Chapter Fifteen Jeremy
Forty days. That’s how much time has passed since I had the most erotic experience of my life while on my knees in a dark basement. I would have stayed on my knees all night for her. But that’s not what Dr. Vanya Kapur had in mind.
With words that had sounded fragmented and forced, Vanya got dressed and led me upstairs. I was in a daze. What could I do except follow her lead? This was her house, her body, her choices.
When my head finally hit my pillow that night, it wasn’t fatigue that lay with me. It was the memory of Vanya. Her smell and touch and taste. The memory alone made me so hard, I had to jerk off again.
Forty days, countless hard-ons, and a dozen therapy sessions later, I’m as pissed as I am aroused.
Like all the other appointments in November, today involves Vanya and at least one other person in the room. Under the pretense of training aspiring physiatrists or consulting with Kyle, she behaves like I’m a series of body parts to fix instead of a man whose tongue was deep in her pussy.
She probably ran out of people in the medical center to buffer our meetings, which is why the Mavericks head trainer is here.
She and Lionel are yapping away about knee ligaments and new techniques and some fancy tests developed in Chicago. Kyle and I are heading there next week for the only appointment we could book that didn’t interfere with the Mavericks game schedule.
Vanya only ever talks about work now, her voice unwaveringly flat and aloof. Robotic, even. Not for the first time, I notice that she never engages in random small talk.
That’s not quite true. She has a lot of random things to say about musicals.
The thought makes me smile, because I miss that Vanya as much as I crave the woman whose body I can’t stop thinking about. Her willing submission is a gift. The smell of her hair and the shape of her lips. Everything about her heightens my senses. Her physical beauty, obviously, but other things intrigue me. The side of her she rarely shows the world—the one who talks about being a lonely kid in Toronto with musicals to keep her company—tugs at my compassion. Under her severe exterior is a person I want to know and a woman I want to impress.
After a while, the medical talk blends to blah, blah, blah. I’m not keeping up with their conversation, because I’m too distracted by Vanya’s aroma and too irritated by her goddamn indifference.
“The ultrasound is inconclusive with regards to his right hip. Kyle is taking him to Chicago next week for more advanced tests.”
I hate how she’s talking about me like I’m not here. That’s the other thing she does apart from avoiding my gaze. Vanya has not said my name since she screamed it mid-orgasm.
It’s Mr. Lopez or him . Never Jeremy. Not once in over a month have we talked about what happened.
I’ve been as understanding as possible about how delicate our situation is. She’s worried about her reputation at work. Got it. But am I supposed to fake amnesia? We did what we did. She needs to accept that our attraction is not going away any time soon. Instead of facing it head-on, she’s treating me like a problem she needs to solve with a goddamn committee of doctors and trainers. Nah. This is between us, and all these buffers are meaningless distractions.
Fuck that. I am done waiting.
“How’s your heater, Dr. Kapur?” I ask, abruptly ending their clinical talk. “Need me to take a look at it again?”
Her hands stiffen and her breath stalls. “It’s fine. All good,” she states choppily.
“Did you know we’re neighbors, Lionel?”
“I had no idea,” Lionel replies. “What a coincidence.”
“Isn’t it?” I agree with an exaggerated head tilt.
“You can barely tell, to be honest,” she says. “Our work schedules make it impossible to bump into each other.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s impossible, ” I contest. Vanya’s eyes narrow to suspicious points. That’s the first time she’s looked straight at me, so I take it as encouragement.
“For instance, she had some trouble with her heater a few weeks ago. It was late at night so no repair services could come. Good thing I was around, huh?”
“Umm, OK.” The Mavericks trainer’s eyes shift between us.
“In fact, I promised I would come by and take care of the soot on the thermocouple. We’re done with practice today. What are you doing after work?”
“I’m going out,” she answers quickly.
“Where?” It’s my turn to sound suspicious.
“Dinner,” she says dismissively.
“Sounds like a fun date,” Lionel states like an idiot. When she doesn’t deny the comment, jealousy chokes me.
“Are you almost done here?” I manage to say.
“I was going to hook you up to the TENS machine,” Vanya answers. “But if you’re not up for it today—”
“I’m up for it,” I bark rudely. “I was asking Lionel.”
