Chapter 7
Seven
Riley
“You talk and fight in your sleep a lot.” A deep, silky voice startles me awake. Sam sits in a chair in the corner of the room with his ankles crossed and elbows resting on his knees.
I try to sit up but with how well I’m still tucked in, all I can do is lift my head. “How long have you been there?”
“Only the last three hours or so. I was observing your sleeping habits. We can do today’s testing in this bed if you’d prefer?”
Glancing around, I nod, wiggling my arms as best I can under the covers. “It’s more comfortable than the table.”
“I’ll change the sheets while you eat your breakfast on the couch. I think you should relax a little before we get started. No TV, though, because you’re still on limited screen time with that concussion of yours.”
“What else should I do?”
“Go back to sleep for a little longer after you're done washing up for the day. You look tired. Doctor’s orders.” A smile spreads across his face and he stands up.
“Your waffles are on the fold-out table outside the room. After I help get you settled, I’ll have to head upstairs to answer some important emails, and then I’ll be back in an hour to help you wash up in the shower.
“Okay. Can I get some new clothes?”
“I’ll bring you a fresh gown. You won’t need any clothes until later. We have another long day ahead of us once you wake up again.”
“A gown is fine.”
“What are some foods you like? I need to go to the store later.”
My shoulders lift. “I’m not picky. I like most things. Everything you’ve fed me has been great so far.”
“I’ll keep surprising you, then.” He places the wedges back in the closet and pulls the covers out from under me, helping me out of the bed.
I stretch out my limbs as I hold on to him and my knees wobble.
I clench my teeth with each step, and when we exit the room, my food is waiting for me where he said it was and I eat slowly, savoring every bite.
Looking at the TV, I think about how I’ve been allowed to watch all the shows I never could before.
I sip my water, hearing Stephen’s voice in my head.
“We can’t afford cable or streaming services,” he would say, because he needed something else—a new coat for winter, pants for work, computer for school, or whatever else he’d come up with when I wanted to spend money on myself.
I’ve been spoiled here. Home-cooked meals, silky pajamas, a luxurious bed, and I occasionally forget why being here is so bad.
“I'll be back,” he says, adjusting the throw pillows behind me. “If you need anything before that, just shout and I’ll hear you.”
“The cameras,” I say, looking around, curious whether I could spot any area that might look off. Nothing does.
“Yes, the cameras,” he says so casually. Like yeah, I’m watching your every move all hours of the day, even when you think you’re alone. No big deal. Has he been peering in on me while I’m in the bathroom too? A horrified feeling comes over me and then arousal flushes it away. What the fuck?
This whole patient and doctor thing has gone too far, hasn’t it?
It could be worse, I remind myself. It could always be worse.
I could be sitting on a thin, cardboard-like mattress and eating slop from a cafeteria, surrounded by guys who are serving time for committing crimes much worse than mine.
I mean, if he wasn’t watching me, he wouldn’t have been able to come down so fast to help me when he did. So there’s that.
Yeah, it could be worse.
The food is as good as it’s been the last few days here, and I eat a little too fast, wondering if he was watching me during my almost-choking episode.
Would he get down here in time? That’s not something I want to put to the test. It’s not.
Definitely not. I take a swig of my water, and when I’m five episodes into Stranger Things, the basement door creaks open and Sam comes into view. He has his sleeves rolled up.
The muscles in his biceps appear more defined, and I get a better view of his tattoos as he gets closer. Palm trees, fish, and sea turtles.
“Do they mean anything?” I ask before I can overthink what comes out of my mouth.
“Does what mean anything?” His forehead wrinkles and he inches closer, moving the tray to the side of the couch before stacking the plates. He leaves them where they are and his attention reverts back to me as I try to find my words again.
“The tattoos on your forearms.”
He looks himself over and shrugs. “Only that I like the beach. It holds some of my favorite memories as a kid and has made me feel at peace as an adult.”
I’m finally learning more about him. “You go often?”
“It’s two hours away, so not as much as I’d like. Do you like the beach?”
“I think so.” I scoot to the edge of the cushion.
“What do you mean, you think?” He lowers himself beside me.
“I’ve never actually been. My boyfriend always said we could never afford it, but probably because he had other priorities like doing shit for himself and my best friend.”
“That’s too bad. You definitely should go sometime. Don’t hitch a ride there, though.” His elbow brushes mine and I laugh, looking down between us.
