by Alexis Shore
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Paramedic
The Paramedic Trilogy #1
Kindle Edition
© 2014 Alexis Shore
The right of Alexis Shore to be indentified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval systems, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the author. You must not circulate this book in any format.
One
“The last time we did it, it was … odd.”
“What do you mean ‘odd’?”
“I mean … odd.”
“I’ve never heard anyone describe regular sex as odd before.”
Amy Suarez stared out through the windshield of the ambulance, looking down the road at the gridlocked LA traffic. She wasn’t even sure why she’d mentioned it, and now she knew her partner was going to keep asking questions until she caved in.
“So what does odd mean?” Jennifer asked, suddenly breaking the silence.
“Forget it,” Amy sighed.
Jennifer shifted on her seat, adjusting the safety belt around her swollen stomach. Amy could see the heat was bothering her and she clearly needed a distraction.
“No I won’t,” Jennifer said with a smile. “What did he do, try and fuck you in the ass?”
“Why would that be odd?”
“Kinky bitch.”
“It was just odd, I dunno what I’m on about really.”
“Did you come?”
“Yeah.”
“Did he?”
“Yeah. On my tits.”
“Was it green?”
“Gross,” Amy sputtered, then giggled at the thought.
“So what does odd mean?” Jennifer threw her hands up in mock desperation.
Amy eased the ambulance into another lane and wondered if she should just sound the sirens and clear a path to the off ramp.
“It means … it’s like he wasn’t there.”
That wasn’t true.
The truth was, Amy realised, that it had been like she wasn’t there. Classic projection. She couldn’t even remember where her mind had been when he bent her over the edge of the bed and pushed deep into her, grabbing her hips, digging in his nails and slamming a hard fuck on her.
“Think he’s fucking someone else?” Jennifer asked.
“God no,” Amy snorted. “The exact opposite.”
“What’s the opposite of adultery?”
“I think he’s going to propose.”
She shivered at the thought, in spite of the burning mid-morning sun beating down into the cab.
Jennifer’s silence said it all.
“Let’s talk about something else,” Amy said, trying to lift the mood.
“How about those Dodging baseballers?”
Amy laughed once.
“How’re you today?”
Jennifer looked down at her belly, cupping it with both hands.
“Fat.”
“You’re not fat,” Amy chastised. “You’re …”
“If you say radiant I’m gonna come over there and kick your ass.”
“Rotund.”
Jennifer bellowed a raucous laugh, and the ambulance eased forward a few feet closer to the exit ramp. The rig felt different, and Amy made a note to put air in the tyres next time they filled up with gas.
“I can still smell it,” Jennifer said, wrinkling her nose with disgust.
“Me too.”
Their last call had been to a house that stank. And the prevalent smell was hanging in the air, not enough to be rank, but enough to rankle. When they got back to the house, they’d hose out the back. Might be a fun way to cool down. And judging from the thin film of sweat on her brow, Jennifer needed that.
“Ambulance Seven,” the radio crackled into life. “15154 Los Alimos Street. Chest pains and shortness of breath.”
Amy smiled, at last able to flick on the sirens. The moment they blared into life, the cars shuffled in front of them and somehow miraculously a channel was cleared to the off ramp.
She sped down the remaining few hundred feet of the Reagan Expressway and down the ramp, working the rig through the narrow side streets until they pulled up at the address.
In spite of herself, Jennifer sprang from her seat, and moved around like she wasn’t six months pregnant. Every time Amy saw her find that old energy, she was amazed, and wondered why her partner was so adamant to remain on active duty.
They grabbed their stuff and trotted into the house, its door open ready for their arrival. A middle-aged woman, flustered and ditsy, greeted them and directed them to her husband, a portly gentleman, sitting on the couch, sweating and struggling for air.
Jennifer automatically pushed the mask of the portable breather to his mouth, and gave it a squeeze, and Amy took his BP and pulse. Then she pushed her hand around his neck, and was concerned by what she felt. His neck was swollen and that’s what was restricting his airway. It was like he was having an anaphylactic reaction to something.
“Are you allergic to anything sir?”
He shook his head, then gave a thorough scratch to his left upper arm. Amy looked where he had touched, and saw a nasty looking rash. His BP reading registered, and as she suspected, it was low.
“Epi,” Amy instructed, and Jennifer delved into her bag and handed over the pen syringe.
Amy plunged it hard into the man’s thigh and waited for a response.
Nothing.
“Are you on beta blockers?”
The man nodded, struggling even more for air now.
“Have you had peanuts, or shellfish? Anything different today?”
He shook his head.
Then his eyes rolled back and he slumped.
