Page 11 of Baby for Dr. Damaged

I kiss her before she can apologize again. It’s a snap decision, a sudden lurch forward and press of the lips. She tastes like cherry chapstick. The moment I kiss her, I know that it was a bad idea—the problem is that I don’t care.

I’m tired, and antsy, and I want something good in my life. And Amanda… She’s good. She’s brought back the fun that I’ve been missing, and returned a spark to the hearth, so to speak. So when she doesn’t pull away, I kiss her again, more deeply this time. I rock into it, slotting our mouths together.

When my tongue brushes her lower lip, she parts her mouth and lets me in. I press as close to her as I can get, one hand on her side and the other in the space between us. It’s on her shoulder first and then down lower, groping her breasts through the fabric of her scrubs. We step backwards and her shoulders press against the wall.

I should stop this, I should stop this, I should stop this.It’s on a loop in the back of my mind but I can’t bring myself to stop. I’m fucking exhausted, and Amanda is right there. She’s sweet and bright and more determined than anyone that I’ve been around in a long time.

It’s only the fact that I know we’re on film that eventually has me pulling back. We’re both breathing hard, panting out rough through our noses, and her skin has turned that bright, dusky pink that I love so much. There’s a look in her eyes that is so sultry and wanting, and it’s enough to have me kissing her again, just as fiercely.

Her lips are swollen and red from the force of it, prettier than they’ve ever been in her chapstick whose flavor has been kissed away. There’s nothing left but her now. My mouth hits the side of her jaw, and she loops her arms around my waist, pulling me even closer. I’m hard in my scrubs, and I’ve got no doubt that she can feel it, pressed against the curve of her thigh.

She makes another soft, wanting sound when my lips reach a sensitive spot beneath her ear. I could keep going. I want to keep going.

But we’re still in the hallway, late shift or not. I pull back reluctantly. Her hands bunch up on the sides of my shirt.

Hotly, she says, “No way, you can’t just change your mind and back out now!”

“I’m not changing my mind,” I tell her, pressing another kiss, more chaste this time, to her lips. “Just the venue.”

She releases me but I don’t go far. And I don’t let go of her either. The thought of taking my hands off her for any length of time is enough to drive me mad. I keep a touch on her arm, her wrist, the small of her back, guiding her down the hallway.

Our shoes clack heavily against the floor. No heels, even on Amanda. She’s pretty but she’s practical; no one wants to turn a leg racing to take care of a flatlining patient. We’re quick about it, especially once she catches on and realizes where we’re going.

There’s an almost giddy laugh that slips past her kissed red lips when she catches sight of the door to the staff’s sleeping room.

“My best friend indeed,” she says, echoing back what I told her on the very first day of her residency. Amanda picks up the pace and gets there first, slamming a hand into it. The door pops open, hitting the wall with a bang.

No one else must be inside, because she’s quick to duck out of sight. I’m a few steps slower but not by much—and yes, the first thing I do when I step into the room is confirm that the bunks are empty. The second thing I do is close the door behind us and lock it.

The moment that it’s closed I’ve got Amanda pressed up against me and I’m kissing her again, but this time I’m not just limited to her mouth and the line of her jaw. I plaster the stretch of her slender neck in open-mouthed kisses, tongue swiping over every inch of her bare skin that I can reach.

My teeth scrape against it. I can feel the heat from her blush, and suddenly realize that I’m finally going to get my answer about whether it spreads on her thighs. Hands shove up at the side of her shirt, pushing it up. There’s a flash of her belly, and then Amanda grabs the shirt and pulls it over her head.

The curve of her tits are dusty with her blush. She’s big-breasted for her size, and her bra, pale blue, barely seems to contain them. Not that I give it much of a chance to do its job. The moment that her shirt is out of the way, my fingers are reaching behind her and unsnapping the latch of her bra. The fabric falls away, hitting the floor.

I use one foot to kick it toward the wall, just so we don’t trip over it and then I’m kissing her again, touching every inch of her. Especially her tits, they are more than a handful, they are hot and soft in my grip—I can't get enough. Amanda rakes her hands through my short dark hair and down the back of my neck, but I’m more focused on what I want to do to her rather than what she’s doing to me.

And what I want is to ravish her. To feel every inch of her supple body pressed up against mine and watch the worry on her face from our earlier discussion be replaced with sheer orgasmic bliss. One hand continues to grope at the soft flesh of her left tit, thumb pressing against her nipple, rolling it softly.

My mouth is on her neck again, and my other hand drops down and around. I shove it beneath her waistband, cupping her ass, the blue fabric of her scrubs brushing over my knuckles. It feels like her panties are lace, the texture rough and familiar beneath my palm. I grip the swell of her ass, hard, and run my hand over it a few times.

Amanda is making these soft keening sounds, any time that our mouths aren’t crashed together. I can’t take it anymore. “Fuck, Amanda, I want you. Iwantyou.”

“Have me,” she responds, no hesitation. “Jackson, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” There’s a laugh, nervous but excited. “I mean, no idea.”

“I don’t know. I think I have some idea.” I lean against her so I can slide my hand between her legs from behind, the tips of my fingers grazing over the wet spot in her panties. Definitely lace. I can feel the soft heat of her skin beneath the touch.

Amanda whines and presses her forehead into my shoulder, her hands balling up into fists in the fabric of my uniform shirt. She does her best to spread her legs wider, to give me more access but it’s clear what we both really want.

Her clothes on the ground.

So that’s what I do. I pull my hand away and shove her pants down instead, so she’s just in her panties, and I kiss her again, all tongue and tooth and spit. My hand slides down her panties, groping the flesh of her ass cheek, bare skin to my palm this time. She would look amazing bent over my leg, bare ass up.

She would look even better riding me. That thought is the one that does me in, really. The mental picture of her straddling me, taking my cock like it was meant for her and her alone. My mouth is dry, my face hot. I’m uncomfortably hard in my scrubs even as I back up toward the bunk beds.

There’s not enough space between the beds for what I have pictured, but there’s plenty of room for me to shove her down onto it, face first. Amanda squeals and then laughs, planting both feet flat on the ground and giving her rear a shake. She folds her arms against the mattress and looks at me over her shoulder, eyes bright and cheeks the prettiest shade of pink that I’ve ever seen.

The lace of her panties is black. Her skin is flushed bright pink, a dusting of blush on the small of her back, brighter over the pale skin of her ass, visible through the gaps in the lace. My fingers hook in the dainty fabric and pull it down. I’m tempted to just rip the damn thing off her but manage to resist.

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