe what I feel when I’m around you. There is nothing more that I would like than to come to your room right now. But there are just so many reasons I can’t. And all those reasons lead back to one thing: I’m scared.

  Scared you won’t want me once you see my body. I’m not twenty-two anymore, Simon. I’ve given birth. Gravity has started to show me who’s boss. I don’t spend hours doing yoga or at the gym like I probably should.

  Scared that I don’t know how to fuck. I know that probably sounds ridiculous. But it’s true. I’ve had sex and made love—but fucking is a whole different ball game. What if I get nervous and turn into a starfish? How will I ever be able to face you again?

  Scared my son will walk in. Yes, I know, there are locks on doors. My fears aren’t necessarily rational, Simon.

  Scared that I’ll be cheating. (See above ^^ statement on rational.)

  Scared that I’ll grow attached to you and you’ll leave. Even though, deep down in my heart, I know this has already started to happen, I fear that moving things into an intimate relationship will only make it harder when you leave.

  So there, that’s my truth—the good, the bad, and the ugly. I’ve never been so honored or felt so beautiful because you want me. But I’m afraid it can never happen.

  —Bridget

  Wow, I hadn’t expected that to be so therapeutic. I reread my letter twice and then took a matching envelope from my stationery set out from my drawer and folded the paper inside. For good measure, I even got up from bed and spritzed a little perfume on it. Then, I turned out the light and settled back into my bed. I was a heck of a lot more relaxed than I’d been before writing it. Except…I had one more thing I wanted to say.

  Sitting up, I flicked the light back on and grabbed my pen.

  P.S. While I won’t be able to join you in your room, I’d really appreciate it if you could video yourself jerking off. It’s my most recent fantasy that I pleasure myself to, and things would go a lot quicker if I could just have a video of you doing that instead of having to imagine what that looks like in my head. Thanks!

  I was cracking up as I folded the letter back into the envelope and sealed it. Then I wrote Simon’s name across the front with a big girly heart as the dot over the i. Sleep came easier after that. In fact, I’d fallen into such a deep sleep that I overslept. Again.

  “Mom.”

  “Mom.”

  “Mom!” Brendan shook my shoulder to wake me. I was in a fog and confused when my eyes flickered open.

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s eight-thirty. I’m going to be late for school. Again.”

  “Shit!” I jumped out of bed.

  “That’ll be a quarter in the jar,” Brendan grumbled on his way out of my room.

  “Go brush your teeth! Get dressed!” I barked after him as I ran to my bathroom.

  I grabbed my toothbrush and brushed my teeth while I took my morning pee. Spitting out the paste, I cupped a handful of water into my mouth and used it to gargle as I reached for my hairbrush and did a half-ass job of tying my hair into a pony tail.

  “You almost ready?” I yelled while pulling on scrubs. Thank God I wore a uniform.

  “I’m hungry,” Brendan whined back from his room across the hall.

  “I’ll pop you in a Toaster Strudel as soon as I’m finished dressing. You can eat it on the ride to school.”

  After I was all dressed, I quickly ran around my bed, haphazardly making it. In my rush, I banged my knee int
o the open nightstand drawer, hitting it at that place that hurts so bad it took my breath away for a minute. “Damn it!” I slammed the drawer shut when I finally found my voice. Everything on top rattled around and then a pen fell to the floor. Screw it, I’ll get that later. I’d made it to almost my bedroom door when I remembered last night. The pen must’ve reminded me of the letter. Where the hell did I put that thing?

  I must have fallen asleep with it in my hands. Searching, I ripped apart the bed in a fury. Panic set in when I couldn’t find it. I dropped to my knees, looked under the bed, and then opened the nightstand drawer and ripped everything out of it looking. I even went around to the other nightstand, which I was certain I hadn’t opened in at least a year, and tore out the contents of that one, too. No letter. A sinking sensation hit my stomach.

  “Brendan?” I ran to my son’s room. He was putting on his backpack.

