I need to get back in touch with the old Addison, the version of myself who knew what she wanted and went after it. The girl who always felt good enough in her own skin, didn't fight with her friends all the time, and was content even when by herself.
I park in the less noticeable car port on the side and head in with only my purse and duffle—no phone. Luckily, their alarm code is still mine and Dyl's birthdays, so I get past that easily and go straight to turn on the hot tub and heater on the pool—just in case.
Oh nice, they finally had the pool resurfaced, the bottom no longer sporting “Bad Bros 4 Life” with a poorly drawn skull and crossbones in black spray paint at the bottom. To this day, Dyl and Brady swear they weren’t under the influence of any illegal substances and simply thought it seemed like a really cool idea at the time. My parents did not agree.
Snickering at the memory, I head to the kitchen, craving a glass of wine…and am assaulted with yet another memory. There, on the fridge, is a picture of the three of us—the little girl with the bowl haircut standing between her two older, much taller heroes—all smiling at the camera.
As I trace my fingertip over it, I notice that which I never have before; Brady’s not looking at the camera, but rather, eyes angled down at me.
Even when I come here, searching an escape, it’s not in the cards…Brady is so deeply rooted in my life, wherever I am, a part of him will be there as well.
And this is pretty much how I spend my entire weekend. Reminders lurk around every corner, triggering fond flashbacks that make our current, floundering friendship even more painful. No matter how many hot soaks I take, the two bottles of wine mysteriously becoming three, or the 400 page hot ménage m/f/m romance novel I use to fill the hours, most of the weekend is spent reminiscing about times when Brady and I knew exactly what “Brady and I” meant.
All too soon, it’s time to pull up my big girl panties and head back to reality. Putting clean sheets on the bed and a “thank you for your unknown hospitality, love you both” note on the counter, I grumble all the way to my car.
I have to snicker at myself as I settle into the driver’s seat. What the hell did we all do before cell phones? It's the first thing I check, ending my bout of abstinence.
There's three texts from Brady.
One on Friday night. Nothing happened w/ Ashley. Call me.
Another Saturday afternoon. Where the fuck are u?! Worried!
And the last one a few hours ago. You break my heart.
I refused a “go” with Brady to protect our friendship, and it appears it’s had the opposite effect.
I kinda already know I look like the walking dead after not a wink of sleep last night, but when Mimi won't come near me when I open the clinic Monday morning, I really feel disgusting.
Making the rounds of morning feedings, I add an extra coo to my voice to hopefully offset my haggard appearance, but it only works on the animals under any sort of sedation, the rest not buying my act.
At lunch I sit and eat in my car, barely choking down a banana and Gatorade. I'm feeling so leprous that I actually squeal when my phone rings, amazed someone’s calling me.
“Hello?”
“Miss Porter?”
“Yes.”
“This is Dr. Reynolds’ office. He’d like you to come in for a follow up from your last appointment. What day is good for you?”
Follow up? Last visit I came, hard, the end. But if he wants to follow that up…
“Whatever day you have, but afternoon. I'd like to try to miss as little work as possible.”
“Understandable. Let me see…he has 4:30 today, 3:30 on Wednesday, or 4:30 on Friday.”
Not quite as anxious this time, but equipped with almost no patience, I confirm for today's slot. Ending my lunch early, I go back inside to make sure Whitney or Jennifer are okay covering the last part of the afternoon for me, which they generously agree to with comforting hugs.
At 4:37, I find myself sitting on the exam table, nervously awaiting what's to be between the Dr. and I this time.
The door opens as he knocks, his face solemn but still gorgeous. “Addison,” he acknowledges me stiffly. “How are you? Nice weekend?”
I shrug, squirming under his icy regard. “Not bad, relaxing. You?”
“Quite the opposite, actually.” He doesn't sit on his stool, instead standing before me, his feet spread wide and arms crossed over his chest. Hope I'm the only one who noticed he didn't bring in my chart.
