15. Everly
I loved the hustle and bustle of a hospital and the busy but strange peace of the delivery room. Still, I was determined to support people throughout the whole experience of pregnancy. For that reason, I worked a couple of days at a practice, learning about the patients and their experiences. I liked seeing the whole process, the inside view of the prenatal, labor and delivery, and immediate postpartum periods, doing clinic and hospital work gave me. So, I loved my job at the Oh, Baby Pregnancy Health and Wellness Center. But damn, it made me tired sometimes. Today was one of those days. Sighing, I stopped in the doorway of the exam room my patient had just walked out of and stretched with both hands pressed against my lower back.
“Cute scrubs,” Dr. Ruskin said as she passed by. “I love Gracie. You going on break?”
“Mm-hmm,” I said, holding back a yawn.
“Enjoy!”
I planned to. After working a double at the hospital yesterday to help a co-worker and waking up at five this morning, I was too tired to even eat. Instead, five minutes later, I was curled up in one of the comfortable recliners in the relaxation room, under a throw I brought for times like this, fighting off a nap. My phone rang and I groaned but fished it out of my pocket. I was surprised to see that it was Real; he rarely called during work hours, and we hadn’t talked since Sunday’s events—it was now Tuesday afternoon. I answered almost immediately then drew in an uncertain breath.
“You there, love?” he asked.
“Yeah. Hey,” I replied softly, the tip of my index finger slowly drawing and re-drawing a figure eight on my thigh.
“Hey. You busy?”
“On break.”
“You eating?”
I was quiet, not wanting to answer that question and get the response that I knew was coming. Real sighed, knowing what my silence meant.
“I told you about that shit, Ev. That’s why I took care—never mind. How you gon’ be a nurse, always on your feet, and won't take the time to eat? Ass gon’ be lightheaded over there. Only time you need to be passing out is when I put my mouth on that pretty pussy,” he growled at me.
Heat wound through me at his words, my mind flashing back to how that exact thing had happened the last time we were together. I cleared my throat, determined not to let him hear the effect he had on me.
“Montréal, I'm fine. How's your week been?” I asked.
The sexy sound of his soft chuckle greeted my ears. “You stay tryna change the subject, love.”
“I’m serious, though. Tell me. I hope things got better since Sunday.”
“You know how I feel about procrastinating. I handled Sunday’s problem on Monday.”
Handled? I wondered what he meant, but something about his tone told me not to ask.
“And since then?”
“I've just been working with my brothers, trying to stay on top of some of our joint projects. I didn't call you to talk about me, though. How are you—besides probably starving,” he pressed.
I couldn’t help smiling. “I see you have a flair for the dramatic this week. I'm too tired to be starving. Busy workdays. That's why I'm in this relaxation room fighting off a nap.”
As if to emphasize my point, a yawn erupted from me. Thank God I was getting off at 3:30 today, early enough to beat traffic, get home, shower, and climb in my bed with a good book until I drifted off.
“Relaxation, huh?” Real repeated, his voice lowering. “I can help you relax without falling asleep.”
I smirked. “Can you, Mr. Hamilton?” I teased, stretching.
“Shiii… you alone in that room?”
His deep voice, its tone promising pleasure, wrapped around me. Whatever he had in mind was clearly not work appropriate. That didn’t stop me from murmuring, “Mm-hmm.”
“Damn, you sound just like you do when I have that ass screaming for hours. I love that,” he rumbled.
“Mmm… Real?”
“Yeah, love?”
“Relax me.”
He laughed softly and I let my eyes drift shut at the sound.
“Green is your favorite color, I know. I want you to imagine that I take you to Hotel Emma, to one of the two-story suites you love. The bedroom is lit in green to soothe you, make you start to let go of your day. At the foot of the bed, I have a massage table set up?—"
“Ooh,” I sighed, loving the scene he was painting.
“Don’t get excited, yet. First, I gotta turn on one of these 90’s R&B playlists that you love. Then, once Boyz II Men gassing ya head up, I’ma run you a bath in that clawfoot tub. I’ma add some of that bubble bath and those bath salts you like, high ass shit,” he teased.
“The stuff from Margot Elena is top notch. And you bought it!” I reminded him.
“Only the best for you, love. The scent and the feel of it on yo’ skin makes my dick hard as— damn, you taking me out of relaxation mode. Stop trying to seduce me!”
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me. “Whatever. Continue.”
“A’ight. You soak that pretty body for a long time while I just watch you. I love looking at yo’ beautiful ass. You take a quick rinse in the shower. I dry you off, just a little moisturizing ‘cause you about to be oiled up in a minute. I lead you to the massage table and you drop the towel. I almost say fuck this massage.”
“Montréal! Focus! Relaxation,” I reminded him.
“Okay. You get comfortable on the table, giving me your back first. I pour a little oil on your spine. It’s warm. Smells like lavender and vanilla, since you relaxing. You feel it, love?”
“Mmm, I do. The heat feels good against my skin,” I whispered, playing along with his imagination.
