Medicine Man (Page 39)

“Don’t talk,” he orders and resumes kissing me.

Jesus.

His authority will kill me. I’m so fucking wet right now. I moan with how swollen I am. I’m almost tempted to let go of him and rub my pussy. Shamelessly masturbate as he cures me.

Or better yet, have him do it. I want to shove his hand between my legs and ask him to touch me there.

I can almost see it.

I can almost feel his big hand between my legs, his fingers pinching my clit, grabbing my cunt. I can almost see myself riding his fingers, humping it like I do my pillow. I’ll drench his wrist; I know that. I’ll cream his palm like I’m creaming my panties and he’ll watch me do it.

But how can I be selfish and ask him to rub my pussy when he’s making me feel so good? I need to make him feel good, too. I need to give him something. And then, I know how. I feel him. On my stomach.

His cock. His thick, hard arousal pressing into my flesh.

And he is hard. And hot. And so big. Like a pipe or something. It makes me feel so small, smaller and more feminine than I’ve ever felt.

So I undulate against him.

I rub my stomach up and down his hard length as I clench my thighs for about the thousandth time since he started kissing me. It causes his dick to throb. It pulses. Like it’s alive too, just like my pussy.

I haven’t seen a dick before, not in real life. I’ve touched one, sure. But that was when I was a sophomore and my boyfriend was just a boy.

Simon is a man and his cock has to be the most masculine thing I’ve ever experienced. And I have only touched it through the layers of clothing and on my stomach. I still move up and down, almost touching him with the valley of my breasts.

Simon growls in my mouth.

It’s like I’m jacking him off with my body. With my soft stomach and heavy breasts. I’ve always hated them, but if my pudgy body can bring him pleasure, I’m all for it.

I wonder if I can make him come like this.

I want to make him come. Orgasms always make me happy. They must make him happy too.

So yeah, I want him to come and be happy. Like I am.

Be happy for me, Simon.

But then he rips his mouth away and my eyes snap open. Don’t know when I closed them.

A whine forms at the base of my throat and I want to ask him what happened. Didn’t he like it? I was trying to make him feel good.

I open my mouth to ask him when I hear voices. Footsteps and giggles. Someone’s saying they are going to see if Dr. Blackwood is in or not.

My eyes widen as I stare up at him. He’s rigid. Flushed. His hair’s a mess. His shirt is in disarray and his lips are red and swollen. Glistening with my kisses.

It’s like he’s marked and I realize with the throbbing of my lips that I’m marked as well. We both marked each other with our lust and now people are going to find out.

“Simon…”

I trail off when he grabs my hand and pushes me to the side. My back goes against the wall, by the door and I stare at him fearfully just when the knock comes.

With a clenched jaw, he says to whoever is knocking, “Just a sec.”

His voice sounded calm but his chest is still breathing with franticness. His eyes are still wild and on me.

“I’m –”

I don’t know what I was going to say but Simon doesn’t wait to hear it. He lets go of my arm and spins on his heel. I see his massive back going up and down with huge breaths, his fingers running through his hair, before straightening his shirt.

At last, he steps toward the door, opening it with a click.

“Oops, sorry. Did I interrupt something?” a nurse asks.

“No. I was just on the phone,” he says.

I can’t see him. He’s blocked by the door, but he sounds as he always does. Patient and calm. Me, on the other hand? I’m freaking out.

My heart won’t stop jackhammering, and some of their words get jumbled when they reach me. All I can gather is that she wants him to sign off on something, but he in turn suggests that he’ll take a look at the inventory first. Whatever that means.

And then they’re gone. Simon walks out, closing the door behind him, taking the nurse with him.

I breathe out a sigh of relief. Although I’m so high on adrenaline and on the kiss and on everything Simon Blackwood that the sigh is more like a panted breath.

I know why he left with the nurse. He was giving me a chance to escape, without being found out.

Biting my lip, I do just that. I walk quietly to the door and open it to peek outside. The hallway is empty and the nurses’ station at the end only has a couple of people who aren’t looking this way.

Thank God.

Quickly, I step out of the room and walk away from his office.

What were we thinking? It was stupid. So fucking stupid to do that.

God.

But for some reason, I can’t stop my beating heart and the smile on my lips.

“God, I’m not made for this,” I almost whimper, my body contorted in ways I didn’t think possible.

“Shut up. Everybody’s made for yoga,” says Renn, bent in the exact same way, facing me. On her though, the pose looks effortless.

“Not me. What is this?” I heave, trying to find my balance before my back gives out on me. “Why am I on my hands and toes? Why am I…” I lose my breath for a second. “Upside down? It’s not natural. Oh God, I feel my lime jello in the back of my throat.”

“You’re such a drama queen. It’s called downward dog.” Renn rolls her eyes. “It’s like, the most basic yoga pose. Kids could do this.”

“Do I look like a kid to you?” I swallow but gravity is working against me. “I can’t believe I let you pull me into this.”

“Exercise is good. It’s healthy, okay? We’re being healthy. We’re being productive with our day.”

I clench my eyes shut, the muscles in my calves probably starting to erupt in flames. “Shut up. You’re only doing this because you think you’re putting on weight.”

It’s true. This morning, Renn knocked at my wall to tell me her favorite top is fitting her tight around the tits. She called it the underarm/bust fat.

“My clothes don’t fit,” she practically shrieks. “It’s a disaster, Willow. I get anxious when my clothes don’t fit. So shut up. We’re doing this.”

My throat’s drying up and I feel like I’m going to pass out on the ground. The sun’s not helping. I fucking hate the sun. Hate it. The rays are piercing me like needles, making me prickle and sweat.

“I can’t… I can’t breathe.” I heave again and blow at my bangs.

“You just did, you moron. Just hold the pose for a few seconds. Don’t you like the burn in your muscles? Your ankles. Feel the burn in your ankles.”

“I don’t care about my stupid ankles.” I grit my teeth, sweat going into my eyes. “I’m dying. Dying.”

Renn blows a puff of air, dismissing my concern. “You wish.”

 I snort. “God, I hate you right now.”

I do. I so do.

Why am I not reading like Penny or feeding the birds like Vi? Or why am I not at the library, reading a dozen new Harry Potter books? Yes. They finally listened to me, and now the library has the entire series of Harry Potter. Isn’t that wonderful?

But instead of petting those paperbacks and smelling their pages, I’m here. Why? I have no clue. I don’t even know how I got roped into this. Except Renn said something to me at breakfast and I said yes without listening since I was lost in my own head. So here I am. Standing on my head.