🌻Hey, gorgeous! You can read this episode and much more of DOCTOR-PATIENT CONFIDENTIALITY and other sizzling web series from Emended Hearts at www.EmendedHearts.com or click the external link at the bottom of the page.🌻
💗💗💗
He blinks once. Twice. Something unreadable passes through the icy blue of his eyes with each movement.
"Excuse me?" Frost's tone is incredulous, and coupled with the edginess of his deep voice, he sounds borderline threatening. His brow arches higher than I've ever seen it, his forehead creasing in a way it never has before. I never thought I'd see an expression like that on his face. This is the closest thing to surprised I've ever seen him in the time I've known him. But it only lasts a few seconds before his expression turns more or less neutral again, with only subtle undertones of a scowl intertwined with his gorgeous features.
I swallow hard, my throat constricting against the large lump that's forming in it. I take another deep breath in an effort to strengthen my resolve. "I said I don't want the surgery," I repeat, more for myself than him. I know he heard me loud and clear. He obviously just didn't like hearing it, for whatever reason.
"If it means jeopardizing my singing career, then I don't want the tumor removed," I add. I really wish I sounded more sure of myself, more confident in the decision I'm making, but again, it's hard to be confident when both your options are pretty much shot to shit.
"You need to have this surgery," he insists.
"I already told you, no."
He narrows his eyes at me. "This isn't a decision you should take lightly."
My eyebrow arches incredulously, and I get pissed off all over again. "You think I'm taking this lightly?"
"I don't think you're taking it as seriously as you should," he counters. "You need to take some time to think this through—"
"I don't need any more time to think any of it through. I'm not having the surgery."
"Ramona—"
"Look, I don't want to hear any more," I shoot back. "I'm not changing my mind about this."
He clenches his jaw, and I think one of his eyes just twitched. "Ramona, the tumor is interfering with your singing as it is. It will only get worse as time goes on. You don't—"
"Just stop!" I yell, unable to take any more. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. I've made my decision and I'm not changing it. So, please just...stop." I sound almost desperate at the end, my words coming out in little above a whisper.
A long pause follows, silence encompassing the room. The atmosphere feels weird. It's no longer awkward or tense, just...strange. It's definitely a novel feeling.
After another eerily quiet stretch of eternity, he finally closes my medical folder and puts it away almost grudgingly, the deep frown still etched on his lips. I'm not entirely sure why he's even angry, but I'm glad he's agreed—albeit extremely reluctantly—to let it go. He may be the medical specialist here, and maybe his overly inflated ego took a hit because he feels I'm undermining his expertise and intelligence by refusing to go through with the surgery and whatever else he's recommended, but I really don't give two shits. When it comes down to it, this is just his job. But for me, on the other hand, this is my life. He just needs to get the fuck over it. And if he can't, then that's just too fucking bad. I can't give up my singing. I won't.
His gaze moves away from me for the first time since I got here, his icy eyes traveling under his desk for a moment. Suddenly, I hear short beeping sounds, each one with a different note coming in one after the other, as if he's pushing buttons, and my speculation is confirmed when the sharp metallic click of something unlocking follows. I realize then that it's a safe. My eyebrow arches in curiosity.
What kind of doctor keeps a safe at work?
Before I can form another thought on the matter, he pulls out another folder and places it on the desk in front of me. Even with it closed, I recognize its distinct rectangular shape and khaki casing immediately.
The contract folder.
I involuntarily suck in a sharp breath and my heart drops to my feet.
Oh God, he wants to do this now?
While renewed anxiety renders me both speechless and motionless, I can do little else but continue to watch him take more items out of the safe and place them on the desk next to the folder.
I frown as I look down at the collection of items in front of me before meeting his stare again.
His eyes settle on mine once more, his gaze penetrating, stripping me to the bone.
"Are you on the pill?" he says.
My frown deepens, my forehead and nose crinkling in confusion. "What?"
The question is so fucking random, it throws me off completely.
"Are you using some form of birth control or female contraceptive?" he reiterates, his eyes roaming, scanning, assessing.
I slowly shake my head, as if I'm unsure of my answer but I'm not. I haven't been on the pill for years. I guess I just wasn't expecting him to ask me that question.
But now he's the one frowning. "I don't speak sign language, Ramona. Speak up."
The sharp edge and depth of his voice when he tells me to "speak up" sends a blast of goosebumps all over my arms and forces another rush of wet heat out of my pussy. I feel invisible fire radiating from every inch of my body, and I have to clutch at the front of my jeans to stop my fingers from shaking so badly.
"No," I say as I look away, unable to meet his invasive eyes any longer for fear that he might see right through me and know exactly what kind of power he has over my body.
