Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 72760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I wonder how far this story is going to spread. I might have to go and train at a hospital in Australia, though, I’m sure they’ll hear all about it too. Gossip like that has a bad habit of spreading far and wide.
Ignoring the mess, I make my way down to my tiny bedroom, stopping in the bathroom to pee and wash my face. What a long freaking day.
I peel my clothes off, dumping them in the hallway to be tomorrow’s problem. By the time I actually reach my bedroom, I’m as naked as the day I was born.
I flop down onto my bed and find myself smiling as I recall Dr. Mayson demanding that I set my alarm for the morning. I have a slight issue with sleeping-in and KC will scream it from the rooftops if she had the chance.
Being a good little girl, I find my phone and try to remember what time I’m supposed to be at the hospital in the morning. Just to be a clever cookie, I set my alarm an extra thirty minutes early, knowing that getting out of bed in the morning is going to be painful. I plug my phone into its charger and not a second later, my head goes crashing down to my pillow.
Despite exhaustion working its ass off to claim me, I find myself lying awake, and staring up at my darkened ceiling. I want nothing more than to close my eyes and bring this insanely ridiculous day to an end, but Dr. Mayson’s face remains glued in my mind like an imposing demand.
My hand falls to my waist and without even realizing what I’m doing, my fingers trail down between my legs, and I go to town, groaning and squirming as I rub soft, lazy circles over my clit.
With mental images of my new arrogant boss circling my every thought, I cum hard on my fingers, moaning his name into the darkness, and realizing far too late that I’m crushing on Dr. Thorne Mayson.
CHAPTER 8
THORNE
My fingers drum against my desk as I wait for my 10 a.m. appointment to show. It’s already been a crazy day. I got here just as the sun was rising over the top of the hospital with an emergency delivery that started rough, but everyone pulled through in the end.
The mother had been just returning home from her shift when she tripped over her husband’s work boots, which were left right in the middle of the doorway. I had to resist rolling my eyes when I heard the story. The amount of times I’ve heard about pregnant women getting injured over thoughtless things their husband has done astounds me.
She instantly fell forward, crushing her protruding stomach beneath her, and was sent straight in for an emergency cesarean with internal bleeding. It was touch and go for a while, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. The husband though, he’s not doing so well. He’s been trapped in his own world of guilt since the second they came in, and so he should be. Every damn woman that a man has the pleasure of knowing in his life should be treated like a fucking queen, even when they’re being … difficult.
A soft knock sounds at my office door, and I look up from the paperwork on my desk to check the time. 10 a.m. on the dot. Perfect. There’s nothing I like more than an appointment that shows up on time.
I get up from my desk and walk around it before reaching for the door handle. I pull it open to find a tiny woman hiding behind a sheet of frizzy brown hair, barely over five feet tall and as slim as they come. Her eyes are like saucers, and her thin shoulders are pulled forward timidly. She looks malnourished, her face a sickly shade of white.
The way she eases forward suspiciously, scanning my office for threats, has my whole body on edge. I let my eyes trail over her, but only out of concern for her well-being, not in the pervy way that Dr. Harding would have.
Something is going on here, and I don’t like it.
She has a small bump, but her file insisted that she was at least five months along. Her baby should be larger by this stage of her pregnancy, especially when considering the size of her frame. It has me desperate to get her onto my examination table.
“You must be Ashleigh,” I say, my voice low while making a point of not moving toward her in my need to not frighten her. She nods, and I wave my hand toward the seat opposite my desk. “Please, come in.”
Ashleigh nervously glances up at me before quickly scanning my office again. She gives me a tight smile, and after letting out a shaky breath, she moves past me into the room.