“Addison, I spent my entire weekend thinking about you, and the whole week before it as well.” He inhales deeply. “I've never touched a patient unprofessionally, but when I'm touching you—” He puffs his cheeks and blows out in a loud bout of contemplation then lowers his voice an octave. “When I’m touching you, you’re not a patient, only Addison Porter. I brought you in today to talk, to see where you're at with everything.”
Quite honestly, I'm in the midst of déjà vu.
“I like you, Addison. My attraction is almost painful and I’m drawn to you in a million other ways I can’t even describe. I was hoping you'd come to the same conclusions I have.” He steps closer and takes my hand. “Have dinner with me?”
Men do the detached, “when it works for me” thing all the time! I start one scandalous, liberating rendezvous and I'm pinned from all sides like a butterfly to a board.
No, no, no. I've been brazen and mysteriously enthralled for less than a month and I'm not giving it up yet!
“I like things the way they are. In this room, so many possibilities, private sessions where we test the boundaries…our sexual sanctuary,” I snicker, biting my bottom lip, tempting him.
It doesn’t seem to work. His brows knit together and he shifts back, pained. “Addison, in this room, you're my patient. And I can't touch a patient the way I want to touch you…the way I did the last time.” His head drops as he shoves his hands deep in his pockets with a frustrated sigh. The gesture stretches the fabric of his slacks, making it clear how hard he's fighting this.
I slink off the table and move up against his front, wrapping my arms around his waist and peering up at him from under my lashes. “Then I'll touch you,” I murmur in a seductive purr, licking my lips. This may be crazy but my brazen lust can’t be contained.
“Addi—”
“Shhh,” I lay a finger to his lips, delicately quieting him, “let me take care of the doctor.” I let both my hands slide gradually down his torso, savoring the feel of carved muscles until I reach his waist.
Our eyes hold each other’s captive, my own yearning desire reflected back at me, each wanton craving matched. I undo his belt, grinning at him as I unbutton and tease open his zipper, stealing a quick glance down to gauge exactly what awaits me.
With one fingertip, I glide from the bottom all the way up his rock-hard length with provocative fluidity, ending at the weeping, engorged head peeking beyond the waistline of his black boxer briefs.
“Very nice,” I praise. “I knew it would be.”
One low, menacing growl and he grabs around the back of my neck, pulling my mouth to his own. His kiss is ravenous, animalistic and demanding, shoving his tongue past my parted lips and flicking against mine. The domineering kiss is effortless to follow, so I reach between us and shove down his briefs, releasing his pulsating cock.
His moan is absorbed into our kiss when I wrap my hand around as much of his velvet girth as I can manage.
With a squeeze, I stroke down to the base. He grunts, releasing my mouth and resting his forehead to mine while one of his own hands reaches around and grips my ass, squeezing almost painfully.
My heart races, pounds as quickly as my hand does, jacking up and down his length. I can't wait another second. With some struggle, I break from his hold and drop gracefully to my knees on the cold, hard floor. I don't care though, too hungry to have the huge, pulsing dick in front of me in my mouth. Wetting my lips, slowly relishing the sight, I take as much of him in as I can in a single motion,
inhaling the virile, exotic scent from the few, fine hairs tickling my nose.
He’s all man; it seeps from his pores and overwhelms my senses.
“Fuck, Addison,” he hisses, tangling his long, talented fingers in my hair. “So good.” His whole body shudders as I swirl my tongue along his length, then underneath the ridge of the head. I cup his balls with lustful aggression, squeezing and rolling, and I swear his knees start to rock, about to buckle.
Hell yes. I’m undoing him, showing him exactly the carnal heat I want in this room. Over and over, I coat him, sucking his whole length to the back of my throat then pleasing his hole with the tip of my tongue.
“Such a good girl,” he moans, kneading the back of my head. “Goddamn, Addison, suck it, babe, suck my cock.”
He’s unraveling; deep pants, sighs, grunts and pulsing against my tongue spur me on, craving his surrender. I'm heady with power, wet from it myself.
“Gonna cum, baby, take it for me.”
I peer up at him, his penetrating stare already upon me.