  “Did you happen to see a letter in my room this morning?”

  “You mean the one to Simon?”

  My eyes went wide. “Yes, the one that said Simon on the outside of it.”

  “It was on your floor the first time I came in to wake you up. You were really out cold.”

  “Where did you put it?”

  Unaware he’d done anything wrong, Brendan shrugged. “I gave it to Simon for you.”

  Maybe he hadn’t read it.

  Simon’s car was already gone by the time I caught my breath enough to be able to leave my room. I told Brendan that I’d forgotten something in the house and instructed him to get in the car and buckle himself in while I went back inside and snuck into Simon’s room. His room was pretty neat. A quick scan found no evidence of the envelope—neither read nor unread—so I walked over to his desk that was in the corner. He had a laptop, a notepad—which had paper frayed at the top from where he’d ripped out pages—a few pens, and a stack of medical books. No letter. It felt like I was violating his privacy when I opened the drawers, but there was no time for guilt. There was also no letter.

  Looking over my shoulder to make sure no one was coming, I went to the first of his bedside tables and slipped it open. A large stash of condoms greeted me. Trojan Magnum XL. I stared at the box. Extra large? Oh, my God. My mind was about to start fantasizing when I was supposed to be on a search and rescue mission. I shook my head. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Bridget?” I grumbled. Lifting the condom box to check underneath, I found no letter—lube, Men’s Health, some keys, and a thick envelope of papers that were from an attorney—but no damn letter. I attempted to put everything back in the rightful place I’d found them, but I was getting more and more freaked out by the moment, and my hands were shaking.

  The room was pretty sparse of personal belongings, and there weren’t many other places to look, except the other nightstand. Walking around to the other side of the bed, I took a deep breath and opened the drawer, praying it was there. I almost cried from relief when I saw the envelope. Until I picked it up and realized the envelope had been opened. And the letter that I’d tucked inside…was gone.

  The emergency room was a madhouse. Thank God. I’d been successful at avoiding Simon almost the entire day. Every time I saw him walking in the direction of the nurses’ station, I’d bolt the other way. When he’d walked into the front entrance of the cafeteria while I was getting coffee, I walked out the back door—effectively stealing my morning coffee. Tomorrow I’d have to pay double. But I’d succeeded in not coming face to face with the man for the first six hours of my shift. Until Mrs. Piedmont came in. I’d taken her vitals and called up to the maternity ward to ask that Dr. Evans come down to examine her. But instead, Dr. Hogue walked into the room.

  He grinned at me. “Nurse Valentine. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me today.” Of course, Simon knew what I was doing. The man was smart to begin with, no less he seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to figuring me out.

  “Just busy, Dr. Hogue. But I actually called up to the Obstetrics Unit to have Dr. Evans come down to see Mrs. Piedmont. So, I think we’re all good here. Thanks anyway.”

  Ignoring me, Simon opened a drawer and took out a pair of gloves from the assortment of disposables. When my eyes landed on the box that he’d taken them from, I felt the blush grow on my face. Extra large. Apparently he wore the same size in all gloves.

  “Dr. Evans just got called into an emergency, so he asked me to see to Mrs. Piedmont, here. He’ll come down after he’s done.” Simon snapped on the gloves and spoke to the patient. “You’re six months along and having some pain in your back, is that right?”

  “Yes. It comes and goes. But it’s my lower back.”

  “And how long ago did it start?”

  “It started yesterday afternoon. It’s worse today, so I thought I should come in and get checked out, just to be safe. My regular doctor is in Europe on vacation, and his partner is delivering a baby.”

  “Have you lifted anything heavy lately?”

  The patient smiled. “I have an eighteen month old at home. She’s a little butterball and spends half the day on my hip.”

  Simon placed his hand on her shoulder. “Well, I’m sure that’s it. You’re probably straining a bit too much going into the third trimester. But let’s take a look to make sure. I’d like to do an ultrasound to check in on the little guy, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure. Of course.”