Despite this being his attempt to relax me, I felt something winding, tightening, throbbing in my body and I shifted restlessly in the chair.
“Good. I rub it into your skin, gently at first, just getting a little bit all over. Then I go back to your shoulders. Still some tension there. I start on the left and work my way across slowly. So tight love, but I knead that shit right out of you. From your shoulders, down your back to your waist. Just the right amount of consistent pressure. It’s so good that you moan when I touch you.”
Of course, I would. I couldn’t help moaning when he touches me intimately. Something about his fingers stroking on and in my body sent me. It had since the first night I met him. My teeth sank into my bottom lip as I fought the urge to let my own fingers move.
“Your body feels good to me. Silky and soft from the oil and my hands. I reach for the oil again and dribble some on your ass, then watch it roll down, some of it straight down the crack. I have to stop myself from pulling those plump ass cheeks apart because if I see that oil drip on that tight, sweet little hole, I’ma have to fuck you there…”
“Real!” I gasped, squeezing my thighs so tightly, I was surprised they didn’t break.
“Shh, love. You relaxing. So, I’ma just massage those cheeks, coax you out of holding them so tense. Let that ass just rest in my palms while I stroke it. You letting go of that stress, baby. I feel it as I slide down to these thick ass legs. These thighs. I ever tell you how much I love these thighs? They multipurpose. I love that.”
“Multipurpose?” I repeated.
“Hell, yeah. These mofos can be ear warmers, beard protectors, safety belt?—”
I kissed my teeth. “Safety belt?”
“Yep. They definitely hold me in place when I’m riding that?—”
“Montréal! Just rub my legs, nasty. And don’t forget my feet!”
“You don’t know if you want to cum or laugh. But I like making you do both. And I ain’t gon’ forget them dogs,” he teased.
“They ain't dogs when you sucking them toes,” I sassed.
“Kissing them arches, either. Now, hush and enjoy this oil on the back of your knees.”
I hushed and enjoyed the imaginary warmth of the oil as it slid down my calves and the sweet eroticism of his description of rubbing my feet. I sighed as he made his way back up to my ass which he couldn’t seem to stay away from.
“I wanna rub this ass again so bad, love. This green light in here reflecting on shit. I feel like it’s telling me ‘go.’ But guess what? My hand slips down a little and...”
He gasped dramatically and I swallowed a laugh. “What, Real?”
“Why my fingertips a little wet? Let me find out this lil pussy leaking…”
I shifted, tossing off my throw, hot beyond words. “What if… what if it is?”
He chuckled softly. “Then, how you gon’ relax, love, when I’m ‘bout to wind yo’ body right back?—"
Real’s words were lost in the sudden, loud sounds of men arguing. What the hell? I’d never been to his office, but I imagined it as upscale and expensive-looking as he was. It wouldn’t be the place for scuffling and arguing.
“Sit yo’ ass down and shut the fuck up.”
Real’s tone was clipped and cold. I could tell he had moved the phone away from his mouth. Maybe I should hang up?—
“We’ll continue this tonight, love,” his voice rumbled in my ear abruptly.
“O-okay.” I was about to end the call, but instead… “Montréal?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful,” I whispered.
“I always am,” he said before hanging up.
I stared at my phone for a minute, hand over my mouth. What was that? All of that? Why were there men quarreling in his office? And why had I let him spin a fantasy for me? That was my job, but I drifted easily into the world he created. Blurring lines and boundaries like we had been doing more and more in the last few months. I needed to?—
My head snapped up as the door opened. Dr. Ruskin peeked in.
“You all right in here? You seemed like you were extra tired, so I just wanted to check on you,” she explained.
I smiled at her, glad to escape the questions in my head that I couldn’t answer. One more quick stretch and I folded the throw before standing up.
“I’m good. I actually think I’ma get some fruit out of the breakroom,” I said, crossing the room.
“Good. That should give you a little energy.”
We walked out into the hallway where one of the office assistants was headed our way.
“Ev, hey! I was just looking for you. I put your food in the breakroom on the table because it was still in the bag. But it is clearly labeled,” she said.
I frowned. “Food? I didn’t order anything.”
“It’s definitely for you, Ms. Lady, you know your name is distinctive.”
Before I could ask anymore questions, she was gone. Confused, I headed toward the break room, Dr. Ruskin on my heels. I opened the door and crossed to the rectangular table. A bag sat near the center, an envelope with my name clipped to the outside.
“Ooh, Two-Step Barbecue. If that’s brisket, somebody loves you, girl,” Dr. Ruskin said.
I rolled my eyes at her as I opened the envelope. The note was short.
Ev,
Keep pouring into your patients, love. I’ll be in charge of pouring into you.
Montréal
I wanted to melt. I couldn’t melt. So, I just sighed.
“A rest break and good food. I hope that helped you to relax and refresh,” Dr. Ruskin said softly.
I bit the inside corner of my bottom lip as I thought about Real’s relaxation techniques and his promise to continue them in person. My plans to go to bed early were gone, and I didn’t mind one bit.
“Something like that,” I murmured.