Dr. Ohhh - A Steamy Doctor Romance

by Ana Sparks

  Coming down from his high, Carson slumps onto his back beside me, pulling me close to him and resting his chin atop my head. It strikes me that I should probably leave, but he seems to be in no rush to kick me out of his apartment.

  “Wow,” I whisper, nuzzling against his chest.

  He chuckles, closing his eyes as his head rests on his pillow. I’m not quite sure what to say beyond this point, but in the moment, I truly don’t care. As he wraps his arms around me, I settle comfortably in his embrace and allow myself to drift into a peaceful doze. The consequences of our actions may come to bite us later, but for now, we’re both sated.

  Chapter Eight

  Carson

  When I wake, it’s with a sense of satisfaction that I haven’t felt in years. As I shift to get out of bed, the sensation of a warm body beside me brings the memories of the night before to the forefront of my mind.

  I breathe a contented sigh, pleased that Aimee remained at my side for the duration of the night. The young woman looks so peaceful in her slumber, an expression of utter contentment on her delicate features.

  Even still, as I draw away to consider her sleeping face, a sense of guilt washes over me. As much as I try to ignore it, I can’t help feeling as if I’ve made a mistake. Will my sweet Aimee simply be another in the line of lovers I’ve enjoyed but ultimately discarded? As much as I’d like to believe she’s different, I can only wonder how much actual truth lies within that thought.

  Realizing I’ve slept in much later than usual, I push the thought to the back of my mind. Before we both go to Russia, I have a short trip to make to New York on my own. I don’t want to leave her, but I’m worried that if I take her along, I’ll be so damn distracted that I blow the deal.

  Russia will be different. The business deal is basically sealed already, and in the time we’ll have together, I know we’ll have ample opportunities to properly get to know each other. At least, that’s what I try to tell myself. While Aimee doesn’t know it, she’s not the first lover I’ve brought on such a trip. However, I’m confident that she’s unlike the others in more ways than one. Most importantly, I can see myself being with the beautiful young woman beyond a simple fling.

  Glancing to the clock, I realize just how late I’m running. I shift away from my Sleeping Beauty, moving slowly and carefully so as not to awaken her. Her expression is peaceful, utterly serene as I tuck one of my larger pillows in the space that my body had occupied mere moments prior. She curls close to the plush replacement, breathing a happy sigh that sends jolts of longing through my heart.

  She is different. I know she is. However, in spite of how strongly I feel on the surface, I have to fight against lingering doubts. How many women have I shared a bed with, with the thought that they will remain in my life for the duration? Is this adoration I feel for the innocent form in my bed so different from the feelings I’ve shared with other women before her?

  As much as I like to think otherwise, I can’t be entirely sure. I would never voice such a thought to Aimee herself, however. I have no intentions to wake her at all, let alone trouble her with my own worrisome thoughts. I don’t want her to feel used, but that seems inevitable considering the fact that I brought her home when I’m scheduled to leave for New York in just a few hours.

  Staring at her for a long moment, with a tenderness I’m certain I’ve never felt before, I slip away from the bed and into the adjoining bathroom. I make quick work of showering, praying that the noise doesn’t wake Aimee. I dry off promptly, taking a moment to shave the stubble that’s grown along my jaw.

  As I shave, I take a moment to consider my reflection in the mirror. I’m not sure I’m particularly fond of the man who stares back at me. I’m forcibly smothering my desire to wake Aimee and explain where I’m going, but as I shuffle back into my bedroom to get dressed, I can’t come to terms with the idea of waking her from such a pleasant slumber. I don’t want to taint the moment we shared the night before with the fact that I now have to leave.

  Slipping into one of my many suits, I pack what seems to be half a dozen of the exact same outfit in my suitcase. Perhaps someday soon I’ll be able to take a day off and pretend to be…I don’t know. Average? I’ll dress in a simple T-shirt and jeans, and take my sweetheart out for burgers and fries.

  Now, however, I’m simply delaying the inevitable. Maybe someday I’ll be able to pursue a normal, loving relationship with the woman in my bed. Today, I have a plane to catch.

