by Claire Adams
“I needed the scans,” he says. “I’m sure I could have gotten them from Churchill, but I did think it would be in both of our interests to be able to describe one another should such an unlikely question arise during your clinical trial.”
This whole morning has been one big mindfuck of wasted time.
“Is there anything else, then?” I ask.
“Not really. I do want to tell you to just not give too much information. Only answer the question they ask you, don’t elaborate unless you need to and stick to your story. I really don’t think I’m ever going to be contacted, but in case I am, Churchill gave me a rundown of your faked history, so there shouldn’t be any problem.”
“All right,” I say and we start walking back toward the parking lot.
“Do me a favor and try to make sure Jace doesn’t lose perspective on what he’s doing,” Dr. Marcum says.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s always had a soft spot for people he finds interesting, probably because they’re so few and far between. Whatever it is about you, he thinks of you that way,” he says. “Unless he’s changed drastically since I knew him in college, he will be willing to throw away his livelihood just to make sure you get your chance at a better prognosis.”
“Isn’t that what he’s already doing?”
“In a way,” Dr. Marcum agrees, following me through the parking lot toward my car. “But if it comes down to a choice between you leaving the trial early and him losing his license, he’s more than likely going to choose the latter. He’s a gifted doctor,” Dr. Marcum says. “It would be a shame to see something like that happen to him.”
“Do you think that’s really going to happen?” I ask.
“I don’t know, but Jace has always loved being the hero to his friends, and especially the women in his life.”
We get to my car and I pop the trunk.
“You know,” I tell the doctor, “it did seem a little weird that he had me put everything in a black briefcase, but given the fact that the two of you wanted to pull your little spy crap on me, it makes a little more sense now.”
I pull the briefcase out of the trunk and hand it to the doctor.
“All right,” he says. “It’s been nice meeting you.”
“Dr. Marcum?” I ask.
“Yes?”
“What’s the worst that could really happen to Jace and me if someone finds out what’s going on?”
“I think you already know what your friend is looking at,” he says. “I suspect the question you’re really trying to ask is what could happen to you if you go through with this.”
“I guess,” I say. “Jace and I never really went over that.”
“I’d say worst case scenario, they’d kick you out of the trial and disregard any of your results as you don’t fit the trial criteria,” he says. “You’re really not the one taking the big risk here.”
I don’t know if he meant for that to sting, but it does.
“Okay,” I say. “Thank you for helping us.”
“It’s always nice to have someone owe you a favor,” Dr. Marcum says. “I only wish I could have gotten a video of your reaction when you thought I was a paranoid loon. Really, it was quite spectacular.”
“Well, thanks again,” I tell the doctor and give him a smile.
“Before you go,” Dr. Marcum says, “could I ask one thing of you?”
“What’s that?”
“Never mind,” he says and starts walking away. “It’s really none of my business.”
“What?” I ask.
He stops and turns back to face me. “Remember what I said about his soft spot. Churchill’s always been an idealist, and that extends to the people in his life — the ones he finds interesting, anyway. People like you, that is. He’s not an easy one to really know, but once he lets you in, he has a tendency to leave himself open to all kinds of disappointment.”
“I don’t know what you’re asking of me.”
“Just do me a favor and don’t lead him on,” he says. “If you don’t feel about him the way he feels about you, don’t pretend like you do. I’ve seen the poor young man hurt more by the people he admires than by anything else. If it weren’t for his idealism, I’d dare say he’d be bulletproof.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell the doctor. “Thanks again for all your help.”
“Really,” he says, “it’s nothing. Just uploading a few things here and slipping a file with some notes and scans there and my part in this is over. Just remember, don’t let them know what you’re doing or all will be lost!”
“Oh, will you get out of here?” I smirk.
“I just wanted to get one more of those in,” he says and then he just walks away.
Well, that was easy enough, kind of.
I don’t know what Dr. Marcum thinks my motivations are with Jace or what Jace might have told him about me outside of my oligodendroglioma, but I’m getting the feeling that something might actually happen here.
The question is, am I ready for it?
* * *
Jace asked me to meet him after I was done with Dr. Marcum, but I think I’ll let him sweat for a while. After all, he was apparently the brains behind the whole con at the restaurant.
In my mind, I’m trying to convince myself that even if Jace and I were to start something, it’s not like we’re in a serious relationship or anything.
The problem is, despite the fact that we’ve only shared one interrupted kiss, with the time we’ve been spending together and especially with his willingness to put his career on the line to give me a shot at a better prognosis, if things do start happening, we’re kind of going straight from zero to seventy-five miles per hour right out of the gate.
I may have mixed a couple of metaphors there.
Anyway, I’m not sure if I’m ready for that kind of commitment.
Shit. And I was directly involved in helping him leave his girlfriend.
Okay, maybe Dr. Marcum had a point. Still, it’s early and nothing has really happened yet. Maybe we can find a way to compartmentalize the other stuff and if things take a romantic turn, then we can just see how it goes from there.