“Sir?” Amy called, pushing her knuckle into his sternum, trying to rouse him. “Get him on his back.”
Jennifer shot her a look, but said nothing, as between them they dragged him from the couch and onto the floor. Amy angled his neck and dug around her bag for a scalpel.
“I’ll call in, get clearance,” Jennifer whispered.
“No time.”
And they both knew she was right.
Amy found the indentation between his Adam’s apple and the cricoid cartilage. Then, using the blade, she made a half-inch horizontal incision which she pinched open. Amy held out her hand expecting a tube, but saw Jennifer struggling to locate one in any of their bags.
“Shit,” she said, then grabbed the biro from her pocket, bit into the nib and yanked the innards free, spitting them across the room, before pushing the empty pen tube into the man’s neck. Then she leaned down and began to blow air into his lungs.
Some colour came back to his cheeks.
Jennifer pushed the end of the bag onto the pen and began squeezing it rhythmically.
Amy felt the adrenaline surging through her body, and realised she was excited by the field procedure she had just performed.
In spite of the consequences.
Jennifer bagged him while Amy went to get gurney, and together they man-handled him into the back of t
he rig. When she slipped into the driver’s seat, she realised her hands were shaking, and she took a deep breath, trying to centre herself before pulling away.
It didn’t work.
All the way to the Emergency Room, she struggled to keep her heart rate down, so pumped was she from the experience.
Even as they crashed the gurney through the doors and into the ER, Amy was still struggling to keep her excitement under control.
They were immediately surrounded by doctors and nurses, and Amy left it to Jennifer to give the history.
“Is that a pen?” a Doctor barked with horror.
It was Joseph Dooley, they Chief Resident, his immaculate coat never ruffled, his flowing hair so black on his head, and his brown eyes so piercing. If his jaw was any more defined, he’d look like a caricature of himself.
When he saw the pen, he immediately looked to Amy, flashing anger and annoyance, and she felt her mood deflate. She knew what was coming, and wasn’t sure she was ready for it.
They all entered the trauma room and transferred the patient across to the bed, but his stats were already stable, and Amy knew she had saved his life. There was nothing more for the ER team to do, except get him upstairs.
Amy tried to hide in the corner as she and Jennifer did the paperwork, but she felt Dooley striding towards her even before she turned to see him.
“What the fuck was that?” he hissed, trying and failing to keep his voice down.
Jennifer flinched beside her, and began to step away from the fray.
Amy took a sniff and stood up straight.
“I saved his life.”
“I don’t care if you gave him your kidney,” Dooley grabbed her arm, pinching it tight in his grip. “You could lose your job.”
Amy wrinkled her nose, trying to look defiant, but felt her heart trying to escape through her throat; the blood so loud in her ears it sounded like a tidal wave. It suddenly all felt so unfair.
“You can’t talk to me like this,” she said, looking to her side to check Jennifer’s response; she was gone. Good choice.
“I’ll talk to you however the fuck I want,” he said, grabbing her arm tighter and dragging her into the privacy of an unused treatment room.
“Fuck Joseph,” she hissed, nearly losing her footing.
“I don’t think you comprehend just what …”
“I get it,” she snapped. “I know what I did. And you know what? It felt good. It still feels good.”
She realised she was closer to him than was polite, and she could feel her breath coming faster and harder now, and suddenly the excitement was too much to hold back.
Amy grabbed his face with both hands and pulled his mouth down to hers, forcing herself onto him with passionate fury, her tongue quickly inside and exploring.
At first he resisted, then she felt his hands scoop up her voluptuous tits, pawing at them with desire, finding and pinching her nipples even through the layers.
She sucked his tongue hard into her mouth, and let go of his face, one hand immediately reaching for and finding his trapped erection, the other snaking under his scrubs and scratching at his chiselled torso. His ardour was as obvious as hers.
Dooley fumbled open her shirt and pushed her bra up, freeing her tits from the cups, before ducking his head down and biting one of her nipples. She hissed and grabbed the back of his head, urging him on, just as her other hand gripped at his cock through his pants. He was hard and huge, and she wanted every inch of him inside her.
As he sucked from one nipple to the other with a venomous hunger, his hand dipped deep into her pants, curling under her panties and finding her clit. He knew what to do with his fingers, and soon had two of them deep inside her silky wet pussy, pumping into her as she rocked her hips and took him deeper.
“Fuck me,” she hissed, commanding.
“Not here,” he moaned, before biting her nipple hard.
She groaned with delight and annoyance.
Now she wanted revenge for the rebuff.
She knelt down, feeling his hand slip from inside of her and out of her pants. On her knees, she tugged open the string that held up his scrubs and yanked them down, taking his cock with them until it sprang back up, deep red, swollen stiff, his balls massive.
