by S. E. Law
I have five flowers for this arrangement: purple lilac (beginning of love), white camellias (thinking someone is adorable), red chrysanthemums (a literal ‘I love you’), red ginger (fiery passion), and a single alstroemeria (the promise of wanting love to prosper based on an already strong bond). I also have lily grass to add some toned-down accents. I already know these flowers will look good together. Like I said, I’ve made this arrangement numerous times in preparation for this moment. Now, I just have to make it a final time for the camera.
I’ve kept my flower choices under the table because I want to reveal them one by one while explaining their significance and why they were chosen. The lilacs are next, and I pull them from under the table, explaining my choice while expertly arranging them. The white camellias come third, and then I move on to the red chrysanthemums.
“Fiery passion.”
Holding one of the flowers by the stem, I twirl it back and forth. I haven’t felt fiery passion in a long while. My last boyfriend was over two years ago, and I’m not going to lie – I’m a little sex-starved.
Bending slightly forward, I rest my elbows on the table and hold the flower right in front of my face. It’s such a beautiful red. I can see how people who saw this flower had wanton thoughts come to their mind. The delicate petals start off closed but open up until they are fully presenting themselves at the edges. The red becomes more defined on the edges as well. It’s a truly pretty plant.
The hot lights are making me feel warm. I run my hand down my neck, letting the tips of my fingers rest on the base of the bulb for a few seconds. All of this ambience gets me to thinking about how I wouldn’t totally mind stripping in front of the camera. Maybe it’s a crazy thought, but I’m feeling kind of frisky, and it’s not like anyone is going to see except for me.
I can’t even begin to figure out what has gotten into me. I’ve always been a good girl. Kept to myself, and never got into any trouble. I’ve never been one for dates and partying. In fact, the boyfriend from two years ago is the only guy I’ve ever dated, and we were together for years. The sex was good, but it was also pretty tame. I’ve never done anything crazy or unexpected. I’m really just a bookworm who everyone thinks is a big old square. Probably because I keep my life pretty square. The sauciest action I see comes from the romance novels I have on my bookshelf.
“Well, maybe a little change isn’t so bad,” I whisper to myself as I put the chrysanthemum back down on the table. But I’m going to need a little bit of space on the table if this is really about to happen, so I carefully slide everything I arranged on the table to the side. That should give me enough room to sit on the table.
I turn back to the camera, my full body now in view. Maybe what I’m about to do is ridiculous, but it seems like it will be fun. I’ve never done anything like this before, and this may be the only time I have the privacy I need, as well as such good equipment.
I push the straps of my dress off my shoulders and let them hang down. Then I pull my arms through and catch my dress, holding the front of it to my breasts before letting it fall to the floor. The fabric pools at my feet. I step out from the deformed circle it’s made and kick it to the side. I’m not sure how far away it flies, but I can get it later.
I’m in my bra and panties now. I do a little twirl for the camera, making sure it catches me from all angles. Dear God, this is so naughty! I’ve never done anything remotely like this before. I really am the most vanilla person on the planet.
But this strip tease for the camera is giving me a perverse sort of thrill, and I don’t want to stop.
I undo my bra next, letting it slide down my arms before throwing it in the same direction as my dress. My panties are the last clothing item to go. My back faces the camera as I bend over, pulling the white cotton down my legs and dropping it on the floor.
Turning back around, my eyes glance around the table for sexual inspiration. Fortunately for me, I brought a glass vase with a long, narrow opening that’s about two inches in diameter. It’s perfect.
“I’m really about to do this,” I mumble to myself. “This is happening, Tammy.”
Taking a final deep breath, I climb onto the table. Deciding I should probably lubricate the glass a little bit, just to make this whole process easier, I spit on the thin opening and spread the lubricant around the rim.
I hang one leg over the side and bend the other one so that the bottom of my foot is planted squarely on the table's surface. Not wanting to waste any more time, I place the top of the vase at my opening and push it inside of me. I grunt a little bit as my walls part. The smooth glass glides against my insides as it goes as deep as possible. My head falls back as my walls clench around the long cylinder.
“Fuck,” I sigh. I continue to move the vase inside my pussy, pushing and pulling it in and out of my body. The arm holding me up feels weak, and I fall back onto the table, keeping my legs open wide. My eyes flutter closed as my entire body ignites with passion. I feel the neck of the vase get slick with my juices, allowing the long cylinder to move within me with more ease.
While fucking myself with the vase, I use my now free hand to play with my clit. I rub little circles over my sensitive bud, sending shots of pleasure up my spine and through my entire body.
The overhead lights are like a warm blanket seeping into my already burning skin. It’s like the warm summer sun on a nearly perfect day. My own moans reach my ears and egg me on even further. I’m here, turning myself on. Everything feels so good, so perfect. My insides twist and turn, and I press harder on my clit as my body climbs closer and closer to release.
“Jesus Christ,” I sigh, along with other expletives that fall from my lips. I’ve touched myself before, but this is more intense. I feel electric. It’s like lightning is rushing through my body. My back arches, my body reaching for the ceiling. Maybe it’s because of the setting or the circumstances. I don’t know, but tonight, something is different.
