Free Hitman's Hookup: A Bad Boy Romance by Vesper Vaughn Page B
Authors: Vesper Vaughn
side of my back to pull my stomach to his mouth. He licked a circle around my navel; a long, slow kiss on my skin. I breathed in deeply. "This is one of the stranger ways I've delivered medical care," I breathed.
Phillip reached up to squeeze my breast while he kept licking my skin. "You're the best doctor I've ever had." I let him touch me. I figured if it made the patient happy, what was the problem with it?
I was considering it as my payment for a job well-done.
After a few minutes, I'd reached the point of no return. It was either stop him kissing me or mount him with his flesh still open. "Okay, okay!" I said, pushing him away. He was still smoldering at me. I blushed. "Stop looking at me like that . If you want your arm fixed, hold your fucking horses."
"I would literally do anything you asked me to do," he said lazily.
"Okay, Romeo. Save that for later, then." I pushed him against the headboard to support his back. I flicked my finger against the edge of the wound. He didn't grimace. "It's working. Good. Now we can move on." I pulled out a bottle of saline and a curved plastic bowl.
"You have everything in there, Mary," he muttered, still watching me work.
"Are you that far gone that you don’t remember my name?" My stomach plummeted. "Hallucinations mean the fever is getting worse and you need an ice bath."
Phillip laughed, his voice getting huskier as the fever grew. "Not that I would object to you bathing me, but I meant Mary Poppins. I know your name is Lily. I could never, ever forget that." He stared at me with a longing in his eyes so sincere and deep I felt like he was looking for my soul.
I cleared my throat. "Good. You're fine, then. I'm going to get to work." I snipped the messy, spiky black stitches and pulled them out of bright red, throbbing skin. Then I set to work to debride the wound. Phillip was tougher than I thought with a higher pain tolerance than I'd ever seen. Once the fairly light anesthetic had gotten to work, he was fine. Most people would still have passed out at the first squirt of saline.
"Okay, brace yourself," I said. I reached into my bag and handed him a bite stick. "Bite on this. I'm sterilizing it with alcohol and iodine. It's going to hurt. A lot." Phillip took the stick and somehow managed to not pass out. "Good job," I said to him.
"Do I get a lollipop at the end of this visit?"
"You'll get better than that, I promise." I pulled out soluble sutures that I'd lifted from the hospital. I liked to practice my sutures while I watched TV. I usually did it on a banana. I had to stay sharp, even after forty-eight-hour shifts at the hospital. I pulled my bedside table lamp, which was a high-watt bulb designed to mimic sunshine during short sunlight days of a New York winter, closer to Phillip's arm so I could see.
As I stitched his muscle back together, Phillip just stared at me.
"You're fucking gorgeous, d’you know that?" His words slurred together.
"Your pain meds are kicking in," I replied softly. "I'm going to take everything you say with a large grain of salt for the next six hours."
Phillip's arm jerked slightly. "No, no. I can't be out of it that long," he said. But he said it without much conviction.
"Too bad. Bed rest. Doctor’s orders. I just gave you a full dose of Vicodin. You're not driving anywhere." I set back to work, finishing up the first layer of stitching. "You doing okay?" I asked him.
He nodded. "I've literally never been better in my entire life. God, you're beautiful." Phillip reached out his good arm to stroke my cheek. He ran his thumb across my bottom lip. I felt myself losing focus rapidly. I brushed him away.
"Seriously, hang on." I got back to work on the next layer. It was surreal; like half of me was being inexorably pulled toward this gorgeous, enigmatic man next to me and the other half toward the love of my life: medicine. "So are you going to tell me how you got this wound?"
Phillip laughed. "Ex-girlfriend," he muttered. "She's a
Phillip reached up to squeeze my breast while he kept licking my skin. "You're the best doctor I've ever had." I let him touch me. I figured if it made the patient happy, what was the problem with it?
I was considering it as my payment for a job well-done.
After a few minutes, I'd reached the point of no return. It was either stop him kissing me or mount him with his flesh still open. "Okay, okay!" I said, pushing him away. He was still smoldering at me. I blushed. "Stop looking at me like that . If you want your arm fixed, hold your fucking horses."
"I would literally do anything you asked me to do," he said lazily.
"Okay, Romeo. Save that for later, then." I pushed him against the headboard to support his back. I flicked my finger against the edge of the wound. He didn't grimace. "It's working. Good. Now we can move on." I pulled out a bottle of saline and a curved plastic bowl.
"You have everything in there, Mary," he muttered, still watching me work.
"Are you that far gone that you don’t remember my name?" My stomach plummeted. "Hallucinations mean the fever is getting worse and you need an ice bath."
Phillip laughed, his voice getting huskier as the fever grew. "Not that I would object to you bathing me, but I meant Mary Poppins. I know your name is Lily. I could never, ever forget that." He stared at me with a longing in his eyes so sincere and deep I felt like he was looking for my soul.
I cleared my throat. "Good. You're fine, then. I'm going to get to work." I snipped the messy, spiky black stitches and pulled them out of bright red, throbbing skin. Then I set to work to debride the wound. Phillip was tougher than I thought with a higher pain tolerance than I'd ever seen. Once the fairly light anesthetic had gotten to work, he was fine. Most people would still have passed out at the first squirt of saline.
"Okay, brace yourself," I said. I reached into my bag and handed him a bite stick. "Bite on this. I'm sterilizing it with alcohol and iodine. It's going to hurt. A lot." Phillip took the stick and somehow managed to not pass out. "Good job," I said to him.
"Do I get a lollipop at the end of this visit?"
"You'll get better than that, I promise." I pulled out soluble sutures that I'd lifted from the hospital. I liked to practice my sutures while I watched TV. I usually did it on a banana. I had to stay sharp, even after forty-eight-hour shifts at the hospital. I pulled my bedside table lamp, which was a high-watt bulb designed to mimic sunshine during short sunlight days of a New York winter, closer to Phillip's arm so I could see.
As I stitched his muscle back together, Phillip just stared at me.
"You're fucking gorgeous, d’you know that?" His words slurred together.
"Your pain meds are kicking in," I replied softly. "I'm going to take everything you say with a large grain of salt for the next six hours."
Phillip's arm jerked slightly. "No, no. I can't be out of it that long," he said. But he said it without much conviction.
"Too bad. Bed rest. Doctor’s orders. I just gave you a full dose of Vicodin. You're not driving anywhere." I set back to work, finishing up the first layer of stitching. "You doing okay?" I asked him.
He nodded. "I've literally never been better in my entire life. God, you're beautiful." Phillip reached out his good arm to stroke my cheek. He ran his thumb across my bottom lip. I felt myself losing focus rapidly. I brushed him away.
"Seriously, hang on." I got back to work on the next layer. It was surreal; like half of me was being inexorably pulled toward this gorgeous, enigmatic man next to me and the other half toward the love of my life: medicine. "So are you going to tell me how you got this wound?"
Phillip laughed. "Ex-girlfriend," he muttered. "She's a