“Why? Getting jealous at the thought of another weirdo doctor picking me up and asking me to be his patient?”
“Well . . . I wasn’t before, but now . . .” The corners of his eyes crinkle with humor and we both bark out a laugh.
“Shower time?” I cock my head and rest a hand above my knee.
“Yeah. I don’t have to be in there the whole time. I have a chair and I can help you sit—”
“No chair please. I want to use every opportunity I have to stretch my legs.”
“I'll have to stand close by, then.”
“Doctor’s orders?”
“You already know the answer to that question.” His eyes turn downward.
“Yeah. I do. And who am I to go against them?”
“You’re not a bad patient, are you? Because only a bad patient would consider it?”
“I . . . I feel I should, but . . . I want you to help me. What if I get dizzy again? It took a lot for me to get to the couch this morning.”
“You don’t have to worry about all that. I’m going to be with you the whole time. We can collect your urine sample before too, if you feel like you could go for me right now that is.”
I nod, swallowing when there’s a tightness in my throat. “I could. I’ve been holding it this whole time, actually.”
He clicks his tongue. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want to bother you, and I’m pretty good at waiting.”
“That’s not good for your bladder. What have I said before?”
I bite the inside of my cheeks and respond. “A good patient listens to his doctor.”
“That’s right. Let’s get you that relief I’m sure you need.” He stands up and reaches his hand out.
I take it and he pulls me to my feet, yanking me to his side when I lean too far to the right.
“Still not very steady, are you?”
“I haven’t been up much since yesterday, so maybe that’s it.”
“Possibly. After your nap we can go for a walk and see if exercise helps.”
“Yoga probably would.”
His eyes light with interest as he guides me to the bathroom. “Do you do yoga?”
“Yeah. Helps me stay nice and limber for when I need to outrun people.”
“You think you could outrun me?” We stop in front of the toilet and he holds me in place.
My heart leaps. “Now? Not likely. But on any normal day, yes.” I lift the front of the gown, and he grabs a clear cup from the cabinet in front of us, taking a wipes packet with it.
“Hmm. We may have to put that to the test when you’re feeling better. It can be your send-off race.” His lips bunch when I glance back at him, and I snort. His arms close around me as he rips the top of the small white package and wipes my slit then uses the other side to clean around it.
Blood flow rises in my cock, and I think of my ex fucking my best friend in our cheap futon bed I got during a Black Friday sale. My body relaxes, my cock going flaccid as he leads it to the cup.
“Almost done.” He points my cock downward and rubs my lower stomach. “This one is all you.”
I chuckle and close my eyes, blowing out a breath as I empty my bladder in one push.
“That’s it. That’s a nice color. But we’ll probably increase your water intake to get it more where it needs to be.”
“No one’s ever held my cock while I pissed before,” I tease.
He lets out a high-pitched sound with the back of his throat. “You’ve got jokes this morning. That’s good. It means you feel comfortable.”
“Or the opposite."
“What do you mean? He takes the cup away, and as I flush the toilet, he screws the lid on after sitting it on the counter.
“I . . . there are people who crack jokes when they’re nervous or feeling awkward.”
“Are you any of those things?” He slowly turns me around to face him.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“So, you’re not one of those people, then?”
“Actually, the opposite. I get shy and quiet.”
“So I was right, then, and nothing you said was relevant to anything happening right now,” he says in a bored-sounding tone.
“Yeah.” I let out an uneasy laugh and run my shaky fingers through my hair, facing the shower.
His arm reaches around me as he sticks out a hand to turn on the shower. He checks the temperature next and then has me do it too before helping me out of my gown.
It doesn’t take much for him to have the gown falling to the ground, and as I’m stepping in, he blocks the cold air and closes the curtain, leaving only a small gap.
Stepping back, I close my eyes and sink into the warmth of the water. The pressure is wonderful, and the shampoo he uses to wash my hair smells like fresh flowers. The soap is exfoliating, and there are new loofahs on a rack that he doesn’t touch. He uses only his hands. For my whole body.
“I figured I’d get the physical part out of the way now so we can skip it later.”
His hands move up and down my body, my legs trembling when his fingers caress my balls. He makes a humming noise, eyes partially closed as he squeezes each of them.
“Everything feels healthy so far. Maybe a little swelling, but that’s an easy fix.”