There's a considerable pause that follows, and I continue to keep my eyes off him until the silence becomes too much. I finally look up at him again—albeit warily—wondering why he isn't saying anything. And just when I think we might be done here, he speaks again.
"Are you currently sexually active?" he asks abruptly, his long fingers intertwining themselves with each other. My own eyes instantly bulge behind my glasses and my eyebrow shoots itself into my hairline.
"Excuse me?" My tone is beyond incredulous, and it's obvious he can tell. He breathes out, his eyes closing for a second as if he's becoming exasperated. It's then that I remember that he doesn't like repeating himself, especially when it's obvious that I clearly heard what he said.
"Have you had sexual intercourse or performed any sexual activity with or on anybody, male or female, in the last three months?" he elaborates, although there's obviously no need for him to, and doing so only forces a blast of heat to radiate from my face even as I feel all the blood simultaneously drain itself from it. It takes me a moment to recover, and even when I'm able to speak again, I'm still extremely flustered.
"W-what the hell does that have to do with anything?" I ask defensively, getting annoyed that he can feel so free and uninhibited about asking me personal questions whenever he feels like it.
"Just answer the question," he grumbles as he rubs at his temple, his irritation clearly on the rise. This is by far the most uncollected and uncomposed I've ever seen him. Up until right now, I wasn't even sure he was biologically capable of not being calm. It's both unnerving and...refreshing.
But his attitude still pisses me the fuck off.
"I don't see how it's any of your concern," I spit back, my arms automatically crossing themselves over my quickly rising chest to fall in line with my defensiveness. The nerve of this guy. Who the hell does he really think he is? And just when I thought he at least had some inklings of a soul. I should have known better.
He exhales long and deep again, going completely quiet as his eyes flutter closed once more, hiding the glacial hue of his unsettling gaze. But only for a second. And when he opens them again, there's this blistering, icy fire blazing inside them. It's like the strangest paradox; blistering heat and frigid ice both intertwined and encompassed in the same thing.
And I'm their target.
His stare actually makes me physically squirm in my chair even though I do everything in my power—which I admit, isn't a hell of a whole lot—to not show that I'm intimidated by him. My body retreats from his penetrating gaze without my consent, leaning as far back into the upholstery as the sturdy leather will allow.
"Let me make something clear here, Miss Gallo," he says, his voice dropping two octaves lower, the equally unsettling edge in his tone so sharp and menacing that it could cut his bloody desk in half. "As a physician, and much more importantly, as the man who is going to be fucking you three ways from Sunday in every way you can imagine and more in the very, very near future, I would say it very much is my concern who you're currently having sex with."
My breath stills inside my chest, the air in my lungs suddenly going in limbo, refusing to leave them as my heart ceases to move for three mortifying seconds.
The crudeness.
The vulgarity.
The blatantness.
It all hits me too hard. And I know that what hits the hardest of all is the deep gut feeling I have that his words aren't a threat or a mere statement. They're a promise—and one he seems to have every intention of keeping. And I can't for the life of me decide whether that frightens or thrills me. I shiver uncontrollably, a rush of mini vibrations traveling up my stiff spine as another swarm of goosebumps raise themselves all over my body.
"So, I'm going to ask you one last time, Ramona," he says, his voice steely and laced with a quality I clearly recognize—one of warning, imploring me not to test him. "Are you currently sexually active?"
I try to steel my nerves even though they seem determined to disobey my orders, internally grasping at whatever source of courage I can muster, and thankfully, I manage to sound a hell of a lot less timid and anxious than I feel.
"No," I say plainly, gritting my teeth against the very real desire to follow with something snarky. He sure as hell has it coming, but I don't want to prolong this incredibly uncomfortable conversation—if you can even call it one—any longer.
"Good," he says, "and as per the contract's requirement, you will continue to not have sexual relations with anyone else in any capacity whatsoever until our arrangement is over. Is that clear?"
The way he's practically reciting that contract so casually and nonchalantly is making my fucking blood boil.
"Screw you," I spit out venomously. I can't hold my frustration in any longer and the words spill out of me before I can try to stop them.
He just grins, completely unfazed by my words or scowl, but there isn't a drop of humor in his menacing eyes.
"Believe when I tell you this, Miss Gallo," he says, narrowing his eyes at me again, "I have every intention of doing just that."
***
Hey, again! We'll post one chapter every Friday, but there are currently over 140 chapters in Season One, so this may take a while. If you just can't wait, you can read this episode and much more of DOCTOR-PATIENT CONFIDENTIALITY and other sizzling web series at www.EmendedHearts.com or click the external link below.
👇🏿👇🏽👇🏼
Sign up for our Love Letter on our website www.EmendedHearts.com/Love-Letter. Your support is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading! And don't forget to vote, share and comment! Love ya :).
XOXO ❤️🔥😘
Eme and the hearts at EmendedHearts