“Sure, I can be done,” he says with a shrug. “Thanks for inviting me for the consultation, Vanya. A few other guys from the team are scheduled with you this week. Maybe I’ll see you then. Catch you later, Jer.”
He shuts the door on his way out. The weight of silence lingers. Her back is stiff as a board. When she finally turns around, her face is flushed, and her chest is heaving. The fabric’s stretch over her breasts offers a hint of puckered nipples. My mouth waters.
Vanya rolls the machine by my side. Icy, competent fingers attempt to connect me to the machine. I wrap a hand around her wrist to keep her still while I sit up.
“Jeremy,” she sighs, still refusing to meet my gaze.
“Are we ever going to talk about what happened, Vanya?”
“We got carried away,” she states defiantly. “It can’t happen again.”
“It’s more than that and you know it.”
Vanya pulls her hand away and steps back. “I am your doctor. Sexual misconduct is a clear breach of medical standards of care. The entire center could be sued for medical malpractice.”
“Sued? Who the fuck said anything about suing? I’m not a victim here. We’re both adults.”
“And as an adult, I’ve made my decision. I’m sorry that I let things go so far.”
“You’re sorry ?” I whip bitterly. “For which part, Vanya? For riding my face, or for making me come while on my knees?”
“Jeremy!”
“Are you seeing someone tonight?”
“No. I mean yes.” Her temples are damp, and her brows furrowed. The vulnerability of her uncertainty calls to me. I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her between my thighs. We fit perfectly.
“Cancel it.”
She shakes her head. “The sooner we get past this…whatever this is…the better.” With a vague glance down, she indicates the two inches of air between us. I pull her closer.
“You think dating a random guy is going to get you past this?” My hard cock throbs against her hot cradle. She doesn’t answer, so I keep going. “C’mon, Vanya. I’ve been so good, dreaming of my doctor’s sweet cunt instead of grabbing it in front of everyone. What’s my reward for being such a good boy, huh?”
Her fingers squeeze my biceps roughly. Those nails digging into my muscles are surprisingly erotic. Her desperation to resist the very thing she’s clinging to is an aphrodisiac.
“Why are you making this so difficult for me?” she mumbles.
“Fuck, Vanya, it’s difficult no matter what I do. Can’t have you and can’t stay away.” Those are the facts as clearly as I can state them. “Cancel your date. I’ll make you dinner and we can talk.”
“I don’t have a date tonight. Not exactly. I’m picking up my best friend from the airport. She’s staying for a few days.” She presses her lips tightly as if she’s stopping herself from saying more.
“Hmm, that’s interesting. You made me think you had a date before admitting it’s your friend. You did that on purpose, didn’t you? You’re trying to make me jealous,” I state with amusement.
“No! You’re the one who jumped to conclusions,” she argues with a huff. She isn’t mad, though. Her dimples dig even deeper when she’s trying to stop herself from smiling.
“Come over tonight. Both of you. I haven’t cooked for my friends for a while. It’ll be casual. Sabrina and Dex, maybe. A couple of guys from the team will probably invite themselves if I promise to make my mom’s chicken empanadas. And remember Rose and Ken from the theater?”
She tilts her head as if she’s trying to remember. I kiss a dimple because I can’t help it. Before she can complain, I continue. “Anyway, they’re old friends of my mom and love Guatemalan food. Doesn’t your friend want to meet the people you hang out with?”
She groans. “Yes, she does. In fact, I’m pretty sure she would introduce herself to you the first chance she gets.”
“Why? Do you guys talk about me?”
“No!” she objects defensively. “She has EDS, too. Ashley knows I’m working with you.”
“Even more reason to meet up. I don’t talk to a lot of people with my condition.”
“Neither does she,” Vanya sighs. “Are you sure you want to throw a dinner party tonight? Seems like short notice.”
“I can make Pepián de Pollo with my eyes closed.”
“What can I bring?”
“Your friend.”
“Please tell me what goes well with Guatemalan food. I can’t show up empty-handed. How about a salad?”
I resist the urge to pump my fist in the air. Knowing she’s coming over tonight feels like a victory.
“Bring whatever you want, Vanya. Just make sure you show up by eight or a whole lot of people will be crashing into your house for a dinner party.”