Page 10 of Dying for the Doctor

No, I decide when I remember that strangely familiar moment Drake and I shared when our gazes met and we both smiled like we were in on the same private joke, the same sinful secret. It’s crazy, I know, but we bonded in a primal, visceral, almost animalistic way when Drake made me come like that, buried his face in my pussy like he couldn’t stop himself, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it until it was done.

Now my pussy tightens between my legs again, a little squeeze like it’s trying to communicate something, provide its input, perhaps back up my totally illogical but completelyconfident feeling that Drake and I are sorta-kinda together after that.

That maybe I am his after all.

Just like he said.

Yes. I’m his. All his.

“She’s my patient now.” Drake speaks as if he’s voicing my thoughts, like we’re in cosmic communion right now, bonded in spirit and soul. Ridiculous, of course. But absolutely real in my mind as I watch Drake glance at me, flash that familiar grin with a hint of wickedness, then turn to my parents and nod seriously. “We’ll be moving Wanda to my private clinic near Lake Mead. I’ll be treating her condition there. You can follow us in your car, if you like. There’s a hotel in the area you can stay at if you’d like to stick around. But there’s no need. A few days under my care and Wanda should be out of danger.”

Mama blinks three times, gasps twice. “Is she in danger now?”

Drake flashes a mischievous look in my direction, then nods gravely at Mama. “Indeed. We need to get her to my clinic immediately. My car is out back. Let’s go.”

“She isn’t going anywhere.” Lenworth snorts loudly. “This is complete nonsense. Wanda isn’t in any danger at all. Her symptoms are mild, almost nonexistent, in my opinion. She doesn’t even need to be in a hospital, but since her UNLV student insurance covers everything, I figured what the hell, check her in for a day so she can settle down. We get students coming in here all the time with anxiety and panic attacks because they’ve procrastinated on their term papers and are looking to get out of doing the hard work.” Lenworth snorts again, shakes his head, then looks towards the open door, where there’s some activity near the elevator doors down the hallway.

Following Lenworth’s gaze, I see two burly hospital security guys exit the elevator and make their way down the hall towardsmy room. I glance at Drake, wondering if he’s serious about moving me to his private clinic. I’m still all turned around in my head, overwhelmed by a surreal sense that I’m halfway between reality and fantasy. I’m almost giggly and slap-happy right now, and although it’s cruel and awful, I love how Drake told Mama and Papa that I’m in grave danger and need to get to his private clinic right away.

Now my heart does a little hop, and suddenly panic streaks through me as I wonder if maybe there’s some truth to Doctor Drake’s diagnosis. Is my heart really worn out from so many different pills over the years? Uppers and downers. Stimulants and relaxants. A cocktail of capsules, pinks and purples, blues and green, yellows and blacks . . . oh, God, my head’s spinning now, heart speeding up, breaths coming in shallow bursts again, and here comes the heart-attack, here comes the seizure, oh please heal me, Doctor, make me whole again, make me come again, make me yours again . . .

My vision blurs and my ears are buzzing so loud I can’t hear what Lenworth and Drake seem to be arguing about. Then Drake turns towards me, notices my eyelids fluttering, and suddenly he’s by my side, snapping off his gloves and tossing them away, one hand gently stroking my forehead, the other slipped into my palm, our fingers interlocked as I look up into his blue eyes and see the concern twisting his handsome face into a mask of worry.

“Breathe, baby,” he whispers. “Breathe with me. Long inhale. Hold for a count of five. Now exhale as slowly as you can. That’s it, baby. I’ve got you. You’re doing great. Perfect. So perfect. There we go.”

The slow exhale does the trick. And it’s a well-known trick. There’s extensive scientific literature about how breathing affects your heartrate, how you can totally de-stress yourself by breathing in, holding for a few seconds, and then exhaling very slowly. Apparently, the slow exhale sends calming signals toyour body, causing it to stop releasing more adrenaline, and that causes your heart to slow down, and eventually it brings your entire body back into a steady state of calm.

Easier said than done, of course.

I’ve tried it for years, but it’s not that easy to do when you’re actually panicking or having a serious anxiety attack.

But with Drake taking control, suddenly it feels easy as . . . breathing.