“You want it all, don't you?”
Without breaking stride or suction, I grip down harder on his tightening sac and press my tongue as hard as I can against the bulging vein running down his cock. I know I have him when he holds my head forcefully still and surges his hips forward, thrusting in maddening jerks.
“Fuck yes! Ah, Addison, love your fucking mouth, baby,” he garbles, flooding my mouth with his warm, salty load.
I drag off him leisurely, sucking off every last drop, then sit back on my heels while he recovers. He fixes his pants and belt, his softened, relaxed expression focused on my face as he does so, then he bends and scoops me up to stand nuzzled against his chest.
“One date,” he whispers against my forehead.
I shake my head and stretch back, offering a flirty twist of my swollen lips to soften the blow. “Only here.” I press my lips to his once, stepping back before he can pull me in for more. “Your secretary knows where to find me.”
Fully aware he's watching, I sashay with as much saucy sex appeal as I possess out the door.
Chapter Six
“Miss Porter?”
“Yes?” I try desperately to hide the snicker in my reply. Honestly, what must they be thinking? I go from never gracing their office in my life to racking up frequent fellatio miles in a blink. Since the appointment where I dropped to my knees, I’ve been back twice more in the last week.
The good doctor seems to love the taste of my pussy just as much as I love the feel of his fingers inside me and the throb of his smooth, hard dick on my tongue.
“I'm sorry,” don't be, “but Dr. Reynolds needs you to come in again as soon as possible. Is there any way you're free this afternoon?”
Acting inconvenienced, which I've almost mastered, I sigh in her ear. “I suppose I can use my lunch break, if that'll work?”
“Wonderful. I'll make room. We'll see you then.”
I hang up with a smug smile dancing over my lips, knowing I'm ready for him. Almost habit, I now take special care getting ready for work each morning, the mystery of when a call might come an exhilarating game I love to play.
The office visits are unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, sublime in every way except one—I haven’t felt that hard shaft of his inside me where I want it most. There’s never enough time, or so he uses as his excuse, anyway. Always foreplay, ending in mind-blowing orgasms, followed by his request for a real date, which I continue to reject, and then he’s out the door.
Surprisingly, this game of cat and mouse keeps me so occupied that it’s only spare, passing moments, such as now, that I miss Brady and Dylan, our familiar camaraderie still all but vanished. The three of us haven't hung out in ages, mostly because of Dylan’s new job, but when he cancelled on the past Tiko night, Brady and I both easily accepted, not wanting to see each other, I suppose.
That's not entirely true; I'd like to spend time with Brady, but only if it's like before. All I can do is chuckle facetiously at the repeating ironic thought—protecting the friendship has vanquished it.
Luckily, I'm forced to abandon such melancholy thoughts and plaster on a smile for the rambunctious Jack Russell and its frazzled owner that walk through the door of the clinic. After checking them in, I show them back to a room and take basic preliminary information before stepping out, a glance at the clock on the wall confirming it's time to head out for lunch.
Driving to my “appointment,” my tummy's a tingle, nervous anticipation coursing through my limbs as I conjure up what scenarios might play out today.
Growing more daring with each visit, I'm currently dressed in baggy scrubs. Under them is a pleated light pink skirt that stops just below my ass cheeks and a short white halter top. The second the nurse shuts the door, I'll shed the deceptive outer layer and wait impatiently, dressed like the minx I feel.
Fifteen minutes later and I'm doing exactly that, wetting my lips and pulling the band out of my hair, letting my soft mane fan out, then daintily crossing my legs. Dr. Reynolds walks in, sans knock, his eyes immediately aflame as he takes me in. His tongue darts out, creeping along a full bottom lip as he shoves a chair up under the door knob—much sexier in my dreams, when there's a lock.
“You look…” he drops his gawk from me to the floor, followed by a subtle shake of his head. Regrouping perhaps, he raises his attention back up and inches closer, his face tight. “I wanted you to join me for lunch,” he declares. His voice is strong, final, his eyes on mine despite my attempt to offer up my breasts in coercion.