Amy grabbed his prick at the base and began to pump it in her fist, before ducking her head to one of those balls and sucking it deep into her mouth, moaning as it filled her up. He loved that, and gripped her scalp hard.
She knew what he wanted, and didn’t tease him.
Angling her head and guiding it into her mouth, she took the entire length of his cock into her throat, gagging as she did so. And he held her head still, trying to urge himself even deeper.
And when he started to fuck her mouth, holding her head with a tight grip, she moaned again, reaching down and into her pants to attend to the clarion call of her clit.
She gagged with each deep thrust, and he grunted above her, animalistic and urgent. With her free hand she reached under and found his asshole, pushing her finger to it firmly, and he showed his appreciation by fucking her face harder.
He was so close now, and she was nowhere near. His balls tightened, and she felt his cock swell inside her mouth and throat. He knew enough to let go of her head and she pulled away to the tip, sucking it hard and swirling her tongue around it, just as he twitched and spurted a stream of thick creamy spunk into her mouth.
She moaned, hard and guttural, and swallowed every last drop.
As she stood up and kissed him deep, she realised this had been the sexiest moment they’d shared all week, and there was nothing odd about this one; except maybe the way it had been fuelled by spite.
Joseph pulled away from the kiss and looked down at her, pressing his forehead into hers the way he always did after she sucked him off. It was an unspoken thank you.
“I love you.”
She always said it, but never meant it.
Two
Patrick swallowed back the deliciously bitter mouthful of espresso, and felt the silky black liquid warm his insides for a moment. He’d needed a jolt of caffeine for over an hour, but this was the first chance he’d had to get into the fire house’s kitchen to grab anything.
Flexing one hand, he looked around the break room, watching his crew laze about between calls. They deserved their down-time, and he decided not to run the drill he’d had planned all week.
The watch had been a busy one, and they still had a good third of it left to go.
Which is probably why he had an ominous feeling about it all.
Patrick felt his chest contract a little, and knew what was coming. Suddenly the room felt tiny, and he could hear the blood in his head, making his vision tunnel-like. Then came the shortness of breath.
He stumbled out into the corridor and hoped the change of scene would calm him down; but no such luck.
The rising panic was getting worse.
He could feel the cold sweat gathering on the back of his burning hot neck, and the urge to vomit began to grow too. He was too dizzy to move, but had the wherewithal to know he couldn’t be seen like this; not by his men, not by his battalion chief.
Using the walls for support, he staggered his way along the hallway and into his office, slamming the door behind him just as the heart palpitations began.
He grabbed his chest and collapsed into the chair, utterly fearful that he was about to have a cardiac arrest. He couldn’t breathe, and he couldn’t see.
Patrick grabbed the edge of the desk and used all of his strength and concentration to focus on his lungs. He knew hyperventilating would make it worse, and he managed to take a deep, deliberate breath.
And then another.
And another.
The symptoms began to slowly dis
sipate, and he sat there for another ten minutes until he was back to normal.
Or as normal as could be expected after a prolonged panic attack.
He sighed, as much from resignation as from exhaustion. They were coming more often these days; after a prolonged absence from them when he was a teenager. But now they were back; and they were getting worse.
A gentle knock on the door bought his attention back to the present.
“Come in,” he said with a croak which he coughed away as the door opened.
Amy and Jennifer stepped in, taking a seat unbidden, and watching him with wide eyes for a moment. He let them stew a little before saying anything.
To his left, Amy with her big brown eyes, and dark, tied back hair, her lips always moist looking, her pupils always a little dilated when she looked at Patrick. He knew she fancied him, and knew nothing would ever come of it; for obvious reasons.
And next to her, flame-haired Jennifer, slender and petite in spite of being ridiculously pregnant.
Patrick knew he could have either one of them, any time he wanted.
The briefest flash of a fantasy danced in his mind, of the two of them in his bed, kissing one another, Amy’s voluptuous tits pressing into Jennifer’s pert little ones, their nipples so swollen as they took it in turn to slide onto his lap and down his shaft.
A shaft that was in that moment stiffening in his pants.
The panic attack was seemingly long-forgotten, and he realised they were shifting in their seats in discomfort.
Good.
They deserved it.
“A field traych?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “Really?”
“We didn’t have time to call it in.”
“Bullshit,” he snapped so loudly they both jumped in their chairs.
“Jen tried,” Amy admitted with a weak voice.
“There wasn’t time,” Jen said in Amy’s defence.
Patrick shook his head once from side to side.
“This has got to stop.”
“What has?” Amy sounded defiant suddenly, and it made his cock stiffer for some reason.