  I shuffle over to my bedside table, grabbing the familiar notepad out of the drawer. The things this notepad has seen, the women it has aided me in letting down…these thoughts are nothing less than haunting as I jot down a quick note letting Aimee know where I’ll be.

  I can’t seem to find the words to express how I feel, or how sorry I am to leave her so abruptly. I want to tell her how wonderful our shared night had been; I want to assure her that she’s not some toy that I plan to discard. There are so many things I want to write, but I only have one small notepad and very little time.

  Breathing a sigh, I simply write that I will be in New York over the weekend, that I’ll be back soon, and that I look forward to our trip together. I tuck the note beneath my alarm clock, praying that she sees it when she wakes up.

  Casting a final lingering glance at her sweet expression, I have no doubt that my feelings for Aimee are unlike any I have experienced before. She curls closer to my pillow as if feeling my eyes upon her, breathing a fluttering little sigh. My heart breaks, the pieces scattering throughout my chest.

  Shaking off my misery, self-imposed as it may be, I grab my suitcase and tiptoe towards the door. As much as I’d like to remain in my room and gaze adoringly at my current fixation, I’m struck by the thought that a woman is replaceable. If I forsake my responsibilities, the empire I’ve worked to build will not be so easily rebuilt.

  It’s a bitter thought, but it is one that repeats itself in my brain as I force myself out of my bedroom, stalking through my apartment and out the door. What would my father think of me, if he saw me in such a state over a woman? After everything he taught me? I’m a grown man, in the prime of my life, and I have no business fawning over a pretty girl.

  No matter how beautiful and enchanting she may be, no woman is worth throwing your life away. It’s rare to find a woman who is willing to play second fiddle to your career, something I learned many years ago. In spite of my failed marriage, I wouldn’t change anything that’s happened in my life thus far. Though my life is sometimes a lonely one, there aren’t many men as fortunate as myself. I’ve worked hard. I’ve agonized, all for the sake of gaining a better life for myself. My job is everything to me.

  A small voice inside of me tries to insist that Aimee is worth putting above my job, that she’s special in ways beyond comprehension. Money can’t buy happiness, it argues. The larger part of me, the voice of the cool and collected billionaire, is swift to insist otherwise. I forcefully put a stop to the warring thoughts, feeling a headache coming on.

  Closing the door quietly behind me as I step out of the apartment, I find myself inhaling a deep breath and struggling not to release it in an angry huff.

  Today, New York. Then, Russia with Aimee. Here’s hoping I can find a way to stay on top of things.

  Chapter Nine

  Aimee

  Almost a week has passed since my passionate night with Carson. Though it was off-putting to wake to an empty bed and a note explaining that he’d left for New York, I know that he’s a busy man. You don’t get to have the life he’s achieved by laying around in bed all day. While I’ve been trying not to entertain any illusions about a deeper relationship between the gorgeous billionaire and myself, I can’t deny that I miss him.

  It’s his phone call that wakes me, and I fight to keep the excitement from creeping into my voice as he explains that we’ll be boarding his personal jet to Russia today. I’ve been waiting with bated breath for this day. A part of me is sure that my boss will want to shi
ft back to our strictly professional relationship during the trip. Another part of me hopes that we’ll be able to have a bit of fun once we make it to Saint Petersburg.

  Admittedly, I have a serious crush, and I’ve got it bad. Ever since sleeping with Carson, my thoughts have been consumed with him. I can scarcely think of anything besides pressing my lips against his the moment he picks me up from my apartment. While I suppose it’s to be expected that a man of his age and prestige would be rather…experienced, I’m still having a hard time wrapping my head around just how good the sex was.

  Truthfully, I haven’t considered sleeping with anyone else since the moment I met Carson. He’s the sort of person you find yourself addicted to, hopelessly enamored until it’s too late to turn back. He has a grip on my heart, on my very soul—of that much, I’m certain.

  God, I’m not one to get all mushy about a guy, even if the sex is great. I never planned to go beyond a single night with the handsome billionaire, but it’s funny how things work out, isn’t it? I’ve resisted the desire to text him what feels like a hundred times—or more likely, thousands—over the entire period he was in New York. I don’t want to seem like some clingy girlfriend, especially considering our work relationship.

