Page 47 of The Potter

“I’m disappointed in you, Dr. Potter. Sarcasm is such cheap humor. I thought it would be beneath you.”

I didn’t really. Sarcasm seems right up Dr. Broody’s alley. With his arrogance and fine clothes, it only seems fitting that his humor would be sarcastic. Besides, how else would he communicate with us regular people?

Leaning back against the leather headboard, I make myself comfortable in sheets that smell earthy and rich, just like Dr. Potter. Vance’s bed, as much as I hate to admit it, feels great. Firm and supportive, just how I like my mattresses and, coincidentally, my men.

Opening the closet, he pulls two pillows down from the top shelf and tosses them onto the bed. “Go to sleep, Halle.” No emotion. No hint of a smile. Just an order like the good doctor is used to giving.

Taking one of the pillows, I pull it to my chest like a shield. “Where are you sleeping?”

Vance disappears into the bathroom, not bothering to answer (like usual), and returns with a blue pill in his hand. “Here, take this. It’ll help with the pain and inflammation.”

Seeing how this blasted pill was what started this whole mess, I take it from his hand without argument and swallow it dry. “Thank you.”

I let the sincerity of my words linger between us. Not that I imagined Vance would be an asshole while I was in pain, but I didn’t expect the gentle but firm way he’s cared for me tonight. He didn’t have to help me stretch or offer me his firmer bed. Honestly, I would’ve been okay with a Tylenol and an Uber.

“Roll over.”

My eyes widen at the roughness of Vance’s clipped tone. “I’m sorry?”

With a firm hand, Vance presses down on my shoulder, tugging the pillow from my arms. “Look, I appreciate your kindness tonight, and while I think you’re pretty hot, I think it would be inappropriate for us to sleep together as a thank you.”

Pausing, I swear Vance fights off a smirk, but it’s gone before I can be sure. “While I’m flattered you think I’m hot, Ms. Belle, I don’t sleep with employees or patients.” He pushes harder and I go down to the mattress, feeling heat rising into my cheeks.

“Roll over.” This time, he doesn’t wait on me. He gently rolls me toward the door, facing away from him. If there was a time I wanted to burrow under the covers and hide, it would be now. Vance was just trying to make me comfortable, and I basically told him I thought he was hot. At least I said I didn’t want to sleep with him, right?

I don’t know why his dismissal stings, but I’m hoping it’s because I’m tired from this weird night.

“I…” Vance clears his throat, and for a second, I think he’s going to apologize. But then, his hands are on the back of my thighs. “I need you to open your legs.” He pushes my knees at an angle and slips his fingers between my thighs, gently lifting, the cool air reminding me that I’m indeed still pantyless.

“I can take it from here.” Reaching back, the hand not between my legs stops me.

“Spread your legs for me, Halle.”

It’s like he flipped a switch. My body heats from his words, tingles starting in my toes and racing upwards where wetness pools between my legs as his body bears down on me, holding me in place.

Don’t groan, Halle. You’ll only make this situation more awkward.

Inhaling, I try relaxing. No one needs to know that Dr. Potter’s words have made me wetter than I’ve been in years. Before Shitbag. Before the accident. I haven’t been touched—cared for—in years. Hell, I haven’t even wanted a man’s touch since the accident.

And here I am, the surgeon—who unwittingly got me through the roughest years—with his hands on my body, asking me to open my legs for him. Granted, he’s trying to alleviate the pressure on my hips, but tell that to my body.

All I can feel is him and the reaction I have to his touch as he slips a pillow between my legs, his fingers accidentally grazing my core, pulling a moan from me.

“Oh, fuck,” I moan, gripping the sheets and burying my face in the mattress. Maybe I can just die, and he’ll let me.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is thick and raspy. “I didn’t mean to—”

Involuntarily, my legs tighten around the pillow, trapping his hand between them. “Oh, no.” I shove my face further into the mattress. “Please just go.” I’m begging, and I don’t even care. If I never see Dr. Potter again, it’ll be too soon.

My body, clearly, cannot be around him without losing its mind. I don’t know how it’ll work if he actually goes through with the operation. Thankfully, I don’t have anyone to help me recover, so I can save that worry for another day. Tonight, I just need him to remove his magic hands and delicious smelling body from my vicinity.

“Are you still in pain?” His hand slips gently from my legs.

“No,” I groan. “Just go.”

Not surprisingly, he doesn’t, his hands smooth down my hip to my ankle, gently lifting and easing another pillow between them. “Better?”

I can’t respond. If I do, something crazy embarrassing will come out, and my soul can’t take much more humiliation in front of this man.

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