I catch myself stroking it lightly as we look at each other while he listens to my chest. When he leans over me to press the scope to my back, I gasp at his closeness. His cedar scent fills my nostrils, and the way his larger body engulfs mine until my face is almost pressed to hisneck is so delicious, I have to breathe out a long, slow breath in an effort to avoid an embarrassing situation in my jeans.
My fingers are no longer simply stroking the soft fabric; they’re gripping it as though I don’t want to let him move away from me. It’s weird to feel attracted to the man who is looking me over in a purely medical context. He would think I was so immature and inappropriate, so I release his cardigan from my eager grasp and use the slow breathing he requested as an opportunity to calm myself down.
When he suddenly backs away and starts fumbling with his equipment, shoving things back inside their cases, I worry for a second that I did something wrong. He takes a breath and then comes back to me. He takes my temperature and grunts in satisfaction when it’s normal. He goes back to the bed and packs his medical bag, zipping it closed without ceremony.
“Do you have any injuries or issues you want to discuss before we finish?” He’s speaking to me kindly, so maybe I didn’t do anything to upset him or annoy him. Or maybe my concern that I did is just a hangover from listening to Dominic tell me how every single thing I did was wrong, annoying, or too damn much.
“Why d’you always have to makeeverything such a fucking production, Corey? Why can’t you just do what you’re told? Or is stand there, be quiet, and look pretty too difficult an instruction for a slut like you to understand?”
The memory of his cruel words stings. My crime on that occasion had been asking the business associate he had brought into the club if he wanted a drink.
“Hey.” Nash’s gentle voice snaps me out of my memory, as does the soft hand on my shoulder. “You OK?” I clear my throat, glad he can’t read my mind.
“Uh, yeah. I’m fine.” I decide that while I have a doctor here, I may as well get everything checked out just to be sure. “There is one thing you could just check for me if you don’t mind, please?” I feel timid and weak, and I hate it. I don’t want someone as put together as Nash to see me as some pathetic mess. He’s so… capable. I’ve never been so in awe of someone before. The way he just knew what to do. I’ve never thought of competence as something I was attracted to before, but I am happy to be proven wrong.
“Of course,” he says, perching on the edge of the bed across from where I’m still sitting on the cuck chair. I smiled when I saw the chair in Rain and Aidan’s guest bedroom, as it reminded me of a conversation Rain and I had severalmonths ago. We were talking about why there is always a random chair in hotel rooms, and Rain decided it was for the husband to sit in while the wife had sex with someone else in the bed, like a cuckold kink. We nicknamed the chair the cuck chair after that, and I can’t wait to rib Rain about the fact he has one himself, now.
“Um, so my ex, he uh… he liked to think he was some kind of dungeon master, when in reality he was a sadist who liked to hurt people. He used to use toys on me and he…” I trail off, my throat tight and painful, my willingness to share escaping me. Nash stands up and comes over to me. He kneels in front of me again – I definitely don’t think of the other ways I might want him to be on his knees in front of me, or me in front of him – and rests one of his giant paws over my much smaller hand.
“It’s OK. Did he leave marks? You want me to check them?” I sag with relief. The fact that I allowed a lowlife like my ex to permanently mark my body in exchange for a roof over my head and three meals a day is deeply humiliating to me. Nash could tell I didn’t want to say it, but he knew anyway. I nod and look away, not wanting him to see the tears that have filled my eyes without my permission.
He stands and holds a hand out to helpme up. I take it and get out of the chair taking my T-shirt off and unfastening my jeans, peeling them down to my knees. I leave my tight black briefs in place. He’ll be able to see the way the marks go below the fabric anyway. Maybe he won’t need me to completely expose my arse to him.
I turn around so my back is to him, and I hear him inhale tightly. He doesn’t say a word, but the tension in the room just ramped up a notch. After a few seconds, he moves closer, and I can feel the heat from his larger body radiating against mine. I’m always cold these days, and the temptation to burrow into his warm body and stay there is almost overwhelming. I don’t, of course. I would never put him in that position.
I feel his hands over the skin of my back as he touches each and every welt and scar, a kaleidoscope of pink, white, and silver marks that tell a tragic story. All of them evidence of every time I let that man beat me. Burn me. Try to break me. Nash’s fingers ghost over the imperfections of my skin, and the sensation is electric. I shiver as he makes his way down, down, down my back, all the way to my backside. He skims past my arse and checks the few that even cover my thighs.
“A-are there any more?” he asks, his voice gruff. “Other than beneath your underwear? Any that are unhealed or infected?”
“N-no. I don’t think so.” I feel him stand again behind me, and – is he closer? I turn to face him, pulling my jeans up and fastening them as I do. “They don’t hurt anymore.”
He swallows tightly. “Good,” he growls, and then shocks the hell out of me by pulling me into a hug. The heat of his body beneath his soft cashmere cardigan warms me to my core, and the feeling of safety inside the circle of his arms is intoxicating. I can’t remember the last time I truly felt safe. I can’t disguise my surprise at his gesture, though, so my arms hang stupidly at my sides.
He must read this as me not wanting him to hold me that way, as he quickly backs away.
“I-I’m so sorry, Corey. That was inappropriate.”
I laugh awkwardly.
“No…” he’s backing away, looking horrified with himself. I follow him, not wanting him to feel uncomfortable about trying to offer me comfort. “No, Nash. I was just surprised.”
He freezes when I put my hand on his armto halt his frantic, unnecessary opening and closing of his medical bag. Slowly, he turns to me, cheeks ruddy with embarrassment.
“Nash, honestly. It’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting the very handsome doctor to hug me. I didn’t hate it,” I give him my cheekiest grin with a wink, and he finally unclenches.
“Are you sure? I’m so sorry. That was so unprofessional. I just…” His words fade away as though he’s not sure what he wanted to say. “I just hate seeing the pain someone put you through.” The tortured look in his eyes morphs into a smirk. “You’re really very short; you were at a disadvantage.”
My jaw drops in shock, and I freeze in place. A big, resonant laugh barrels from him at my expression.
“You look like a rabbit caught in the headlights,” he says around peals of laughter. “I’m sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood.”
“Yeah… well…” I hedge, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as I try to come up with a snarky response. When I fail. I take the mature route and stick my tongue out at him, which only makes him laugh even harder. “Fuck you, Doc,” I retort with absolutely no venom.
I grab my T-shirt and pull it on before chucking my battered jacket onto what I presume is my bed. Honestly, I could climb in there right now and sleep for a week. I’m so ready to sleep in a proper bed. After weeks in a tent, a cot-bed in a shelter, or Emma’s sofa, I’m exhausted.
The mood shifts as Nash goes back into doctor mode.
“The scars are all well healed, so you shouldn’t have any issues with them, and a lot of them will continue to fade over time. Anything else you’re concerned about?”