“Can you sit up for me?” Drake whispers, glancing over his shoulders at Lenworth, who is talking to the security guys now. I hear Lenworth say something about the police, and now I remember something about a Code Blue down on the Second Floor, then some comment about Drake’s father being in the business of breaking kneecaps. “We need to get out of here.”

“She isn’t going anywhere, Drake.” Lenworth breaks from his hushed conversation with the security guys, strides over to the side of my bed across from Drake, and now he’s suddenly standing over me, gazing down at my body in a way that makes me uncomfortable even though I’m covered from neck to toe. “I can’t allow her to leave until the full twenty-four-hour observation period is done and everything checks out. It’s a hospital liability thing.”

“Bullshit.” Drake stands tall, gazing sternly at Lenworth. “This is a hospital, not a prison. And step back away from the bed, Lenny. You’re crowding Wanda, making her uncomfortable. Hey, did you hear what I said, Lenny? Step back right now.” Drake swallows hard, and I sense his entire body tighten, feel the protective instinct burning in him as his fists clench by his sides and his muscles coil like an animal about to pounce to protect its mate. “Lenny, step away from her or I’ll fuckingmakeyou step away.”

Drake’s voice lowers to a threatening growl, and I see primal fear streak across Lenworth’s face. Lenworth gulps, then stepsback and flicks his gaze towards the two big security guys by the door.

“Escort Doctor Drake downstairs to the lobby, please, boys.” Lenworth folds his long arms over his chest, flashes a smug, tight-lipped smile, then beckons with his head for the security guys to approach. “The good doctor can wait there while I talk to Miss Turner and decide whether we need to call the police. Or Drake can run home to Daddy if he wants. The cops know where to find him if they have any questions.” Lenworth raises his head and looks down his nose at Drake. “Your choice, Drake. What’s it going to be?”

Drake stands silently at the side of my bed. The two security guards are flanking him, one on either side. For one wild moment it seems like Drake is going to lash out at them, get into a physical fight. But then his body relaxes and he exhales, like he’s decided that punching two security guards isn’t the smartest choice for anyone.

“I’ll be right outside,” Drake whispers warmly to me. “Lenny’s just being an asshole. Tell him you want to be discharged, and he’ll send in a nurse to take your vitals. After that you can check yourself out of the hospital. That crap about liability is horseshit. They can’t hold you here against your will. I’ll be waiting for you, Wanda.” Drake pauses abruptly, blinks twice, a flash of uncharacteristic uncertainty in his eyes, a hint of that strange vulnerability I’d seen in him earlier, when he seemed to be upset that he’d upset me with that remark about how he shouldn’t have ever walked into this room. “Only if you want me to wait, of course. I mean, you don’t have to go with me. Oh, hell, I know this whole thing is crazy, but I can’t help feeling like . . . like you’re really mine, Wanda.”

Drake’s voice is so low even I can barely pick up the words. But they hit me hard, shake me to the core, touch something inme that makes everything make sense even though none of it makes sense.

Blinking up at Drake, I glance around the room. Lenworth is saying something to my parents now, and the two security guards are shifting uneasily on their feet behind Drake, like they’re impatient but not particularly interested in a physical altercation with a doctor.

“Do you really have a private clinic?” My voice is a whisper as I look up at Drake’s questioning eyes. When he nods, I suddenly realize that I need to make a choice right now. Lenworth is distracted talking to Mama and Papa by the door, but that won’t last long. The security guards are fidgeting behind Drake, but soon enough they’re going to escort him out of the room. Time is running out. If I say no, Drake probably isn’t going to stick around. He clearly doesn’t want Lenworth to call the police—for reasons I don’t really want to think about right now.

So should I tell Drake to just leave? That’s clearly the sensible option. Probably the safest option. After all, I know nothing about Doctor Drake. And what I do know should warn me to turn and run. Doctor Drake is just a walking talking series of red flags, isn’t he? This handsome smooth-talking doctor tells me I’m going to die unless he fingers me to orgasm? Then he wants me to come to his private clinic?

Oh, and he’s clearly hesitant about sticking around for when the police get here. And what was that about some patient dying on the Second Floor while the camera was off?

What the hell am I doing evenconsideringgoing to this guy’s private clinic?!

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