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I observe him incredulously for several seconds, sheer disbelief smearing itself across my otherwise stiffened face.
I can't believe he just said what he said. For a split second, I'm almost—almost—convinced that my eardrums are playing tricks on me. As if on cue, the words reverberate in my head, his voice resounding in my ears with remarkable clarity, as if he's actually repeating them out loud.
"If I was going to fuck you today, believe me, it would have already happened. Twice."
Dear. God. In. Heaven.
I sincerely wish I could say I misheard him. I really do. But with the blatant way he's staring back at me, with his eyes so intense and intrusive and unapologetic, I know I couldn't have possibly imagined it, and any doubt that those asinine words had indeed fallen from his pretty lips leaves just as fast as it surfaced. And, besides, knowing just how outrageous this man is and how absurdly mind-boggling he can be, I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised that he'd utter something like that. Still, I can't shake my feelings of shock and astonishment so easily. I mean, he sounds so sure, so certain of his claim that I'm at an utter loss for words.
Again.
It's actually amazing—for lack of a better word, I suppose—to witness firsthand just how smug, how utterly conceited another human being can be. And, frankly, I don't know whether I want to punch him right in his pretty face for his arrogance or shake his hand for being the most self-assured person on the planet.
He looks me square in the eyes for the shortest of moments, but the brevity of the gaze doesn't make it any less intimidating. It's as if he's trying to analyze something again, and the frigidness of his gaze immediately seeps in to my skin, making my frickin' goosebumps get goosebumps.
Then he cocks his head to the side and speaks again, his expression growing serious. "Look, this is for your own good, not mine. It's a medical thing, not a personal one, and right now, you're wasting both my time and yours with your unnecessary stalling and dramatics. Besides, from reading the contract, you should know that if I wanted to put something in your ass, it would be much bigger than this thermometer."
I immediately feel all the blood drain from my face at that statement, only for it to come rushing back to my head with a vengeance in the same breath. I simultaneously go ghostly pale and incredibly flushed at his admission, heat spreading like fire across my neck and cheeks even as I shiver uncontrollably. I can do nothing but stare at him blankly for a few seconds, my brain struggling to fully accept what just came out of his mouth.
I know my mother would do flips in her grave for me taking the name of the lord in vain, but Jesus. Fucking. Christ!
He did not just say that!
Unnecessary stalling? Dramatics? And, oh my God, that last bit about my ass! This? This is how he decides to bring up the contract?!
I...I can't even bring myself to huff incredulously. I'm just so blown away by this blatant exhibition of first-class douchery! If he wanted something in my ass it would be bigger than a thermometer? And I should know this?
By God, I can't even.
Why...why is this man like this? What on Earth did I ever do to be cursed with the misfortune of becoming involved with a jackass and a dipshit this crass and annoying and vulgar and...
Arousing.
No, no. Absolutely not. I'm not going to let myself think like that. He's not arousing. Not even a little bit. What he is, is an arrogant, narcissistic pig who's assumed the role of the "smugalicious bastard" because he's currently got the upper hand in our...situation.
But he won't have it forever. I won't let him.
I breathe out, silently resigning myself to just take off my jeans and get this thing over with. It's not as if he hasn't ever seen a vagina or an ass before, anyway. I quickly undo the button and pull down on the zipper, my fingers moving with record-breaking speed despite the tremors running through them. I'm trying not to think about what I'm doing. Heck, I'm trying not to think about anything right now. The faster I do this, the faster it'll all be over.
Don't pause to think about it, Roni. Don't pause to think-
I'm tugging at the waist band, my thumbs dipped at either side, ready to pull the jeans down my thighs in one swift motion. But then I suddenly freeze in horror as I remember—
Oh. Fuck. Me.
I haven't shaved down there in over a month.
As a matter of fact, not since the day of the mansion party. Same goes for my legs. I typically don't shave in the winter since it's so cold, especially here in Wisconsin, and I'm not sleeping with anyone, so I don't see any reason to go through the hassle and fuss of doing so.
But now, standing here in this closed room with the extremely observant and scrutinizing eyes of the most intense and intimidating man I've ever met on me, I feel like kicking myself in the head for not grooming more often. God, now I feel even more self-conscious than I did before, if that's even possible, my shoulders tensing and my back stiffening as intense waves of embarrassment and anxiety wash over me.
Frost notices my hesitation but doesn't say anything. The good ole' doctor just looks at me, his expression expectant, telling me that he's still waiting—but not so patiently. I exhale loudly for the millionth time, shutting my eyelids tight and pushing my jeans down in one rough, extremely ungraceful motion, baring myself for him to see. I keep my eyes closed for a few more seconds before daring to open them, trying to delay the inevitable ocean of embarrassment that is going to engulf me when I open them and meet his own merciless, probing eyes.
Once I do open my eyes, though, they go straight to the door ahead instead and remain there. I intentionally avoid his gaze like the plague. In fact, I look at everything but him. I don't dare meet his eyes as the silence continues to stretch. I don't have the balls. Plus, my mind is way too preoccupied wondering what is going through his. I can only imagine what he's thinking, how much he's judging me and my 'appearance', and I'm trying to not let it get to me, but damn, it's hard. I'm practically shaking with embarrassment.
From my peripheral vision, I see him reach for a drawer and pull out two identical objects that seem to be brand new, still wrapped in their plastic casing. I can't really make out what they are from this angle, but I'm assuming they're the other thermometers. I hear some ruffling and tearing of plastic, and seconds later he confirms my assumption when he brings a plastic thermometer to my mouth.
"Open," he says.
I hesitate for a moment, still refusing to meet his eyes. But as soon as my lips part, offering the tiniest of openings, he promptly slides the device into my mouth, easily placing it underneath my tongue. I flinch slightly, not in pain, but in surprise. The metal tip feels cold against my sensitive flesh, and I can somewhat taste the cool, metallic tang of steel.
"These work a little bit differently than most thermometers," he says unexpectedly. "They are going to beep periodically, about every six seconds for two minutes after they're activated. Then after two minutes, the beeping becomes continuous, and that means it's accurately read your temperature."
I certainly wasn't expecting an explanation, and frankly, I'm not even sure what to say to that. I can't even bring myself to nod in understanding, or to pretend that I really care that about why they work the way they do. Under normal circumstances, I probably would care, and I'd definitely ask, as my curiosity typically gets the best of me. But not now. Not when I'm half-naked, standing in front of a disturbingly attractive, enigmatic man with my pants around my knees, sans underwear, not having shaved anything below my belly button in over four weeks. Not when this same man also made it perfectly clear that he just so happens to want to pay me a lot of money to have sex with him. Really, really kinky sex. And quite a lot of it, too.
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