  “I’ll go grab the portable ultrasound machine,” I said, grateful to get even a short reprieve away from Simon. While I went in search of the equipment, I debated sending another nurse back to the examining room to assist. But I was going to have to deal with Dr. Hogue a lot more than this, considering the fact that he lived in my house. After giving myself a good pep talk about how I was a professional, I wheeled the machine back to the exam room with my head held high.

  Simon was apparently not as professional.

  “Have you ever done a sonogram, Nurse Valentine?”

  “No.”

  He looked at the patient. “This is a teaching hospital. I hope you don’t mind if we do some of that today.”

  She smiled. “I don’t mind at all.”

  Of course, the woman had no reason to suspect anything unusual. However, in a teaching hospital, doctors taught med students and other new doctors—not nurses. What was he up to?

  I was standing behind Simon, so he could turn around without the patient seeing the way he was looking at me. Which was a damn good thing because the gleam in his eye and that sinister, sexy smile would have tipped anyone off that he was up to no good. “Can you pass me the lubricant, Nurse Valentine?”

  Oh my God. He’s such an asshole! “Sure.”

  He continued to face me as he carefully gave instructions so that they appeared to sound like true medical teachings. But we both knew what he was doing. “Some people like to just apply a thin layer to the belly, but I like to also apply some lubricant to the probe so that it glides nice and easy.” He took the sonogram wand, squirted on the clear substance, and then looked at me while he rubbed it onto the tip. Grinning, he said, “Why don’t you come around to my side, and I’ll let you take control of my probe.”

  What I wanted to do was run out of the room and tell him to stick the probe up his ass. I was so pissed he was going to play games while a patient was with us. But instead, I gave him an overtly fake smile. “Sure.”

  Simon flicked on the machine and then came to stand directly behind me as I touched the probe to her belly. The screen illuminated and the patient’s attention was completely redirected to the heartbeat and image of her baby. The good Dr. Hogue took complete advantage of that. He stepped closer to me, so that I could feel his body against mine and then leaned forward, covering my hand with his. His breath tickled my neck. “You don’t mind if I show you how to guide the probe do you?”

  I could barely speak. “Of course.”

  The sonogram lasted about five minutes and then Simon jumped right back into doctor mode when we flipped off the machine. I, on
the other hand, was as useless as the shit he squirted out of the tube that the patient was currently cleaning off her belly.

  Simon listened to the patient’s breathing, took her blood pressure again, and then felt around her abdomen. “Everything looks really good. It’s probably just a little muscle strain. But I’m going to ask the lab to come down and draw some blood as a precaution. This isn’t an emergent situation, so I’ll wait on Dr. Evans to decide if he’d like to do an internal examination. That way we don’t have to make you uncomfortable twice for no reason.”

  The woman looked relieved. “Okay. Thank you.”

  Simon wrote some notes in her chart and then took out his prescription pad and wrote some more. Ripping the script from the pad with a loud tearing sound, he smiled warmly at the patient. “Do you have any questions?”

  “No. I feel better already.”

  He nodded. “It will probably take Dr. Evans an hour or so to get down here. So, why don’t you try to lie back and relax. I’ll come check back on you in a bit.”

  “Okay.”

  Simon turned to me and handed me the chart. Then he handed me the prescription he’d written. “This is for the patient with the elevated heart rate.”

  I furrowed my brows. “Elevated heart rate?”

  “Yes. This should help her to relax a bit.” Simon winked, opened the door, and walked out.

  I tucked the script into my scrub pocket and waited until I was alone before taking it out again. Which was a really good thing since I almost passed out reading what he’d written.

  Eleven p.m. tonight, sharp. Why watch a video when you can see the action live? I’ll leave my door open enough so you can watch.

  I’d spent the last eight hours debating what I was going to do. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that Simon wasn’t kidding when he’d written that note. He’d read my letter and decided that since I’d declined to join him, he’d at least give me the P.S. I’d requested. It was 10:55—five minutes to show time.