I finally give Jace a call and let him know that I’m done with his mentor and ask him where he’d like to meet. He says he can be to my apartment in twenty minutes, so that’s the plan.
Okay, I’m in my head about this and that’s never a good thing for me. I tend to overthink things to the point that I lose any ability I may otherwise have had to find the best course of action.
Maybe this isn’t such a bad thing. I have spent a fair share of my masturbatory time fantasizing about what it would be like to have someone to wake up next to in the morning.
With that said, it’s been a while since I’ve been in a serious relationship, and I’m not sure that I’d know what to do with one if it fell in my lap.
I get back to my apartment before Jace arrives, and I decide to just sit back and think things through before he gets here.
I’m just sitting down when the knock falls on my door. “Fucking hell,” I say under my breath.
I open the door and Jace walks in, saying, “I hear you had quite the morning.”
“Yeah,” I answer. “I hear you had something to do with that.”
“I suppose I did,” he says. “Well, I know how much you were looking forward to some deep throat action-”
“Excuse me?” I interrupt.
“Deep throat,” he says. “You know, Mark Felt, the Watergate scandal.”
“Oh,” I laugh.
It’s apparent when it dawns on him what I was thinking, but he doesn’t say anything about it.
“So, how’d it go?” he asks. “Did you get him the briefcase and everything?”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I think we’re good to go.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he says. “You’ll go in for intake on Monday. They’re going to go over your medical history with you, but that shouldn’t
be too big a hassle if you don’t-”
Maybe it’s the wrong move, but I can’t stop myself.
My arms are around him and I’m kissing him the way he was kissing me. When I pull back, we’re both smiling.
“You know we’re breaking about a dozen ethical codes of conduct,” he says.
“Yeah, that doesn’t seem to have been a hurdle for you so far,” I tell him and kiss him again.
I’m kissing him again and unbuttoning his shirt while he runs his fingers over my back. Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this, but if anything, that just makes this moment all the more enticing.
I pull his shirt open and slip it down his arms, kissing his muscular chest.
He’s warm against me, but I feel a chill as he pulls my shirt up and over my head. Then, with a simple move of his fingers, my bra is dangling from my elbows. I drop my hands and let it fall to the ground.
I press myself against him, taking in his warmth as he lowers his lips to mine again.
This is something I’ve wanted for a while now, and with as much teasing as I’ve given him about it, he finally knows how serious I am.
I reach down and unzip his pants and I crouch, slipping his boxers down. I run my lips over the flared ridge of his erection and run my tongue over the bottom of his shaft.
He lets out a slight gasp as I take him into my hot mouth, and I’m reveling in the clean, if salty, taste of him.
I take my hand and jerk the base of him as I coddle the rest of him with my mouth and tongue. He’s just as big as I’d imagined he was, and I can feel his pulse between my lips.
“That’s it,” he says, “just like that.”
It’s good to know he appreciates what I’m doing, but I’m hoping this doesn’t turn into one of those interminable one-sided conversations where I’m just supposed to agree with everything he says.
I don’t mind some dialogue; I’d just prefer to have more than a yes or no part of it.
Fortunately, at the moment, he seems to be content enough just to take in the sensation of my mouth as I take him a little deeper.
It’s been a while, but my tried and true technique comes back without effort, and I run my tongue along the underside of his cock as I pull back. I switch hands and lift him a little as I slowly, gently massage his sac with my tongue, taking each of his stones into my mouth, one and then the other. My hand is running over his dick, and he’s shaking a little as he stands with a single hand on my shoulder. I run my tongue from his sack up his length and take him into my mouth once more, delighting in the feeling of such an ovation as this.
Finally, I kiss his stomach and, as I rise again to my feet, I kiss every inch of his abdomen and chest on my way up.
“So,” I say, putting my arms over his shoulders.
“So,” he says back.
“Are you going to take my pants off and stick that thing in me or what?” I ask, giving him the puppy dog eyes.
He chuckles. “I think I can do that.”
“I certainly hope so,” I tell him. “Otherwise, this has been a lot of build up for nothing.”
He smiles and kisses me on my mouth, my cheek, and then my neck.
His strong hands move tenderly down my body and settle on the front of my pants.
He pops open the button and pulls down the zipper, and I move my hips side to side to encourage my pants to fall.
In nothing but my customary thong now, I give him a quick peck on the lips and grab his cock.
“You’re coming with me,” I tell him and lead him by the shaft into my bedroom.
I didn’t make my bed this morning, but that couldn’t matter less as I guide him forward until he’s standing, facing me with his back to the mattress.
It only takes a moderate push for him to fall backward and, before he has a chance to bounce, I’m on top of him, running myself over him, feeling his throbbing member against my clit and over my silent lips.
“If you’d be so kind as to reach into the nightstand and open the box of condoms inside, we can get right to work,” I tell him.
“Work?” he asks with a chortle.
