Provocative Professions Collection(9)By: S.E.Hall & Angela Graham
Sneaky bastard—distracting me so I don't notice my grip slackening or the fact that he's uncovered my chest until the cold air hits my exposed nipples. Of course they harden to a tight bud. Please tell me all women's do that at this part.
My focus is broken by the low hiss I hear. Was that me or…him?
Definitely him. Oh God, what?
"Nothing, everything's fine," his hoarse voice answers the question I didn't realize I'd asked aloud. "Arm up." He helps guide the limb above my head and then...places his fingers to the sensitive flesh of my left breast and begins to knead it, molding it in his skilled hands.
My eyelids slip shut on their own and I snap them back open instantly. He's a doctor, it's an exam, nothing more.
Maybe I should have considered having sex last night to prepare for today. With who I have no idea, but it may be of help right now. I squeeze my legs shut in mortification at the fact that arousal is ripping through my every fiber and sweltering in the paper robe.
Focus. Don't squirm. Hell, don't move or blink. Think natural, casual. The expression I muster of "this is totally natural for me" causes his mouth to tug up at the corners. Am I amusing him?
I'm crazy and completely overthinking this. I stare up at the ceiling. Could the lights in here be any brighter? It's like being at the dentist, except my dentist is old and bald and smells like Ben-Gay.
Now I admit, albeit embarrassed, I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel odd, yet…good to have a feral-smelling, successful, gorgeous man groping—even medically—my breasts. But I don't think I just imagined that. I could swear his fingertips trailed across, never losing contact, as he moved to the right one.
Which maybe that's normal, perhaps they check for something in between them? Didn't feel like that though, felt...teasing.
"And this arm," he mumbles, voice deeper, once again moving it up for me. "Good, perfect."
I finally manage the courage to steal a glance at him, his eyes clearly "examining" as well.
"It's, uh, cold in here." Now why did I say that? Maybe he hadn't noticed the perky, aching points shining like headlights, and I just had to go and point it out.
"Too cold?" His hands still with concern and my entire body aches for them to continue. For them to do their best, and worst, to my neglected breasts.
"No," I fumble through embarrassment. "It's—"
"Totally natural." He lifts his gaze to mine and smiles thoughtfully. "All done."
With the gentlest touch I've ever felt, he lowers my arms and places them at my sides. Whether professional or not, I don't complain when he rubs his hands up and down my forearms twice, warming away the chill.
It's tender and innocent, but I can't shake the feeling that it's not his usual protocol. Chivalrously, he offers his hand to help me sit up. "That wasn't so bad, was it? You did excellent and everything felt good," throat clear, "normal," he clarifies, stepping away and swiping the chart off the counter in a rushed maneuver, writing feverishly with his head down.
As the seconds stretch on, I begin to loosen up. The nagging tingle in my stomach releases enough that I can breathe evenly now. He may do this every day with young, old, fat, thin, ugly, and pretty women, but much like I can't stop my nipples from perking up for cold air, he can't help that he is a man groping boobs. We're both but human beings here. My shoulders drop with the easing thought that he too seems a bit aware of something.
Finally, he looks up as he retakes his seat on the stool and rolls over to sit before me, front and center. "Next, we need to do a pap smear. I'll take a swab and we send that off to the lab. It tests cervical cells for various cancers or precursors. We usually have the results back in a week. Now, before your eyes get any bigger, let me just say, it's invasive, but not painful."
Good to know. Still, the stressed breathing has returned, along with the beads of sweat forming down my back.
"You shouldn't have any soreness or discharge afterwards. If you do, call me immediately."
I nod, unsure if he's waiting for me to say the words "I understand" aloud. With the way he's staring at me, it's as if I'm before some judge. I'd think he was nervous himself if he didn't do this daily, hourly. He's simply looking out for his patient like any doctor would. That's evident when he places his hand over mine, locked on the side of the table in a death grip.
"Are you sure you don't want a nurse in here? A lot of women do. I completely understand."
His thumb travels over my knuckles and I release my hold on the table.
"How long does it take?" I ask, anxiety evident.
"Two, maybe three, minutes."
"I'm fine then."