27. Georgie #2
We fade into the typical doctor-patient discussion.
How are the flares? Bad. Are you taking the medications we’ve prescribed?
Like clockwork, even though they’re clearly not working.
How’s weight loss coming? Non-existent because I can’t exercise without flaring, and I can’t lose weight without exercising and being fat doesn’t help, but it’s not the main source of my HS and thank you for reminding me you still think the pain is all in my head and that over the counter pain meds are perfectly fine to keep me going.
She requests an in-person visit to confirm I am flaring as often as I say I am, because of course, like most doctors she doesn’t believe me.
When I go in this time, it will be with the intention of getting a second opinion.
Which is to really say that I want a millionth opinion because Dr. Harris is my sixth doctor after all this time.
The only doctor I felt that was helpful left her practice when I was sixteen because she had a baby, and since then it’s been a struggle to find a doctor who doesn’t make me feel like this is my fault.
In the beginning, Dr. Harris was hopeful and helpful, but then she realized how drug-resistant I am, how difficult my case was, and she got more patients, and more patients.
“Thanks,” I say in lieu of a goodbye before hanging up my phone, the hard ball at the back of my throat sticking with each swallow.
The burn in my eyes from trying to keep from crying in frustration.
I drop my phone on the counter, glaring at it as if they’re still on the phone. “For fucking nothing.”
“Everything okay?” Noah’s voice startles me, and I look up to find him in front of me on the other side of the counter, eyes wide, when he realizes how upset I am.
I sigh, shaking my head. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s obviously something,” he says, walking around to pull me into his arms. I feel myself instantly relax and sigh again.
“Don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay. You can, though, when you’re ready. Or if you need anything—”
“I’m fine,” I snap, and then flinch because I fucking hate that I can be reactive as I am when all he’s trying to do is show he cares. “Sorry—”
“It’s…” He wants to say it’s okay, I know he does, but it’s not okay, and I know it’s not okay, and it makes this feel even worse.
His face shifts, “Listen, I know it’s not my business, but if you want to make it my business, you know I am here.
I want you to trust me, but I understand if it’s too much right now. ”
I hide my face and sniffle. I hate that he’s seeing me like this, but his hands are at the small of my back, and he’s pressing a kiss to the top of my head, and he’s just so— “Why?”
He furrows his brows in confusion, “Why what?”
“Why are you so… perfect? Like why are you so nice to me? I was just shit to you and I hate it and instead of getting mad at me you’re…”
I huff and look up at him and his expression hurts my heart. It’s so fucking soft, so kind, so sweet… So Noah, I can’t take it. I look away, but his hand cups my cheek and swipes away a stray tear that didn’t stain his shirt.
“I know you don’t mean to get upset with me.
I know you’re not trying to hurt me intentionally.
I know you’re only reacting out of fear and anger, and hurt.
I know I care about you, and I know that you’re probably used to people reacting badly to the lashing out.
I won’t. We talk it out, or we don’t talk about it. Okay?”
I meet his eyes; this clear, soft, fond expression on his face is too much.
He’s too much, I can’t even with him. I kiss him, gently with enough effort to say everything I couldn’t out loud, and the sigh, that sweet sigh he lets out as he melts into me, into the moment, into the kiss, it gives me chills.
“Okay, kiddos. Mom and Dad need some alone time. Let’s go for a walk!” Franny’s voice echoes from the front door, and we pull away breathless and grinning as we see her waving over her shoulder, two leashes in the other hand and the two dogs following behind her as the door swings shut.
“We have some alone time…” Noah says thoughtfully.
“Hm, that we do. Imagine what we could do…”
“I have some ideas.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.
“Oh, do you now?”
“I do. It would start with this…” He kisses my cheek, then down to my neck. “And this…”
“Yes,” I say breathless, shivering at his touch. "Please…"
"That's my line." he teases, but he gives in and does it again, his teeth grazing my skin, burning hot for only him.
"Noah," I hiss when he sucks hard and leaves love bites plain as day on my collarbone.
He chuckles, "Am I in trouble?"
