Chapter 11
Eleven
Sam
He smiles in his sleep. It’s adorable. I stroke his cheek as he wiggles in my lap.
We were watching Lord of the Rings, the second movie, and he barely made it forty minutes in.
We’d had a busy morning. He woke up rubbing himself on me in bed, moaning and whimpering while needing to relieve some pressure.
My poor sweetheart was hurting in his sleep.
He had really neglected himself down there for too long.
So had that worthless ex of his. He’s out of the picture now and has his attention elsewhere, but he shouldn’t get to be happy after what he did.
After the rejection and hurt he caused. Riley didn’t deserve that.
Some would say he doesn’t deserve what I’m doing now, but they also wouldn’t understand.
I want to say I don’t want to be how I am, and that I wish I could be a better person, but after having him here, I only want to be more of what I am.
More of what he needs me to be. We both get too much from this.
Him as much as me. I see it in his eyes.
They’re so begging when I’m about to leave a room, relief flooding them whenever I return.
“Sam,” he says with a soft sigh, rubbing at his eyes.
“Hey, my little patient. My bestest, cutest patient.”
He stretches out, rubbing his face against my stomach. “How long have I been out . . . and wait . . . did you call me cute?”
“Yeah.” I run my fingers through his hair.
“Is that . . . is that all part of the patient-doctor bedside manner? Is this what they taught you in school?”
“No.” I give a half smile. “Not at all. If anything, I shouldn’t have your head in my lap and your cum lingering on my tongue.”
“So you wouldn’t try to do that with anyone else?”
“It’s not supposed to happen this way with anyone. No one else needed what you did. Not from me.”
“I . . . I’m only following doctor’s orders.” His voice trembles.
“Yes, you are, but it’s also more than that. We both know it is.”
“I’m not sure what I know.” He starts to sit up and I push him back down.
“You know that you’re feeling better today, and you know that you want to keep it that way.”
“What else do I know,” he scolds. “Since you’re such an expert on what’s going on in my head?”
“That you’re soon going to ask for eight weeks, but you haven’t yet because you’re worried I’ll say no. That I’ll want to end our doctor-patient relationship.”
“Do you not think I’ll be better in eight weeks?”
“No,” I answer swiftly.
“Is it because you don’t think any of these methods you’re using are working?”
“No, sweetheart. They’re working, but there’ll only be new problems that will replace them. New tests needed to be taken. New bandages to be placed and new stitches put in. Maybe even small surgical procedures.”
“That . . . you want to keep having reasons to treat me. Am I like, some guinea pig to you? Someone to prod, poke, and experiment on?”
“That’s not why there’ll always be more, and you know that.” I cup his face and hold it in place when he tries to look away again “You’re not practice for anything. You’re the real deal.
“Why, then? No one ever gets that sick and hurt. No one.”
“Not anyone who doesn’t want to.”
“Why would I want this?” His breaths quicken.
“That’s something you’ll have to ask yourself.” I squeeze tighter, and he flinches when I use my other hand to stroke down his chest.
A muscle ticks in his cheek. “I don’t know. I . . .” His eyes water.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay to want what you want.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Not everything is meant to be understood. Especially not at first. It will all come together later. It’s already starting to fall into place.”
“You said you had one other patient. Did you mean like me?”
“He was nothing like you,” I grit out. “He was nothing, period. A poor substitute and a small stepping stone closer to where I was supposed to be.”
“Did he . . . did you have him strapped to your bed too?”
“No. We only did basic checkups. Temperature taking, blood pressure cuff, throat checks, and ear checks.”
“That all?”
“Blood draws, urine samples he gathered himself, and shots.”
“No treatments or therapies?”
“He didn’t need them. He didn’t need anything from me, and I didn’t care to give him more than I already did. He had a cold and I tried to treat it, but he was very stubborn. It was worse than that. Not only was he refusing the meds I offered and breathing treatments, he also—”
“Wasn’t grateful,” he finishes for me.
My chest hums with pride. He knows all the answers more than he realizes.
“He wasn’t. Not at all. He had a very high tolerance to pain and was very quiet with each poke of a needle he received.
He barely squirmed when I inserted the catheter too, to get a cleaner sample, so I didn’t bother going through with it. ”
“What happened to him?”
“He promised to find me someone better if I didn’t expose him for what he’d done.”
“Was it something he did to you?”
I swallow hard. “Something he was going to do to me, but I was quicker than him. Smarter. And he had a terrible poker face. He was the kind of person who carried all his secrets on the surface, and anyone with a good eye could see it.”
“What about me?”
“You only share just enough and make me work for the rest. You have me on the edge of my seat as I slowly peel each layer to make what I’m already seeing clearer.”
“You’re not easy to figure out either. Probably worse than me.” His gaze doesn’t stray from mine, even when I pull my fingers away.
“The person who truly wants to know me will.”
“I’ve been here a little over a week and I can’t say that I know you.”
“You know all the important things—what matters.”
“I know you’re a doctor and very loyal to your favorite patients.” He takes a breath before continuing. “I know you don’t snore when you sleep, your favorite food is tacos, and you can watch Lord of The Rings every day without getting bored.”
“Keep going,” I say in an encouraging tone.
“I know that you don’t like being on the phone much or wearing wrinkled clothes or anything that isn’t black, gray, or navy blue.”
I laugh. “Go on.”
“I know you prefer the right side of the bed, using homemade soaps, and only light unscented soy candles. I . . . I . . .” His chest rises and falls heavily. “I know you.”
“Yes.” I smile, tracing the seam of his lips. “You do.”
“You’re a doctor, but practicing in a professional environment isn’t enough for you.”
“It’s not.”
“You don’t see me as your second patient.”
“No,” I say without missing a beat.
“You see me as your only patient.”
“The only one I’ll ever have and want.”
He nods in understanding, hands lowering to fumble with the bottom of his shorts and the string of his pants. “Twelve weeks.”
“What about it?” I cock a brow.
“I don’t think I’ll be ready to leave at least until after that.”
“Then I don’t either.”
He sits up, pressing his back to the couch cushions, and laces his fingers in mine. “Can we go for a walk now?”
“As long as you’re feeling up to it.”
He glances down at his lap and then lifts his gaze to mine again. “I think it’ll be better to go after relieving some pressure first.”
“You mean in your prostate?”
He wiggles beside me. “Yeah, and here.” He rubs at his cock. “It feels very swollen and tender.”
“I think I have just the thing to help with both.”
“Should we go downstairs, then?”
“Yes. This will be better done on the exam table with everything sterilized.”
He loops his arm around mine, signaling for me to lead the way, and I do.
Leading him places has been one of my favorite things to do.
He follows so easily, though I think if he could, he’d be there before me so he could wait.
Then when he saw me showing up, he’d get the validation he never got from his ex, foster brother, or anyone else.