“I have high expectations for you. Doctors are supposed to know everything about physiology, right?”
“I don’t know if we know everything.”
“Well, let’s hope you know enough,” I tell him. “Otherwise, don’t think I’m above kicking your ass to the curb wearing nothing but a frown.”
“Sure,” he says, reaching for the condoms in the nightstand, “no pressure there.”
Despite his words, he doesn’t seem too worried about it as he pulls out the box, opens it, and hands me the condom, half a smile on his face as if he knows something I don’t know.
“What?” I ask, taking the condom from him and opening the wrapper.
“Nothing,” he says. “How are you doing over there?”
I raise an eyebrow and put the reservoir tip in my mouth, making sure not to get my teeth anywhere near the latex in the process. He slides up the mattress a little, giving me better access to bend down and put the condom over him with my mouth.
I can’t get it all the way over him — he is a bit bigger than what I’ve had in the past — but it only takes a moment to work it the rest of the way down with my hand.
Now, I’m climbing back over him, guiding his cock toward my entrance and, just as soon as his tip is inside me, I stop.
“You know what I think?” I ask, leaning forward so I can rest my head on my elbow, my elbow on his chest.
“What’s that?” he asks with a thick rush of air.
“I think you’re nervous,” I tell him. “You shouldn’t be.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, it has been a while for me, so who knows? Maybe it won’t matter if you’re good or not. I probably won’t be able to tell the difference.”
“Why do I get the feeling that you’re fucking with me?”
“Because I am,” I tell him. “I’m trying to undermine your confidence so you’ll work that much harder to give me the kind of earsplitting, mind-blowing, face melting orgasm we both know I deserve.”
“You have some really strange dirty talk,” he says, lifting his hips and, as a result, putting himself a little further into me.
“Eager, are we?” I ask.
“A little bit,” he says.
“Good,” I tell him. “Blow your load before I’ve had a chance to quiver like a dying fish and I’ll kick your ass.”
“Seriously, I don’t know what to do with any of that.”
“Just making sure you’re aware that I’m raising the stakes,” I tell him, and without warning, I push myself all the way over him.
His upper body comes up, and I’ve got both hands on the bed now, one on each side of him, and I’m just grinding myself against his base, feeling every inch of him inside me.
I move my hands from the bed to his chest, supporting myself with his body and pressing my breasts together in the process.
It’s been a while since I’ve been with someone, and I’ve lost some weight due to the last few rounds of chemo, but I still have the strength to hold him down against the bed while I ride his thick erection.
“Not bad,” I tell him, almost breathless.
“Lean back,” he instructs.
I raise my eyebrow to him again, but I lean back, positioning my knees a little further up the side of his body as I do.
Now, what I’m hoping for here — yep, he’s massaging my clit.
“Good boy,” I utter, closing my eyes and just taking in the feeling of him in and against the most sensitive parts of me. He’s drawing little shapes over my clit with the pad of his thumb, and I’m just trying to think straight as I’m catapulted into the kind of ecstasy I’ve been without for so long.
“You’re beautiful,” he tells me, his voice soft but eager for more.
“Thanks,” I whisper, and I rest my hands on his upper thighs, leaning back further and giving him even more access to my clit.
>
His hand is still now as I flip my hips back and forth, faster and faster as that feeling grows inside me, taking me over from the inside out. In what feels like an instant, the levee breaks and my whole body’s quivering at his continued, masterful touch.
I’m hardly aware of the fact that, when I can catch a modicum of breath, I’m moaning to the point of a near scream, the sound ricocheting off the walls of my room. My arms nearly give out beneath me, and I’m moving my hips now only in jagged movements as I continue to come so hard. When the feeling starts to recede, I’m only that much more determined to get it back again.
“Damn,” he says, smiling.
“That’s what I say,” I answer, nearly out of breath. “You’ve got quite the cock, there.”
“Why thank you,” he says, laughing.
I’m sweating and I can feel my skin flush as I rest my body against his now. His arms move around me and he pulls me so close to him as he pushes himself in and pulls himself out of me with renewed vigor.
I kiss his chest and try to think of something witty to say as he lifts his knees, getting his feet under him for more leverage as he fucks me in the sweetest way.
The only problem is, I’m losing energy fast.
I’ve been off the chemo long enough to have regained most of my strength, but going through round after round has taken a lot out of me, and that’s not the kind of thing that just comes back after a couple of weeks.
I want to keep going, but my body’s gone as far as it can go right now.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’ve got to stop.”
He stops and pulls himself out of me, asking me if I’m all right.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, “just out of juice. Tell you what, though.”
“What?” he asks as he runs his fingertips over my back, looking with sweet concern into my eyes.
“If you give me ten minutes and a cup of yogurt, I’m pretty sure I can hand pop your top, no problem,” I tell him.
He smiles and kisses my forehead, and even though I’m starting to see spots, I couldn’t be happier.
Chapter Twelve
The Trial
Jace