Page 61 of Written in the Charts

“Yes... I’m... room...”

“Good. Two minutes.” I hung up, realizing I wasn’t going to get any more out of her until I was on the first floor, and shoved my phone in my pocket.

Chelsea’s call stirred me up a bit. I wasn’t used to seeing her on weekends, and this being a Saturday, I hadn’t expected to have to deal with this problem until Monday morning.

When she was introduced to me as the new resident, I knew immediately that she was trouble. Not the sort of “she’s a bad girl, stay away from her” type of trouble that people warn you about. No, Chelsea was the sort of “she’s exactly my type, and I’m lonely and really want to find out what she looks like with her clothes off” type of trouble.

The problem was all mine—until she started flirting.

The past two weeks had been nothing but a battle to keep my body under control. Chelsea had a way about her that made her irresistible to my eyes. She was always modest, but she had curves for days, thighs I’d like to spread, and an ass I wanted to smack. And there I was, already undressing her with my mind again, and I hadn’t even seen her.

I walked into R/F and found Chelsea leaning into an X-ray film viewer, squinting at it. She had on her scrubs and a hair net, covering her modestly, but my dick didn’t seem to think it was modest. I could see the line of her panties across her ass through the thin blue material, keeping my eyes glued there instead of at her face or the X-rays she needed help with. She looked up at me in the dark room and smirked when she noticed where my eyes were.

“Dr. Marshal, eyes up here, please.” She grinned, pointing at her face.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, finding the strength to tear my eyes from her ass and place them on the X-ray. “Yeah, okay. What’s the issue?”

Chelsea pointed at the X-ray, where the disc bulged out disproportionately. “This is where I’m repairing the herniated disc. Does it look like the microdiscectomy is going to be enough?” Her eyes searched the X-ray, but after a single glance I knew the original findings were still correct. She hadn’t needed my second opinion.

I leaned against the wall, wondering what her game was. “I think we’ve been over this before. Why did you call me down here?”

The room was dark so that the film could be viewed properly. I almost didn’t pick up the smirk that passed over her face before she turned fully to look into my eyes. She was smart. She didn’t need my help at all. The vixen.

“I needed a reason to get you alone.” Chelsea turned and leaned her shoulder against the wall too, the two of us facing each other. My chest tightened.

After weeks of flirting in the office and driving me up a wall with arousal, now was when she chose to put the moves on me? Right before surgery?

“Alone?” I choked out, feeling my cock stir.

“We are always so... exposed... in that office. We have chemistry, Dr. Marshal.” Chelsea—nearly fifteen years younger than me—leaned forward, dragging her finger down my gig line to my waistband. “This is a bit more private.”

I was a professional. This was not appropriate at all. If anyone found out she had these feelings toward me, or that my body was reciprocating them one hundred percent, I’d be out of a job. In fact, I’d lose my position as head of surgery too. She’d never be able to work in this hospital again. The ramifications were huge.

“We shouldn’t really be doing this, even if we are both consenting adults who want it.” I didn’t back away.

I should have backed away. I should have left the door open, pulled out my phone, imagined my own mother naked—anything to keep my dick from swelling the way it was.

But it was too late.

Chelsea’s hand cradled my package, squeezing it as she leaned in for a kiss.

Her lips were soft, tasting like cherry lip gloss. I didn’t resist her. I dived into that kiss like a two-year-old who loves the water and escaped from their mother.

Our tongues danced against each other, forcing one another back as they searched for entrance. The way she massaged my cock through my pants had me growling into her mouth, and my hand instinctively shot to her breast.

I pinned her against the wall, finding it far more pleasurable to feel her entire body pressed against mine. Her hand, trapped between our pelvises, continued to cajole my dick to full mast. “We can’t do this,” I hissed, pulling my mouth away from hers, but she hooked her other hand around my neck and forced me back against her.

“We can’t stop,” she whispered, teasing me by biting my lower lip. “Because if we do and there is something here, we will never forgive ourselves.”

My hips started grinding of their own accord, sexually frustrated and demanding to be bared. She whimpered when I pinched her nipple, hardened and showing through the fabric of her scrubs.

“Shit, you’re making me so wet. How the fuck will I concentrate for this surgery?”

I placed both hands on the wall beside her and pulled away, leaving inches between our bodies. “You have pushed my buttons for weeks, and as much as I want to bend you over that desk and fuck you right now, you can’t do this.Wecan’t do this. I’m your boss. And you have a surgery to perform.”

“Dr. Gates to theater three. Dr. Gates, theater three, please.” The intercom interrupted us, calling Chelsea to the surgical suite where her patient lay waiting.

“Then we finish this later?” Her hand, still cradled around my cock, massaged, her thumb stroking up and down the side of my shaft and driving me wild.

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