"You're about to be if you don't start touching me—shit."
He does as he's told, equal parts menacing and playfully.
His fingers trace over my goose-bumped skin, down across my chest and then he's cupping my breast in his impossibly huge, but delicate hand.
His fingers find my perked nipple through the fabric and gently brushes over it.gentle touch.
But I don't want gentle. I want anything but gentle.
"What do you need, Georgie?" His breath is hot on my skin, and it makes me shiver with want, need...
"I want..." I gasp when he twists gently on my sensitive nipple. He's undoing me with just a simple touch, and my hands grapple for purchase, nails sinking into his soft unclothed skin.
"I can't hear you," He sing-songs with laughter.
"Oh, you're in for it now," I mutter to him, raking my hands down his arms, leaving pretty pink nail marks in their wake.
He gasps, but that smile, gods, it's like I am giving him everything he wants and then more. I feel him slowly backing up, pulling me with him, and the glint in his eyes is enough to have me falling apart right here, just from a single knowing smile.
Who cares what I wanted before? It doesn't matter.
Now, all I want to do is wipe the smug smile off his face, and I know I can.
And I do just that when I push him against the wall, my hand against his chest, making him stay, and the look on my face tells him exactly what I am thinking.
Like the flip of a switch, Noah's eyes soften, his pupils dilate, and his breath hitches.
His soft pink lips drop open, and his body relaxes between me and the wall.
He sighs when my hand reaches up and cups his cheek before tracing his jaw back so my hand can cart through his hair, scratching his scalp just the way I know how to to turn his knees to jelly.
I grip a little tighter just to watch him squirm, other hand brushing down his chest.
"I'm sorry," He breathes, but the smile still on his face, bringing those soft dimples out in his cheeks that he denies he has, tells me he's anything but sorry.
"I don't think you are... but it's okay, I forgive you," I say with a shrug. I pat his chest, "Stay."
"Yes." He responds instantly, and it's so beautiful to see how flushed he gets when we do this. It's not something we talk about, it just happens. We slip into these roles, and it makes my heart sing to see the way he reacts to a simple look or touch, holding on to my every word.
"What to do, what to do," I tease as I look down at his body. I grip at the hem of his shirt, "This has got to go."
He whips it off like a man on a mission, throwing it somewhere on my hallway floor.
With the grey tee off, I can see just how affected he is just by this moment.
His chest is flushed like his face; it rises and falls heavily.
He lets his hands fall back to his sides, fidgeting with the pockets of his pants.
They cling to his body in just a way that lets me see all of him.
The prominent curve of his erection practically begging to be released.
He watches me, like there's nowhere else in the world this man would rather be.
It's overwhelming how much he trusts me, and it's so easy to forget the life around us when he's looking at me like this, and I am the reason he looks this... serene. Peaceful.
I shudder at the thought, a smile on my face when I put my hand back on his chest. I trace my nails in swirls, never letting him figure out just which way I will go.
I trace over his nipples and relish in the choked gasp I receive from him, the shocked expression on his face as I flick my nail across one, then the other, again and again until he's a shivering mess. His hands become fists at his side trying to keep himself from touching me or trying to take over. I love his self control, and would love to see the side of him that could take over my every thought the way I do to him. Maybe I should tell him that, but not now, not when he’s beautiful like this, not when he's bucking his hips out of instinct and unintentional reaction to my touch and gasping when I pinch this time.
I raise my eyebrow at him. "You okay?"
"Yes. Please. This is..." He rests his head back against the cool wall, thank you, air conditioner gods and thank you, Noah for getting me said AC, and he sighs contentedly when my hand slowly trails down and then stops just above his waistband.
"Continue..."
He swallows hard and shivers, "I love this. Everything about it. It feels right. It feels—shit, so good, Georgie. Please don't stop, don't ever stop."
His voice catches, and he's moaning out my name as he continues to tell me what he loves about this, and what I love about this that he loves too all while my hands undo the button of his jeans with minimal effort, and I'm palming him over his boxers. His thighs shake and I can't stop the smile.