Doctor-Patient Confidentiality: Chapter Twenty-One (Role Play Edition)

 

Even though your legs currently feel like they have the fortitude of straws, they somehow manage to carry you off into your bedroom. You absently kick your boots off your feet as you put your hair up into a ‘pineapple’; a practice that your night-time routine has dictated for the last decade or so of your life.

 

You change into your pajamas with far more effort than you think a person should require to change clothes. Twenty minutes later, you’re lying in your bed with freshly brushed teeth, an empty bladder, and the world’s warmest blanket wrapped snuggly around you. You grab your phone from your purse once more, ready to plug it in to charge, and just as you’re about to, a thought occurs to you.

 

A thought you almost wish hadn’t.

 

For a good five minutes, you stare at your phone as you contest with yourself internally, looking at the screen as if it’s the first time you’re laying eyes on it.

 

You don’t want to do it, but at the same time, you want to. You can’t seem to convince yourself to just put the phone away and go to sleep. You realize you’re fighting a losing battle, and you know you’ve lost when you end up doing what you wish you had the strength not to.

 

You Google Dexter Frost.

 

It’s not the first time you’re seeing his public profile online, but it is the first time you’re seeking it out on purpose.

The first time you learned of his existence, it had been by accident. You had just happened to stumble upon his name during your research on cancer when your mother had been sick all those years ago. You already know pretty much everything you need to know about him professionally.

 

And yet somehow, even though you hate to admit it, you find yourself wanting to know more; to know things about him that a search engine probably won’t tell you.

 

God, you really wish he didn’t pique your curiosity so much. You wish he wasn’t as handsome as he is.

 

You wish he wasn’t married…

 

Woah, woah, woah! What are you thinking? Why in tarnation are you wishing he wasn’t married? ‘Cause you’d totally have a chance with him if he wasn’t, right? Please. Give me a break.

 

You realize you need to take a step back…perhaps several steps, actually. You need to not get ahead of yourself. You might have honestly imagined the whole boner thing, too. It could have very well been something else in his pocket. You didn’t exactly look so you were only reacting based off what you felt.

 

And, even if it was a boner, it was obviously for his wife. I mean, if you were a guy and had pictures of a woman as gorgeous as that on your desk, you’d probably be sporting a boner all day, too.

 

After you’re done scolding yourself internally, a thumbnail of him catches the corner of your eye. You zoom in on the picture, and for a moment you think you forget how to breathe.

 

The image of his eyes hit you hard, their intensity as raw and vivid as they had been when you saw them in real life. The sight of their frosty blue color brings back the memory of him and the way he’d been looking at you in his office on Monday. You feel yourself getting a bit overwhelmed at thinking about it, and you have to shut your eyes for a moment in an attempt to re-collect yourself.

 

You open your eyes again and Dexter is still staring right at you, his gaze so intense it’s almost as if he’s prying; as if he’s trying to look into your very soul. Your breathing is becoming shallow and you abruptly feel something powerful slither down your spine. You’re not sure if it’s from nervousness or excitement. Maybe a bit of both.

 

Before you even realize what you’re doing, your free hand is travelling down your belly and sliding beneath the waistband of your pajama bottoms.

 

You push past your panties as well, your hand slipping under the polka dotted cotton briefs. Your eyes never leave your phone screen, never leave the piercing stare of Dexter Frost.

 

An audible shudder leaves your body as your fingers lightly brush over your clit. Still looking into his eyes, you imagine it’s his fingers touching you there. Before you know it, you’re pressing against your flesh insistently, rubbing circles around your now very slippery clit.

 

The lewd motion creates a stream of sensations that feel unbelievably good, and you can’t stop the gasps that are escaping your lips; gasps that you realize are quickly turning into moans.

 

What you’re doing is wrong. You know that. But you can’t bring yourself to stop.

 

You’re rubbing faster, your hand moving over your sensitive flesh in a frenzy without your permission. You push your knees further up to give yourself more access to your core, and as you do so, you feel just how drenched your panties are now.

 

The wet feeling only spurs you on, and you’re panting and moaning as you continue to imagine that the man on your phone screen is the one doing this to you.

 

You’re getting close, the ticklish sensations quickly turning into hot, prickly ones as the delicious pressure builds in your lower belly.

 

“Oh God,” you moan, fighting the urge to throw your head back, clutching the phone tighter in your hand until your knuckles begin to hurt.

 

You’re gasping loudly now, panting hard for breath and for a release that you know will knock your socks right off and end with your pajama bottoms drenched as well.

 

“Oh yes,” you cry, feeling the beginnings of your orgasm surface. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes—”

 

All of a sudden, your phone buzzes loudly and vibrates in your hand, immediately stopping your chanting in its tracks and startling you beyond measure.

 

“Shit,” you curse, a frown slithering its way onto your lips as your impending orgasm is stolen from you.

 

You look at the phone furiously and see that the screen has changed. The sexy image of Dexter has been replaced by a text message from Trixie.

 

im ok. how’d the hsptl visit go? call u 2morow.

 

You breathe out, partly in relief and partly in frustration.

 

“You really know how to pick your timing, Trixie,” you mumble in slight disappointment.

 

It’s probably a good thing she texted when she did, though. You know you have absolutely no business whatsoever fantasizing and masturbating to the image of a married man.

 

You don’t even want to begin to imagine what your mother would think of you doing something like this.

 

You sigh, sinking back into bed and pulling the blanket tighter around you. You force yourself to finally put the phone away before you get tempted to finish what you had started before Trixie’s interruption.

 

You really need to not think about him in that way.

 

You switch the lights off and will yourself to sleep, and even in the darkness, you can clearly see icy blue eyes that won’t stop staring back at you.

 

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