  Even still, I find myself quaking with delight as I receive his text, informing me that he’s waiting downstairs. I brush a hand through my hair, taking stock of everything I’ve packed for the trip. The bare necessities, really, save for a nice pair of lingerie that I hope will find use in the coming nights. I close my eyes, losing myself in the prospect of getting tangled in his arms once more.

  Realizing how much time I’m wasting, I grab my suitcase, waddling to the door with it. I’m only just realizing how heavy the damn thing is, and I briefly wish I had the finances to pay someone to do all my heavy lifting, as well. It’s a silly thought, but hell, I’ve been full of those, lately. I stagger downstairs with my case, spotting Carson’s usual car parked at the front of my apartment complex.

  Dropping my suitcase for a moment, I inhale a deep breath as I frantically wave at my boss. Then, stricken by how idiotic I must look, I quickly lower my hand to my side in hopes that he hasn’t seen me. Talk about desperate.

  I reach down to grab my suitcase, but I stop short when I hear a shout.

  “Aimee, wait!” Carson calls out, jumping out of his car and quickly striding towards me. I smile nervously at him, but he seems entirely unbothered by my awkwardness, pulling me in for a quick embrace. “Let me carry that. I want you to relax and enjoy yourself, starting right now,” he announces with a big grin.

  I feel my heart skip a beat, nodding shyly while he lifts the case as if it weighs nothing.

  “Thank you, Carson. I didn’t think I had packed all that much, but it’s heavier than I expected,” I admit sheepishly.

  He smiles, looping his arm around my waist and guiding me towards the car. My skin tingles where he touches me, and it’s all I can do to keep from giggling like a schoolgirl. I’ve got to get it together.

  “We’ll be able to purchase most of the necessities in Saint Petersburg, but there’s no harm in bringing some things from home,” he says cheerily, and I notice that he seems to have a bit more pep in his step than I’m used to. Maybe he’s just as excited to be with me, though that seems unlikely.

  Shaking myself from my thoughts, I grin as he opens my door for me before circling around to toss my suitcase in the trunk. I settle into the passenger seat, fastening my seatbelt and allowing my head to lean back against the headrest. He slides into the car moments later, starting the ignition.

  “What’s it like, having a personal jet?” I ask, fidgeting nervously as we make our way to the small airport we’ll be taking off from.

  He seems to consider my question carefully, then shrugs in response.

  “It’s nice. It’s been years since I’ve flown in anything else, so I suppose I’m used to it. I hope you enjoy it, though.” He grins, glancing to me from the corner of his eye. I smile, trying to contain my sheer joy at the attention he’s lavishing upon me. I feel like some sort of lovesick puppy.

  The rest of the ride passes swiftly, and Carson pulls into a side lot at the airport before slipping out of the car. I step out as well, starting slightly as two burly men approach to grab our bags.

  “Mike, Taylor! Good to see you again,” he says warmly. The men look relatively apathetic, considering me with expressions of vague scrutiny. “This is Aimee. She’ll be joining us for the flight. Aimee, these two gentlemen will be our pilots,” he continues, taking me by the arm and leading me in what I assume is the direction of his personal jet.

  I spot the plane immediately as we turn the corner, though it would be hard to miss. The SharpeFocus logo stretches across the side, and while it’s not the size of a commercial plane, it looks plenty luxurious.

  “So, Aimee was it? You’re a friend of Carson’s, then?” one of the pilots inquires with a sly smile. I hesitate, glancing to Carson before replying.

  “I’m his personal assistant. I’ll be helping him with business matters on the trip,” I explain, though I’m not sure if that’s the whole truth. Carson hasn’t exactly mentioned why he invited me along, but that seems a logical explanation.

  The vacation explanation couldn’t be the whole truth, could it? What sort of boss takes his assistant to Russia for a vacation? Granted, Carson and I have anything but your typical business relationship.