“Come on, come on,” I breathe. Biting down on my bottom lip, my eyes open. I’m actually performing for the camera because I want to watch the tape later. Everything is going great when there’s a slight scratching sound from the corner. Odd.
Dismissing it as my imagination, I keep going. It’s much too late for anyone else to be here, and I’m so close. I don’t want to lose this momentum, this feeling. My muscles are clamping down. My breathing picks up, and soon, orgasm tears through me. Pleasure ripples throughout my entire being. My fingers grip onto the neck of the vase, needing something, anything, to stabilize myself as I cry out with pleasure.
Suddenly, another noise permeates the fog in my brain, and my eyes instinctively dart in its direction.
“Tammy?”
What? Who said that? This time, I know the sound is definitely not in my head. It’s too clear, and the person is saying my name.
Suddenly, my eyes land on a huge shadow in the corner and my mouth goes dry.
Oh shit! It’s Brick Barrister, my dad’s boss! What the hell is he doing here?
My mouth is already wide open in mid-orgasmic bliss, and his gorgeous face sends another wave of sparks to my pussy. To my absolute horror, my body keeps coming. I’ve let go of the glass by this time, and I hear it hit the ground. Taking my hands from my clit, I hold on to the table, gripping the sides. My shoulders scrunch up as I try to ride out this wave as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, moans of ecstasy rise out from my throat before I’m able to stifle them.
One small silver lining: it doesn’t take me too long to finish coming and once I’m done, I shoot up from the table, back straight and eyes wide.
“Brick,” I breathe. He really is such a beautiful man, and in any other circumstance, I would welcome such a nice view to brighten up my day. But when I’m naked, fucking myself with a vase after breaking into his company? I’m not sure this situation could be any worse.
“Tammy,” he says again. I can’t tell what he’s feeling. Probably anger. I mean, he’s just found me in a compr
omising position in his studio. Oh God, my dad is going to get fired! We’re going to be penniless! Not only that, but Brick is going to tell everyone what happened. Why wouldn’t he? What I’ve done is absolutely crazy.
Oh my God! I’m going to jail! I’m in so much fucking trouble. I had two jobs tonight: film my audition and don’t get caught breaking and entering. I didn’t accomplish either of those.
I’m so fucking screwed!
What in the hell is he doing here anyway? It’s the middle of the night, so no one’s supposed to be here. I’d scoped out the place for a few days, and everyone was always gone well before now. Who comes to work this late? Oh, dear God, what have I done?
To be continued …
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Sneak Peek: Dr. Feelgood
I try to stay calm. Breathe, Summer, breathe, the voice in my head commands.
It’s hard though. The man I can only assume is my physical therapist stares at me with an amused expression. His perfectly sculpted lips turn up just slightly at the corners into a smile. His shoulders are relaxed, and I can’t believe how wide his chest is, which tapers down to a manly vee with long, strong legs.
He’s H-O-T.
Dammit. Danielle wasn’t lying. Dr. Maddox’s black hair and vibrant blue eyes are captivating, and I can’t look away, much less breathe.
Until I realize what I look like. While a god-like man stands before me, I’m a pigsty by comparison. I’m not showered. My hair is a total rat’s nest and the last time I put on makeup was last Friday night, right before my accident. I wish more than anything that I had on mascara and lip gloss at the very least, but alas, I know I probably look like a waxen corpse.
We continue to stare each other down, both waiting for the other to be the first to move. Or more likely, Dr. Maddox is probably wondering what the hell is wrong with me since I’m gawking at him like an awkward teenage girl.
I break eye contact to look down at my outfit. The hospital lets me wear my real clothes now, but all I’ve been willing to put on are sweatpants and baggy t-shirts. I look like a total bag lady.
I wish I could disappear into myself. Why didn’t I put in more effort? Even five seconds brushing my hair or the tiniest swipe of lipstick would be welcome now. Especially since I’m a personal stylist. My clothes at this moment are an utter travesty. I normally wouldn’t be caught dead out of my house in this outfit because I love being stylish and cute, but today, I’m Summer the Hobo. Oh god. Why now?
I glance past Dr. Maddox to the clock on the wall. It’s almost nine, which means I have an hour to kill with this guy. Shit. I hope I don’t smell bad, even if I look a mess. Dr. Maddox is still watching me, and I shoot him an awkward smile.
“I’m Summer,” I say weakly. “Hi.”
If I don’t break the silence, we’ll be here all day. Not that I mind, considering the view of this man is a lot better than the courtyard outside my room.
Remember Jonah, my brain chastises.
I shake the thought away. If he wanted me to remember him, he would’ve come by to see me. Besides, looking isn’t a crime, I just can’t touch. Of course, there’s no chance of that, seeing that Dr. Maddox is my physical therapist.
He smiles, the white grin making me feel warm inside.
“I’m Dr. Ridge Maddox,” he intones. He holds out a hand for me to shake. I accept it gingerly, and then pull back as if a spark passed between us. His eyebrows go up.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
I mumble.
“Um, yeah. Sorry, I think it was static electricity.”
