Page 75 of Doctor One Night

Without a word, I roll over to face him, our mouths meeting in a kiss that's equal parts hunger and tenderness. Our hands are everywhere, pulling at clothing, seeking skin. He slips his fingers under the waistband of my pajama shorts, finding me already slick and ready for him.

Our movements are impatient and frenzied as we are both suddenly desperate for each other. He pulls my shorts down just enough to free me from them, and I push his boxers down, aligning our bodies as they were meant to be.

He enters me with a single, fluid thrust that draws a gasp from my lips. The couch isn't wide enough, isn't comfortable enough for what we need, but we're beyond caring. We're driven by a need that's as primal as it is profound.

The slap of skin against skin, the sofa as it pounds against the wood floor, our ragged breathing, and the occasional moan or whimper as we chase our pleasure are the only sounds. We're lost in each other, the world outside our little bubble ceasing to exist.

We move to the floor, removing our shorts along the way. The change in position allows for a deeper connection. I'm straddling him now, my hands braced against his chest, pressed against the ripple of his muscles as he thrusts up into me. The new angle sends waves of pleasure crashing over me, each one more intense than the last.

I throw my head back, my hair cascading down my back as I ride him harder, faster. The tension builds within me, gathering low in my belly, and I know I'm close, so close.

“Hunter,” I gasp, and he knows I’m coming.

He sits up, wrapping his arms around me, holding me close as he drives into me with renewed vigor. I cry out as my orgasm rips through me, my inner muscles clenching around him.

He follows me over the precipice, his body shuddering beneath mine as he finds his own release, his name a whisper on my lips as we both come down from the high.

The other times have been good, but lying next to each other, naked on my floor, makes this time even better. Initially, we don’t say anything. Panting is the only noise we make. I dare to press myself against him, hoping I haven’t overextended my welcome on this precarious night after he lost his mom.

“You doing okay?” I ask him, keeping my gaze on the distinct lines that trace his pecs. I continue to rest my cheek on his inked chest. His left arm is cradling me and I sense a mild hint of tension as I ask this question. I can tell he isn’t used to talking about his feelings.

“I’m doing better now that I’m with you.”

I didn’t expect this, nor did I think he would ever be so forthcoming with affection for me. But I’ll take it, even if it is just a moment of weakness.

“I’m sorry, Hunter. That was a shitty way to have to say goodbye your mom.”

He doesn’t move either, but he does continue speaking. I listen because I figure that’s the best thing to do right now. What I hear as he continues to talk about his family is far different than what I heard during our first night together. He kept it short and sweet.

At some point, I even find myself ready to cry as he reveals what he was put through. I can imagine now, knowing him, the kind of pressure on him. But hearing the pain as he describes it makes me want to hold him and never let him go.

“My mother barely spoke to me at my father’s funeral,” he says, his voice distant and emotionless. “We weren’t really talking because after he got sick, I recommended a doctor they ended up not agreeing with. Somehow, everything that went wrong was my fault. When they switched doctors, they stopped taking my calls. He went downhill fast, and it turns out my recommendation was the way to go. Anyway, that is why I was so reluctant to help with my mom.”

“That’s awful. The end should not be like that.”

All I do is hold him tighter. He definitely suffered some emotional abuse from his parents. I guess we all do to some degree. My mom did what she thought was right by keeping my father away. But in reality, believing he chose to stay away was more painful than anything she was protecting me from.

I don’t resent my mom because we had a different kind of relationship than Hunter had with his mom. But I understand how our parents have the ability to cut us deeper and hurt us more than anyone else on this planet.

Although I know I can’t do anything to take away the pain, hopefully, my being here with him gives him some comfort as he comes to terms with all of this.

I decide to do something I rarely do. I open up even more than usual, and share what I’ve been going through with Bill and my family dynamic. It seems like the timing is appropriate, not to mention it’s a way to connect with him and to seek some comfort.

“My father wasn’t in my life at all. I saw him a handful of times as a kid,” I start. I pause, before finishing, “I thought he traded us for a new family.”

“Frankie, I’m so sorry.”

“No, you don’t have to say that. I guess since we are opening up, I thought I would share what has been going on in my life with my parents. He has been contacting me,” I say softly. “He’s the one I was referring to when I asked you about Hodgkins.”

“Oh, my goodness,” he says sincerely. “Last you told me he was doing well, right?”

“Yes, it seems so. Although I saw him today and he looked frail to me.”

“It’s probably just his body going through the treatment. It’s hard on the body.”

I decide to leave it that for now. Tonight is his night to grieve. I just wanted him to know he can trust me, by showing that I trust him. Even if it is just a little bit, that feels good. It feels right.

Saturday, June 1

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