  Expressing little more interest in me, the pilots walk ahead to load up our bags. Carson takes me by the hand, guiding me up the steps and into the plane. My eyes widen as I take in the interior—while I knew it would be lavish, I never could have anticipated just how luxurious a private jet could be. A thick curtain separates the cockpit from the rest of the jet, and as I watch the pilots slip behind it, I’m nearly overcome by the desire to embrace my boss.

  Waiting for the opportune moment, I take a seat beside Carson and buckle myself in while the plane prepares for takeoff. His eyes seem to watch every move I make, and I’m on pins and needles as we begin our ascent. As soon as one of the pilots calls out that we’re free to leave our seats, I yank off the strap holding me in place. I turn to face my handsome boss, finding that he has a knowing expression on his face.

  “I know it was probably supposed to be a one night thing,” I begin, and he considers me strangely for a moment before pressing a finger to my lips.

  “Come here. In my lap,” he orders in a soft purr. I oblige him immediately, and though it’s a rather tight fit, the position is enjoyable.

  I can feel the bulge of his manhood against my thigh, and I thank the stars that I opted to wear a skirt today. He shifts a bit awkwardly beneath me—that is, if anything the man did could be considered awkward. I hear the telltale sound of his zipper, and I can’t help but smile.

  “Aren’t you worried they’ll hear?” I whisper against his ear, shuddering as he nudges my panties aside.

  “I don’t really care what they think. Do you?” he replies with a smirk.

  I chuckle, cutting myself off with a soft moan as his fingers press against me. Burying my face in his shoulder, I move my hips rhythmically to meet the feather-light touches of his fingers. I try to smother my cries of pleasure, but he grazes his thumb over the aching nub of my clit and it’s all I can do not to scream.

  “Let it out,” he urges softly, continuing to caress me.

  “Carson, please,” I groan, groping blindly in his lap.

  He rumbles a laugh, and all of a sudden his fingers are replaced with something much larger and warmer. I exhale a sigh of relief as he presses against me, though he doesn’t enter me. I whine, bouncing on his lap encouragingly.

  “I don’t have a condom,” he murmurs, simply sliding his length along my slit without penetrating me.

  “Just pull out,” I urge him, bracing my hands against his shoulders. He hesitates for the briefest of moments before nodding, adjusting himself to slide into me. A shuddering breath spills past
my lips, and he silences me with a kiss. I begin to bounce in his lap again, guided by his hands on my hips. “God, they can probably hear everything,” I whisper, grinning naughtily.

  “Does that turn you on, you little minx?” he inquires with a smirk. I shrug my shoulders, playing innocent.

  He jerks his hips up, hitting just the right angle to rub my G-spot. I cry out loudly, and he grins, continuing to thrust up into me. I bite his shoulder, trying to silence my wails of pleasure.

  “Ah, ah, none of that,” he whispers. “So we can all hear you, Aimee,” he urges.

  “Oh God, Carson,” I whine, trying to ignore the surge of arousal that shoots through me at the idea of the pilots listening in on us.

  “Louder,” he grunts, leaning in to graze his teeth to the side of my neck. At least, I think he’s just going to graze them. Instead, he bites harshly, sending a mix of pain and a strange pleasure through me.

  “Ah!” I squeal, throwing my head back as I continue to rock against him. I feel myself building up rapidly, the sensations nearly overwhelming as Carson sucks at the mark he just made on my neck.

  All at once, pleasure washes over me almost agonizingly. I manage a strangled cry as he pulls out and pushes my head down. Realizing his intent, I oblige, and put my lips around his cock just in time to swallow his load.

  “I didn’t want to ruin your skirt,” he muses aloud, and the two of us share a quiet laugh. I rest against him for a moment before shifting back into my seat.

  “It’s probably a good idea to get some rest. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us,” Carson mumbles, sleepiness obvious in his tone.

  I murmur my agreement, but even as he drifts into a peaceful slumber, I’m too wound up and excited to even consider sleeping. Oh, well. All the better to get acquainted with the pilots, I suppose. The fact that they’d likely heard me getting my brains screwed out matters very little in the face of my boredom.