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"Mel, we could use another pair of hands in exam room three."
I have been trying to get out of here for half an hour but everything keeps pulling me back in. I hate to admit it but I just want to get home to Ashton - to the orgasms he is going to give me. The hints I have been dropping to him lately about finally having sex have been anything but subtle, and I am hoping that he is ready to fuck me stupid when I get home. Of all days, today is the day I feel like I need it the most.
After being on my feet all day, all I want is to be on my back for a change - being ravaged by him. If there's one thing that Ashton knows, it's how to find all the best places on my body to touch. I still can't wrap my head around the fact that he's only nineteen. There are grown men I have hooked up with that didn't know their way around a woman's body like Ashton does. Then again, he decided we have to hold these full on debriefing sessions after our hook ups, pushing things a little too close to relationship territory for my liking.
It's a strange experience having someone ask me what I like - in the past it has always been a'feel around and find out'situation. Sometimes faking an orgasm is easier than trying to explain that rubbing a clitoris like you're a DJ at Galactic isn't the way to go. Ashton is slow and almost punishing in the way he treats my body and it does things to me I have never experienced before. I crave it and that annoys me. Dick whipped is not a thing I am used to feeling, it's not in my normal routine. The more I get attached to what he can do to me in the bedroom, the more I want it. And the more I want that part of him, the harder it is to not want the rest of him.
I finish helping the rest of the staff in exam room three and then haul ass to the locker room so that I can get out of here, avoiding any hallway where people might be waiting ready to pounce and ask for help. I change into my street shoes, placing my more comfortable ones into the bottom of my locker. I peel off my scrubs, remnants of the days events clinging to the fabric. The hazardous material bin clunks closed after I deposit them inside. I keep a spare change of clothes in my locker for cases like this - when my scrubs need to be left here for cleaning.
The soft denim glides over my ass as I pull them up, fastening the button and dragging up the zipper. I tuck my phone into the back pocket before I tug my long sleeve shirt on over my head. I trail my pony tail out from under the collar, the ends tucked under the fabric. There is a mirror hanging on the end of our bank of lockers. I pause in front of it, fixing my shirt that is bunched into the waistband of my jeans. I have a certain glow about me - it must be the orgasms. It's amazing how much they can do for your mental health. I turn on my heel, giving my backside a quick glance over before taking the few steps to the door. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I check the notification.
My other hand stretches out to grab the handle when it gets pulled further from my fingers, my arm hovering in place with nowhere left to go. Andrew is talking loudly to whoever is behind him as he barges into the locker room oblivious that I am directly on the other side of the door and my eyes snap to where he is standing in the open doorway. I don't have enough time to react before he collides with me, our chests thudding against each other and sending my bag and phone crashing to the floor.
"Shit, I'm so sorry .. oh, hey Mel." His amber eyes meet mine and I'm instantly brought back to the times we shared together - when he was buried deep inside me and his eyes glowed like room temperature whiskey as we came together.
"Hey," is all I can say, bending down to gather the few things that scattered when my bag hit the floor. I turn back to where he was standing, but find him crouched to the ground, looking down at my phone screen with a hint of something I can't place - Confusion? Concern? Covetous?
He moves his eyes to me, my phone still in his hand. "I feel like I haven't seen you around much. How have you been?" I guess that look in his eyes was one of concern for me.
"I have been good. Busy. You know how it is."
Andrew nods knowingly, rising from his knee that is still planted on the laminate floor.
"What about you? How is the girlfriend treating you?" It's my turn to show concern for him. Honestly, I don't want to hear about how happy he is with her. And it's not even because I think he would be happier with me, I know better than that. I'm jealous that he has been able to be in a functioning relationship.
I guess it's an occupational hazard of my upbringing - parents who split when I was too young to know any different, ingraining a certain level of pessimism that relationships are never healthy or worth the drama they come with. To add fuel to the fire, when I was on the edge of puberty, both of my parents decided that I was becoming too much trouble, sending me to live with my aunt might have been the only thing they ever agreed on. I lived with her until I turned eighteen and went off to college.
It's not that she wasn't trying her best to raise me, but I never had a stable home, at least not one that had all the bells and whistles of a standard household - two loving parents, a sibling or two, a fence around the yard, glowing report cards hung on the fridge with magnets I sculpted in kindergarten. I had aunt Anne who swore off men long before I came into the picture, a cat for a brother, exactly three feet of land between our trailer and the one behind us. One thing I did have though were the report cards covered in perfect grades and remarks of praise. The idea that if I performed well enough - that if I proved that I was the smartest or the best at whatever I did - my parents would come back for me. That they would see they made a mistake in leaving me with an aunt who, before I went to live with her, I only saw twice a year. The only things I attributed to her before were that she used so much hairspray that her hair stayed in place no matter what and she was always humming a Beatles song.
"I'm doing good and she is ... she's really great, Mel. I didn't expect things to go like this, for us to hit things off like we did but man it's true what people say about love finding you when you least expect it." I could say the same thing about loneliness. It's something I have been programmed with since I was young, yet the older I get the more it affects me. I crave the companionship but hate the idea that it has to come from a relationship. Every toxic relationship I witnessed growing up ended in me in pieces. The fuck if I am willing to put myself through that shit again.
"I'm so happy for you, I really am. I should be getting home though, I am already running late. With everything coming into the ER, I haven't been able to escape all morning."
Andrew looks down at my phone again, like he knows something that I don't.
"Yeah, it looks like someone is waiting on you ..." The way he says it - like he is surprised to learn that someone might be waiting up for me to get home - has my hands fisting at my sides as I push my legs to move toward the door, toward him. He holds my phone out towards me, the screen glowing to reveal a stream of text messages that must be from Ashton since no one else would be texting me during my overnight shift - no one else is awake.
Ashton
Just got home from Orion
That message was hours ago.
Ashton
I have something special for you *eggplant emoji*
Oh man, his messages are giving off drunk vibes even though he spelled everything correctly. That is one of the joys of technology - autocorrect makes you seem more sober than you really are. The downfall of that is it might make you feel more confident than you should be about your blood alcohol level.
"New roommate." I say matter-of-factly, standing a little taller. I don't owe him any kind of explanation - he certainly didn't give me one when he started hooking up with someone else and got serious about her.
"Seems like quite the roommate," Andrew tosses back, his tone dripping with judgement that he has no right to feel.
"Yeah, the orgasms are next level for sure. Almost makes me feel bad charging him rent." It's rude and uncalled for to hit him where it hurts, but fuck him trying to make me feel guilty, attempting to get a rise out of me between jealousy and defensiveness.
His eyebrows almost hit his perfectly coiffed hairline at my remark and a little rush of joy sweeps over me.
Take that, you asshole.
