Page 8 of Doctored Vows

I don’t know whether to stomp my feet in frustration or relief when my name is called by one of my colleagues. “Dr. Hoffman.”

After responding to Mr. Ivanov’s husky laugh about my childish pout with a stern stink eye, I spin to face Nurse Sharpe. She is wheeling in a now alert and conscious Mrs. Ivanov toward her bed. The cuffs of her hospital-issued uniform are damp, and Mrs. Ivanov’s hair is glossy and smells recently shampooed.

Nurse Sharpe must have taken her to the bathroom in the corridor. Its wide doorframe allows patients to remain in a seated position while showering. You can’t fit a wheelchair through the doorway of a patient bathroom. That’s why I’m shocked Mr. Ivanov and his giant cock made it inside without incident.

“Is everything okay?” Nurse Sharpe asks when my shock is shown on my face.

Penises are a part of my medical studies. I’m not meant to look at them like normal women do. They should not differ from any other male appendage. But I devoured Mr. Ivanov’s penis like my name is tattooed down the shaft and its sole function is to ensure my every whim is answered.

God, I wish that were the case.

It’s been so long since I’ve orgasmed I couldn’t fake it even if given the opportunity. And the last time I was this intrigued by a member of the opposite sex is an even more distant memory.

I’m the good girl. The safe date. The woman you bring home to meet your parents. So why does Mr. Ivanov look at me the way he does?

His watch as he stroked his cock has me heated up everywhere, and the sweaty situation worsens when I spot the patient’s name above her bed.

Irina Ivanov.

Oh. My. God. Did I just eyeball a taken man? There’d have to be an age gap because Mr. Ivanov doesn’t look a day over thirty, but my parents’ difference in age exceeded fifteen years, so who’s to say the same isn’t happening here?

Sickened with guilt, I make an excuse to leave. “Yes. I was… ah…” With my head in too much of a daze to formulate a valid excuse, I settle for a pathetic one instead. “I’m going to?—”

“Wait in the corridor for you to get situated,” announces a voice from behind me—a voice so close the droplets of water I was envious of only seconds ago are absorbed by the thin material of my scrubs. He whispers his following sentence so it is only for my ears. “Because we’re not finished yet, are we, Dr. Hoffman?”

With my knees close to buckling from the heat of Mr. Ivanov’s breath on my ear and the uneasy stare of his possible wife, I briefly nod before sprinting for the closest exit.

CHAPTER FOUR

“You’re regretting your decision now, aren’t you?” When I peer at Alla in bewilderment, she tosses a bag of contaminated waste at my feet. “Don’t act surprised, Dr. Genius. Rumors of your promotion circulated the hospital hours before you arrived.”

I sigh in relief. She isn’t referencing my shameful cowardice in front of the most confident man I’ve ever met. She’s talking about the promotion that was shoved to the back of my mind when a far more enticing package ripped it from my thoughts.

The event that will be forever referenced as the “shower incident” has kept my clit in a constant state of arousal all evening. It won’t stop buzzing—which is concerning to admit since I’ve yet to work out how the man in the shower is connected to Mrs. Ivanov.

When Alla peers at me with an arched brow, waiting for a reply, I say, “Why gossip about something that may not occur?”

She gives me with the same look everyone gives when I enter the cafeteria with a packed-from-home lunch.

It is the look of pity.

She knows as well as I do that I could never turn down the offer Dr. Sidorov handed me this morning. It is the only lifeline available and still below what I need.

For future reference, anything with “medical” attached to it is expensive—for both the patient and soon-to-be doctor.

“I’m not regretting anything…” Except not stepping into the bathroom thirty seconds earlier.

I hide the disgust attempting to cross my face by lugging a second bag of biowaste that cannot be incinerated onto the cart so it can be disposed of into a landfill that will be uninhabitable for years to come.

“Not even the dozen or so donut holes I gorged.”

Alla bumps me with her hip before locking her eyes with mine so I can see the truth in them when she says, “We could have survived without you tonight. It’s been quiet.”

“I know. I just…”

Since I’d rather look like an idiot than admit how desperate I am for this pay, I shrug. I’m burning the candle at both ends, and it is catching up to me. I’m one hour of overtime from burnout, but obligations don’t stop because you’re tired—or horny.

Once we have the cart loaded into the van hazardous waste is transported in, I peel off my gloves and hairnet, dump them into the trash, then turn to face Alla, who ditched the hazmat gear ten minutes ago. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

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