Page 5 of Dying for the Doctor

Because there’s no turning back from this.

No turning away from her.

“Listen,” I say again as I stalk closer to the bed, my gaze riveted on Wanda all bundled up in those sheets, staring at me with a mix of surprise and suspicion, like she trusts me in that automatic way everyone trusts a doctor, but is also wary in that instinctive way a rabbit fears the wolf.

And I amallwolf right now.

An alpha wolf who’s just picked up the scent of his mate.

The aroma of his forever.

“I’m . . . I’m listening,” Wanda stammers as I stop right up against the side of the bed, so close I can smell her warm musk, that intoxicating mix of clean perspiration and the remnants of last night’s deodorant on her skin.

I take a heavy breath, inhaling her scent with a primal snort that makes my cock throb. I’m seeing stars now, and I grip the cold metal bedframe to stop my hands from ripping those sheets off Wanda. Fuck, the seductively undulating shapes of her curves beneath the sheets are driving me insane. Growing up as a boy in Vegas, you’ve already been to a hundred strip-clubs by the time you’re thirteen, have seen more naked women than your memory banks can hold. But somehow the mystery of Wanda’s hidden curves is the most arousing sight I’ve ever witnessed, generating the most visceral arousal I’ve ever felt for a woman.

She’s mine.

I know it.

I feel it.

I want it.

“Listen,” I say for maybe the tenth time, not sure what I’m trying to say. Or maybe I know exactly what I’m going to say and need to stop before I expose myself as a sex-crazed maniac, a pervert about to violate that sacred trust between doctor and patient.

Now my gaze drops to the shining stethoscope dangling around my neck like a twitching tentacle. With trembling fingers I plug the buds into my ears, then smile as reassuringly as I can, hoping to hell it’s not that psycho-killer grin which had come over me earlier when I saw what’s mine and decided to take it, no matter what I have to do, what I have to say, whom I have to deceive, what I have to sacrifice.

“Relax,” I whisper through my smile as I bring the stethoscope sensor towards her trembling body. “Lie back, Wanda. And lower that sheet so I can get to your chest.”

“Um, what?” Wanda’s eyes go wide and her mouth hangs open. Her cheeks flush with red streaks of either panic or arousal, maybe a bit of both.

Hell, I’m panicking too right now. What the hell am I doing? I should be halfway home by now. I just killed one of Dad’s “business associates” down on the second floor. I’m supposed to be a ghost in a white lab coat, in and out like the grim reaper at night. Instead I’m digging myself into a hole, painting myself into a corner, getting very close to doing something dangerously reckless.

For a moment I almost find the strength to back away from the bed, but in that very same moment Wanda nods hesitantly, leans her head back against the pillow, and lowers the bedsheet down past her neck and breasts.

“Oh, fuck,” I groan under my breath at the sight of her smooth neck, the V of the hospital gown opened just enough that I can see her cleavage, that seductive space between her cute breasts. “I mean, oh luck . . . what luck that I got to you soon enough.”

Wanda gasps as I place the cool stethoscope sensor on her chest, on the bare skin above her neckline, gently moving it in circles over her smoothness. Her heartbeat sounds like thunder in my ears—though maybe some of that is my own blood hammering in my temples. Still, a quick glance at the heart-monitor tells me Wanda is pretty damn worked up too, and when I unintentionally drag my fingertips against her bare skin as I move the stethoscope tantalizingly close to her cleavage, her nipples visibly prick up beneath the cool cloth of that flimsy hospital gown.

“Is it serious?” Wanda murmurs as I stare at the gorgeous outline of her nipples beneath the gown.

“Very serious.” I speak firmly now, gulping back a groan of arousal before glancing at her face with the most professional doctorly expression I can muster with my cock the size of a torpedo against the side of her bed. “Your heartbeat is rhythmically arrythmatic with a dangerously technotronicambience displaying a stochastic reverse-osmotic metronomical cadence. Do you know what that means?”

Wanda stares in unbridled panic. “No!”

Good, I think with a grim nod. I don’t know what the fuck any of that means either. “It means you’re dying, Wanda. All those quack doctors have overprescribed too many medications over the years, and your heart’s natural rhythm has been severely disrupted. You need radical intervention to reset your rhythm. To save your life. To fix your heart.”

Wanda’s forehead furrows in the cutest possible way as I lie like a dog in the sun, betray the most basic oath a doctor takes, shamelessly spew bullshit like it’s the gospel truth because my cock has taken over, my balls have seized control of my brain.

“I’m . . . I’m dying?” she whispers. “My heart is . . . broken?”

“Exactly.” The lies pour out of me like water gushing from a mountain spring. But I don’t give a damn. A switch has been flipped, and my cock and my brain have joined forces to push out any moral considerations, any sense of right and wrong. She’s mine, and I will do anything, say anything,beanything to claim what’s mine. “Now, when was the last time you had an orgasm?”

“What?!” Wanda almost chokes out the word. Her body shivers beneath my fingertips, her eyes going wide as she looks up at my wicked mug grinning down at her like a fucking lunatic as I stand above her with a stethoscope and an erection, making up fake medical conditions and spewing deceit with alarming alacrity. “An . . . anorgasm? How . . . how is that relevant to anything?”

“It’s relevant to everything, Wanda.” Losing the smile, I look gravely down at her, place the stethoscope against her chest again, right at the point where her cleavage begins. “I’m a doctor, Wanda. Just answer the question. You do have a boyfriend, I presume?”

“Why . . . why would you presume that?” Wanda stares down at my fingertips on her skin, so close to that forbidden space down the front of her gown.

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