His eyebrows go even higher but he begins to talk, and I watch raptly as those sculpted lips open and close. My mind starts to drift to places it shouldn’t go. His mouth on mine, and then wandering lower before taking a nipple between his lips. His hands on my body, caressing my curves. Fingers sinking into my hips as he…
I’m rudely jolted awake.
“Are you listening to me, Summer?”
I blink away the image and go beet red.
“Sorry, what did you say?”
His amused smirk returns. “I was telling you about myself. Did you hear a word of what I said?”
I shake my head. “Sorry, I guess my mind wandered.”
Dr. Maddox laughs, amused. “It’s okay. Are you paying attention now?”
I shift so I’m looking at him full on. It’s a mistake, because now I can make out the defined muscles of his torso beneath his t-shirt and god, he’s so toned. Not bulky, but rather with just the right amount of mass to be fit and athletic. Meanwhile, his eyes bore into me like he knows my every secret. Like he knows why I wasn’t paying attention before. I want to melt into a steamy puddle right here, but inside, I force myself to focus.
“As I said, I’m Dr. Ridge Maddox, but you can call me Ridge. Or Dr. Maddox, if you’re more comfortable.”
“What kind of name is Ridge?” I slap my good hand over my mouth. “Sorry, that was rude of me.”
He chuckles. “It’s fine, Summer. It’s my mom’s maiden name, so they gave it to me as my first name. I think it’s fitting.”
It certainly matches the ridges of his abs, which I can’t stop staring at under the thin material of his shirt. It helps that they’re right at my eye level.
“Would you mind sitting down?” I ask. “My neck is starting to hurt,” I say apologetically. After all, this man has to be at least six foot four. He’s huge and gorgeous, and my mouth waters.
“Of course,” he says, taking a seat on the exercise bench across from me. Oh damn. Now I’m lined up with his square, perfect jaw. I think it might be worse than his chest in terms of distractions and clear my throat, trying to get myself in line.
“Can you tell me about your qualifications?” I ask. There, that’s better. I think that’s what you’re supposed to ask a new doctor before they start working on you.
Ridge nods.
“I started to do that before you zonked out,” he teases. “I have a Doctor of Physical Therapy degree and did my residency at UCLA. Beyond that, I have a number of board certifications, including one in women’s health, and have been in practice for over ten years.”
The words flow from his lips effortlessly. Ridge is obviously used to answering this question.
“Do you like it?”
He smiles. “I love what I do because I get to help people like you.”
I blush. Now I’m embarrassed that I even asked the question in the first place. He’s obviously qualified because you don’t become a doctor without going to like a million years’ worth of school. Plus, didn’t Danielle say he’s the only PT at the hospital? He must be good because the hospital can get its pick. Why oh why did I make him prove his credentials?
Because you wanted to hear him talk, the pesky voice in my head says. It isn’t wrong. Plus, he looks like a freaking male model, and not a doctor. If I saw him on the street, I’d never in a million years think “that guy can solve my medical issues.” If anything, I’d think maybe he plays a physician in a soap opera.
“Did I pass the test?” Ridge asks, the corners of his lips twitching.
I nod.
“Good. How about we get started, then? We’ll do a massage first.”
I jerk back.
“What, you’re a massage therapist, too?”
Ridge quirks his brows. “Medical massages are common in physical therapy. It’ll help wake up your muscles and warm them up a bit.”
I laugh hoarsely. “How is that possible? I can’t even feel my legs.”
Ridge studies me a bit.
“How much have the doctors told you about your injuries?”
I shrug. Truthfully, every time they talk, I tune them out. All I need to know is that my legs don’t work anymore. What else is there for them to say?
But my handsome PT leans forward, resting a large hand on my arm. Despite my long sleeves, the skin on my arm lights with warmth from his touch.
“The truth is, Summer, the doctors aren’t really sure why you can’t move your legs. Based on the X-Rays and scans, there’s no damage to your spinal cord at all. We’re starting to think that maybe your symptoms are psychosomatic.”
I blink. “Psycho what?”
He smiles. “Psychosomatic. It means that you have physical symptoms that appear to be caused by something psychological. Since there’s no damage to your nerves, we have reason to believe that the paralysis is mental in nature. Your other doctors and I have talked about it, and we believe there may be a psychological block causing your symptoms.”
I gape at him.
“A psychological block? Are you saying that this is all in my head? Are you calling me crazy?”
I clench my fists. How dare he? If I could walk out of here, I would. That’s proof enough that I’m not making up the paralysis. Besides, who would do this to themselves? Who would willingly make themselves a paraplegic? The nerve!
I start to wheel myself away, but Ridge stops me. “That’s not what I’m saying, not really. All I’m saying is that there’s a mental factor contributing to your symptoms. That doesn’t mean you’re doing it on purpose. It just means that the paralysis might be psychological.”
“What mental factor?” I say in a scornful tone.
Ridge shrugs. “We’re not sure. It could be PTSD, stress, depression, or a combination of all three. I’ve seen this kind of thing happen with veterans coming home from war. Their minds play tricks on their bodies, and in this case, I think something similar might be happening. We just have to figure out how to get your mind to leave your body alone.”