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“I do.” Her hands slid over my shoulders.
“And then there’s no conflict with the hospital?”
She smiled. “No conflict.”
“So I can fuck you whenever I want?” I grinned greedily.
“You promise?” Her hands slid between the waistband on my jeans. I felt her fingers rub against my cock.
It was the first time I had promised anything to a woman, but this one was easy. “Oh, I promise.”
12
Lennon
I walked into the hospital the next morning feeling like the world could see it stamped on my forehead: Wes Blakefield’s sex slave. But the nurses acted perfectly normal, and no one even looked up when I entered the doctors’ lounge.
“Good morning, Dr. Ashworth.”
“Oh hi.” Dr. Evans was pouring a cup of coffee. His timing couldn’t be better. “Dr. Evans, I was wondering if I could discuss a patient with you.”
“Sure. But I’m headed into a surgery.”
“Me too,” I added. The older man liked the rest of us to know he was still active on the surgical team.
“Maybe we could walk together,” he suggested.
“Of course.” I hurriedly grabbed my coat and stethoscope and followed him out of the lounge.
“What’s the consultation?” he asked.
“Oh no, it’s not a consult.” I slowed to match his pace. He had a bit of a limp in his walk. “I was wondering if you would take over a case for me. I completed the surgery last week, so it’s only a couple of follow ups.”
“And why do you need me? My schedule is really full. I doubt I have an opening.”
This was the part I had tried to figure out. What was I going to tell any doctor I asked to take Wes as a patient? Please take him, the sex is too amazing for me to keep him on my patient list. Please take him, I’d rather him rip my clothes off than be a respected surgeon. Or maybe I should say please take him, he’s the best fucking rock star in bed and if you don’t take him, I’ll quit my job to be at his beck and call. I closed my eyes, realizing I’d lost all self-restraint and respect. I was basically a quarterback’s whore.
“Well, to be honest, sir, I heard you were a big Wranglers fan and I thought you might want to work with Wes Blakefield.”
The older surgeon stopped in the hallway. “Are you serious?”
I nodded. “I don’t really know that much about football. and I know you do.” I was losing IQ points by the second.
“Do you have any idea what his passing record is? Or his quarterback rating?”
I shook my head. “Not a clue, and that’s why I thought this case might really mean something to you. You could give him the kind of care maybe I can’t.”
Dr. Evans adjusted his glasses. “I see. I see that you’re putting the patient’s interests ahead of your own. And I think that’s the right decision.” He nodded. “Yes, I’d be happy to add him to my list.”
I jumped. “Oh great! I can’t wait to tell him.”
His brow furrowed. “I think I can have my office call and schedule with him.”
I dropped the smile quickly. “Of course. You’re right. Thank you so much, Dr. Evans. I know he’ll be in good hands with you. And if you have any questions about the surgery, please page me.”
“Will do. Thank you for thinking of me, Dr. Ashworth.”
I headed for my OR prep room. “No problem.”
