SKYE
I peeledmy eyes open as the beeping of my alarm infiltrated my brain like soldiers marching in formation. My lids were so heavy, they felt like they’d been dipped in cement. I checked the time. It was three o’clock. Callie would be home in thirty minutes or so.
As badly as I wanted to press the snooze button, roll over, and pull the cover over my head, I knew that I would regret it if I gave into that impulse. Using Mel Robbins’ 5 Second Rule method, I counted down in my head:five, four, three, two, one.
On one, I pushed myself out of bed, and before my feet hit the floor, the image of Nick standing with his shirtless back to me at the stove popped into my mind. A tingle of awareness spread through me as I closed my eyes and pictured the sculpted lines of his traps and shoulder blades, the narrowing of his waist, and the rounded curve of his ass cheeks.
I’d never been a huge advocate of “gray sweats season,” but seeing Nick in them had made me a convert. I was all in.
A yawn claimed me as I walked to the bathroom and turned on the water in the shower, but a surge of alertness hit me as I remembered the ripple of his abs before he grabbed a shirt and pulled it on. My heart beat faster thinking about the gruffness of his voice as he’d cursed beneath his breath and apologized. There’d been something so refreshingly innocent about his reaction.
I’d assumed from his podcast that he was a dick. An asshole. An egotistical playboy.
But that wasn’t the man who had been making breakfast for his daughter in the kitchen. Or the man who had blushed because I’d seen him without his shirt.
I wasn’t quite sure how to reconcile those men. Was the cocky, arrogant persona he portrayed on his podcasts who he really was? Or was the caring, respectful man who I’d encountered in the hall the night before and in the kitchen this morning the real Nick Locke?
When I stripped out of my scrubs, which I hadn’t bothered to change out of this morning, I caught a reflection of myself in the mirror. My breasts weren’t as perky as they’d been in my twenties, but for a full C cup, they were still firm. Although they did have stretch marks thanks to them blowing up to G cups when I’d had Callie.
My boobs weren’t the only place I had faded tiger stripes; I also had them on my hips and belly. I ran my fingers down my stomach and wondered what Nick might think about my body. What would it feel like if his hands were touching me?
Whoa.
Where had that totally inappropriate thought come from?
First off, he was my patient’s family member, and in hospice care, it was even more vital not to get involved with family members than it was in nursing in general. The transition of a loved one was a very sensitive and emotional time. It was important to keep boundaries in place so as not to take advantage of someone’s loss and grief.
Not only that, I had no interest in dating. If I were being completely honest, my self-imposed celibacy had been easier than one might think because I hadn’t felt any sort of attraction to anyone. Sure, I’d met men who I objectively knew were attractive, but that was different from feeling attraction.
My reaction to Nick had taken me completely by surprise. I hoped, as time passed, that maybe I would grow immune to him. Or at the very least, the next time I saw him, I would know what to expect, so his pheromones wouldn’t be as potent. If not, I was in for a very long few months.
Shaking my head, I stepped into the shower and tilted my head back, letting the water run over my head and down my back. As soon as my eyes closed, the image of Nick’s back once again filled my mind. It was as if it had been seared into my brain, like when you look at the sun and then close your eyes and see the outline.
Except this wasn’t an outline. As I pictured his broad shoulders, his tattooed, muscled forearms, and his washboard abs, my hand slid down my body. My fingers dipped between my legs, and I was surprised to find my clit already swollen. I ran the tip of my finger over it and felt a shock of bliss explode low in my belly. My other hand cupped my breast, and I squeezed my nipple between my forefinger and thumb, pinching it with enough force to cause a sting, which shot straight to my core.
As I touched myself, I imagined Nick’s finger between my legs and his hand caressing my breasts. I imagined him standing behind me, his lips kissing my neck as he whispered all the dirty things he wanted to do to me. His lips brushed against my skin as his magic fingers worked in tandem to bring me close to the edge.
The fantasy completely consumed me and before I knew it, my world shattered as I reached a climax. I opened my mouth in a silent cry as tingles spread through my entire body. As I caught my breath, I was amazed at what had just happened.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d masturbated without the help of a toy. Without battery-powered assistance, it took too long, and I just couldn’t seem to get myself across the finish line. A vibrator was fast and efficient, two things I valued in my life. It just went to show how the mind is actually the biggest factor in sexual satisfaction. If it wasn’t for me picturing Nick, there was no way I would have gotten off.
This was territory I’d never been in before, and I felt strange about using the fantasy of a client’s family member to pleasure myself. Guilt started to creep up in me, but I shut it down. I would never do that again, and he would never know what had just happened. No one would. No harm, no foul.
After finishing rinsing off, I got out of the shower, slathered on lotion, and threw on sweats and a shirt. I thought about drying my hair, but that would take too much energy. Instead, I just pulled it back up into a ponytail. Then I remembered that I would be going back to work tonight and almost took it out to blow dry it in case I saw Nick again.
No!It didn’t matter how I looked. This was a job. This was a dumb crush. That’s all.
Yeah, like you had on your professor, my inner voice that sounded a lot like Ri piped up.
That was different. This was my job. Not to mention, there was no chance that Nick Locke would ever think of me in that way. He dated women like Gigi Hadid or Emily Ratajkowski.
I was determined to block out all thoughts of Nick and his washboard abs, dreamy eyes, and drool-worthy shoulders. That was the plan as I went to the kitchen to figure out what I was going to make for dinner tonight.
As I perused what I had on hand, I saw that the pickings were slim. My plan had been to go grocery shopping yesterday at the start of my vacation. But obviously, plans had changed. Thankfully, I had bell peppers, onions, frozen chicken, and tortillas. Looks like tonight would be chicken fajita night.
An unearned sense of satisfaction came over me as I grabbed the frozen chicken breasts from the freezer and put them in a large bowl of water to thaw. I got thrills over the most ridiculous things, like putting together a meal when I hadn’t planned for it.
Oh well, it was truly the little things in life.
