Page 3 of Taking Her Medicine

He wore cobalt blue scrubs the same shade as his eyes. A stethoscope hung around his neck, but I couldn’t tell if he was headed to work or just coming off shift. Aaron pressed the back of his hand to my head, but I stepped out of his reach to prevent a further assessment.

“Are you sick, Zoelle?”

“Yeah.” Given what I’d been imagining him doing to me, I’d bet my cheeks were flushed. He entered without an invitation and shut the door behind him. His arrival pointed in the direction of an unsolicited house call. “Did you need something?”

“No, not exactly. I haven’t seen you in a few days, so I stopped by. What’s bothering you?”

“My throat mostly. My head. The rest of me.” I shrugged as he glanced over my body.

“You should make an appointment with your doctor. You don’t look so well.”

“I don’t have a doctor,” I admitted sheepishly. “Medical people, uh, scare me.”

“You promised to do more things that scare you.”

“It’s probably just a cold or something, Aaron.”

“Do you own a thermometer?”

“Not really.”

Why did I say that?

I didn’t own the style of thermometer typically used on an adult, just my fantasy-fueled one with the pretty pear-shaped bulb designed for somewhere other than my mouth. I seldom engaged in solo play with it, instead hoping one day I’d find someone who’d be willing to use it on me for fun.

“Do you have one or not?”

“Yeah.”

“Go get it. If you have a fever, you’re going to the clinic.”

“I don’t know where it is.”

Aaron sighed. “Find it.”

I shuffled to my bedroom, dragging my feet. His bossy tone shot straight to my pussy. How could I return with the red-cased thermometer without being mortified? His thoughts wouldn’t jump to some sort of medical fantasy the way mine did. I fumbled around in my room for five solid minutes, pretending that I didn’t know exactly where the thermometer lived, and grabbed it along with a jar of Vaseline.

Returning to the living room, I saw Aaron leaning against the mantel of the fireplace. He raised his eyebrows as I set the items down on my coffee table but did not make a smartass comment. Instead, he crossed the space in several quick strides. My mouth watered at the realization my long thought about fantasy was about to be enacted. Granted, it was for a real medical purpose, but the thought caused thrills to run through my body all the same.

“It was the only one I could find,” I offered. It was a lame explanation.

“I don’t care where the thermometer goes at long as it gets a reading. This way is more accurate anyhow.” He opened the case and shook down the thermometer with three fast snaps of his wrist. Quickly unscrewing the jar’s lid, he dipped the glass rod into the thick ointment. “Roll over.”

“This isn’t some secret fantasy.” I forced a laugh, but it was strained.

“Obviously not or you’d be more cooperative.”

“Unless being made to submit is part of the fun.” I glanced up at my ceiling as if I had an escape hatch ready to suck me up from the couch to transport me out of awkward conversations. I grabbed a water bottle from the coffee table, the one I’d been sipping on and off, and downed a few swallows, my mouth suddenly parched. I winced from the flare of pain.

“If your throat is hurting you that much, you might have strep, sweetheart.”

“I’m not that sick.”

“Lie down and lower your pants.”

“Aaron—”

“Now.”

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