“Here I am,” I purr, snaring him by the belt loops, pulling him between my legs.
“I see that.” It’s a low growl as his predatory regard finally runs the length of me again. “But I want an actual lunch.” He gestures his head to the side and it's only now that I notice a plastic bag, obviously holding take-out, on the counter. Funny how it completely escaped my wanton attention, smell and all.
“You won't go out for a meal with me, so I brought it in. Thought we could make some semblance of dating conversation over a meal.”
Seriously, years of nothing and I finally release my inner sex kitten only to be brow-beaten with courtship? Women would kill to be in my shoes, and all I want is to be out of them… and my panties.
“Don’t.” I loosen his necktie, moving straight to the buttons of his dress shirt. “Things are perfect the way they are. Can't we just have fun and enjoy it?” Leaning into him, I brace both hands on his chest and nibble my way across his jaw to that tempting bottom lip.
His thoughtful expression down at me gives nothing away, but his gears are cranking.
“Tick tock, doc,” I tease, “you have patients waiting.”
“Don't say that.” He rests his forehead to mine, trying to steady his pout. “You're not…it’s not like that with you, Addison. I—”
Silencing him with a molten kiss, I scoot forward, rubbing myself across his front while I work open a few more buttons of his shirt. “Touch me…I need my doctor,” I moan into his mouth, the exposed, taut muscles under my hands unfurling my passion.
“Your doctor?” he grates, pulling out of my hold and stepping back.
It’s obvious he’s conflicted, but I need him to see exactly what this is between us. A fantasy, playtime, never anything more.
“My doctor,” I confirm resolutely.
Predatorily, he crosses the room, closing the buttons up his shirt, then turns back to me, a cloud of understanding passing between us. “Strip,” he demands, his voice so low and thick it reverberates over my flesh.
I do as he says, first slipping off my shoes, then sliding my short skirt down my legs, never once breaking my eager stare from his stoic one. After I toss the thin fabric over the chair, I pull off my shirt and stand before him in black panties and matching bra.
His confidence radiates off him. “You’re here for an exam aren’t you, Addison?”
“Yes.” I reply, willing the trembling in
my legs to cease.
“Then take it all off.”
I want this, more than anything, but suddenly I’m feeling on edge. He’s watching me, hard eyes inspecting.
Reaching back, I unsnap my bra and let it slip down my arms. “Do you want to help with my panties?” I ask, attempting to bring back the playful doc.
“No, I’m not your boyfriend, remember, I’m your doctor. Take them off and turn around.”
Turn around? I swallow. That was never part of his exam in the past. The look he gives silences any questions. My panties glide down my legs and I step out, tossing them aside, and timidly turn away.
Overly aware of every sound, every movement, every nerve, my anxiousness peaks. There’s nothing for a long moment until I hear his footsteps, followed by the loud snap of a glove from somewhere behind me that causes a flinch I can’t hide. What the hell is he doing?
Fingers touch my back, trail down my spine, and over the curve of my ass.
My eyes flutter shut, breath hitching. “What are you doing?” I ask, my voice a whisper.
“Inspecting.”
“What exactly?”
His hands roughly grip my waist. “Are you questioning your doctor?”
My breathing rushes out in heavy pants. “No.”
“Good, up on the table and lie back.”
I do as he says again, nerves flipping in eager excitement. Here we go. Back on track.
He stands over me and places both palms over my breasts, cupping the weight in his hands. My nipples pebble, aching to be caressed, teased, and tasted.
“These are symmetric, a solid C fit for your petite frame. And your nipples…” he squeezes my right breast then lowers his head, “are deliciously perky.” His moist tongue sweeps over the sensitive flesh, my eyelids heavy with my rapid intake of breath.
Leisurely, his tongue bathes my nipple with teasing licks. He’s no longer gentle when he sucks it past his warm mouth, his lips closing around it as his fingers mold and knead. He takes his time, giving the utmost attention as he learns every inch. He’s never focused so heavily on them before and I’m basking in it, their sensitivity riveting.
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