Page 11 of Naughty Desires

“You’re right about that.” She tucks her phone away. “And neither will Chris. If he’s not interested, pack a suitcase and get your ass over to my place. Then Monday morning we’ll take a walk down to the attorney’s office and get you unleashed for the hotness that is Rex Morgan.”

* * *

I am not a risk taker. I don’t jaywalk, drive too fast, or jump out of airplanes. After meeting Chris at the bus stop ten years ago, I took a different bus to work for two weeks because I was afraid to see him again. Not because I didn’t like him. I did. Too much. Every night after our meeting, I fantasized about the feel of his body against mine, his deep, gravelly voice, and the warmth in his blue eyes. I dreamed about him—naughty, sexy dreams that left me aching inside. But I didn’t want to ruin it all by seeing him again, feeling all the feels, and having him brush me off like that moment was nothing. Rejection causes pain and I’d had enough in my life. If I’d known he was the kind of guy to show up with a rose every day, hoping to see me again, I would have been there the very next morning.

So now it’s my chance to make it up to him. To be bold. To be brave. To take a risk. To be the kind of person I always wanted to be. In a last-ditch attempt to save my marriage, I am going to open myself up in a way I haven’t done since I learned the pain of rejection for being me. Even during our marriage, I never truly let Chris in.

I fasten the last hook on my naughty nurse corset and tighten the strings so it fits like a glove, but I’ve never felt so exposed in my life. My breasts are pushed up impossibly high and are almost fully exposed to the tops of my nipples. My hips seem rounder with my waist cinched tight, and the red piping on the bottom of the corset dress barely covers the tiny triangle of the white thong with its bold red cross in the center.

After I get over the shock of an almost unrecognizable me, I attach the white stockings to the garters and slip on a pair of red stiletto heels I picked up at the mall on the way home from work. My hair is loose, free from its usual ponytail, and round-brushed into soft waves that cascade over my shoulders. Chris used to love my hair. He would run his fingers through it every chance he got, and when were in bed, he’d grab it tight, pull my head back, and . . .

I give myself a shake, push away the memories of our nights in bed and our hot, sweaty bodies twisted in the sheets. Chris was always very dominant in bed, and I loved it, loved that he could push my boundaries but know when to stop.

A final touch of makeup and the reddest lipstick in my box completes the look. Naughty but nice; sexy but sweet. I hope it’s enough.

“You want a beer?” I call out when I reach the kitchen. I heard him come in when I was changing.

“Yeah.”

Heart pounding, I open his beer and pour it into his favorite glass. I give myself a final check in the microwave and walk into the room.

Here goes nothing.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Chris doesn’t even look away from the television. My stomach tightens but I take a deep breath. I expected this. Prepared for it.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Dr. Taylor, but there is an emergency in bed seven.” I pluck the remote out of his hand.

“What the—?” His gaze sweeps over me from the old-fashioned nurse’s cap in my hair to the crescents of my breasts bursting over the edge of the corset, down over my waist and the curve of my hips, to the garter straps holding up the white stockings, and finally to the ruby-red heels. “Fuck me,” he mutters.

“I’ll bring it up on the CCTV.” In this case, the CCTV happens to be a baby video monitor I borrowed from Alexis from the days when her kids were young. I’ve hooked it up to the TV so it shows our bedroom, where I’ve changed the linen to white hospital-like sheets and put the rest of Dr. Steadman’s toys on a metal tray beside the bed.

“What is this, Lil?”

Sweat beads between my tightly bound breasts. He could destroy me with only a word, humiliate me so deeply I might never recover. But this is my last, best chance to repair our marriage, and although I’m terrified of his rejection, I’m even more afraid of being alone.

“An emergency, Dr. Taylor.” I bend over in front of the television as I switch it to the baby monitor channel, giving him a full-on view of my ass, bare except for the garter straps and the thin line of my naughty nurse thong.

“Lily . . .” His voice cracks, breaks.

“Here we go.” I stand to the side, one hand on my hip, posing as if I’m trying to sell the TV while an image of our bedroom flickers on the screen. “As you can see, the patient is . . . Oh dear. He’s missing.”

“Babe . . . please . . .”

“We’d better go upstairs and check it out.” I grab the stethoscope and walk straight between his parted legs. Bending low to put it around his neck, I give him an up close and personal look at the magnificent cleavage created by my corset.

Chris clears his throat as I slide my hands over his taut shoulders. “This isn’t you.”

No, it’s not me. It’s who I want to be, who I should have been if I hadn’t been so afraid to open up and let him in. Strong. Brave. Determined.

“You’re right. I’m Nurse Taylor, and we need to get you ready to see your patient.” Swallowing hard, I climb on his lap, straddling his legs with my knees. “I’ve got your jacket right here.” I point to the white doctor’s coat I left carefully folded on the coffee table, along with a pair of green scrubs and my phone.

Of course, he hadn’t noticed.

“You seem tense, maybe a little music . . .” I lean over and press the playlist I put together on my lunch break. The soft, sultry sound of Ciara’s “Body Party” fills the room, and Chris smiles, despite himself.

“Dirty girl.”

---