Page 25 of Merry with Me
Much better.
Closing my eyes, I continue to stroke. Blakely immediately pops into my mind. I think about holding her close, how I ran my fingers through her hair, and how she did the same when her arms were locked around my neck.
Dancing. We were supposed to be dancing, but all I could think about was tearing her clothes off and doing a naked dance that looked altogether different from what we were doing.
I’m pretty sure we didn’t get a single item from her list marked off, other than hanging garland. I’m certain that wasn’t one of the things we were supposed to do or discuss last night. However, when I saw her tumble off that ladder, I lost about ten years of my life.
I hear her sweet voice in my head, talking about scruff and how women enjoy it. I knew exactly what she was referring to. I just wanted to hear her say it. Then she mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like porn, and my cock was as hard as steel. It was a good thing she pulled away. I don’t know where the night would have led us had she not.
I’m a man who likes control and for my life to be orderly and uneventful. I’ve had enough surprises for a lifetime. However, when it comes to Blakely Kincaid, I apparently don’t mind when things get… messy.
Speaking of, I squeeze my cock harder when I feel my balls tighten. Tingles race down my spine.
Blakely.
Blakely.
Blakely.
She’s all I can see as I spill over into my hand and all over my bare chest. I’m sated for now, but something tells me nothing except all of her will ever be enough.
Two hours later, I’m walking into the office. The staff is already here, bustling in the halls and getting ready to start our day. The smell of coffee fills the air, and although I’d love another cup, I’ve already had three.
“Good morning, Dr. Thompson,” someone greets.
“Morning,” I reply, my voice low. I don’t even turn to see who it is. I’m pissed off at myself. I can’t stop thinking about her. I don’t know what it is about her. Why, after all this time, four years later, she’s the first one to steal my concentration. The first one to pull my mind to her and keep it there.
Stepping into my office, I hang my coat on the hook behind the door before dropping my cell phone and keys to my desk and starting up my laptop. My eyes land on the Post-it note, and I pick it up, ready to crinkle it and toss it in the trash, but I just can’t make myself do it.
I’m well and truly fucked, and I don’t know what to do about it.
“Good morning,” Kathy says from the doorway. “Your first patient is a few minutes early. I went ahead and put them in a room. All the vitals have been entered.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, clicking on the patient’s name in the chart and skimming the history. Once I’ve reviewed everything, I stand, ignoring the Post-it and start my day.
I should have known with the disappointing way my morning started that today was going to be a complete shit show. I had two add-in patients, which is common, but on an already packed schedule, it was a lot. Other than my first patient, the others were all late. Normally, if you’re a certain amount of time late, we ask you to reschedule, but today’s schedule was all full of elderly patients, and damn it, I couldn’t turn them away and make them come out yet again.
I’m not heartless.
However, that screwed with my entire day. A pharmaceutical rep dropped off lunch. Thankfully, today wasn’t my turn to sit and listen to their speech about their medications for their required “meeting.” I share that responsibility with the other physicians in the practice. We all take turns, basically taking one for the team, so the staff gets free lunch.
Regardless, I was thankful for lunch because I had to eat between patients. I hate running behind with my schedule, but times like today can’t be helped and are inevitable in healthcare.
It’s finally the end of my shift. All my patients are gone, and I have a lot of charting to get caught up on. When there’s a knock at my door, I bite out, “Yes,” a little more harshly than needed. Did I mention that I’m over this day?
“Sally from administration called. They need your new wallet card for your medical license. Do you have it yet?” Kathy asks.
“I have it,” I answer, keeping my eyes on my computer screen.
“Great, if you want, I’ll walk it over now.”
“Who needs it again?” I stop and focus on the conversation, when all I want to do is finish my work and get out of here.
“Sally in administration. She handles all the credentialing.”
“Right.” I nod. Sally replaced Martha, who was the person I worked with to finalize all my credentialing when I started at Willow River General. I reach for my wallet, then stop myself. Blakely’s office is in administration. Glancing at the clock on my computer for the time, I see it’s a little before five. I don’t know when she wraps up each day, but damn if I’m not willing to do this myself just to get a glimpse of her. “I’ll handle it.”
Kathy looks surprised by my answer. Usually, this is something I’d hand off to her. Nothing about what I’ve been doing or thinking lately is anything near normal, not when it comes to Blakely Kincaid.