The way her baby blues widen and dilate, and I notice these things not just because I’m a doctor but also because I need to know if her body’s feeling like mine does every time we meet.
Which is every chance I get now.
Twice a day at least, but if I can get away, I always make an excuse to get my creamed coffee fix.
Mandy’s cream.
My cream.
Apart from probably being twice her age and way out of her league, I fucking hate coffee.
I can’t stand the stuff, and neither my patients nor I need the jitters it brings when I operate or need to focus.
But when she offered? Well, that’s different.
Mandy just assumed I wanted coffee like every other person she serves in the hospital.
I could have said no, I don’t drink the stuff, but denying her anything isn’t what I’m about.
When I heard those words from her lips the first time we met just a few days ago, I decided from that day forward that I’d be buying creamed coffee with lots of sugar every single opportunity I got.
Mrs. Peters is nice, I tell myself
A pain in the ass by never taking a break of her own away from the coffee shop, but a nice enough lady.
Anyway, I’m an idiot because, despite all my effort and training as a doctor to keep things professional and above the second brain in my pants, I can’t help but smile when I see her.
I say ‘Idiot’ because smiling like a lunatic every time I see Mandy wasn’t my plan.
I guess I’m trying to show her I really am the strong, silent type deep down.
The type of man who wants more than just “Hiya, Mandy!”
Christ, I sound like her god damned grocery man…
I’m the type of man who wants to speak to her through actions, not just words.
A language I know we would both be perfect at if only I knew for certain she was interested in me that way.
It’s what she’s done to me in just a few days.
I’ve passed on my surgical load for the next two weeks, only assisting up-and-coming surgical teams until I can get my head straight.
Get the head of my dick straight into her tight little hole… Fuck. Can you hear yourself?
It’s so not like me to obsess like this and definitely not like me to even think like this.
Especially over a girl, I can see at a glance, could have any man she wanted in this world.
I knew things had come to a head when I referred to a certain part of a patient’s anatomy as their ‘Mandy’ yesterday.
Because the second I did see Mandy, I knew I was done.
I knew there was only one thing I really wanted in this world and felt nothing but relief in a way.
But we don’t live in a world where a man twice a girl’s age can just tell her at first sight that he has a future planned for her.
He can’t come out and tell her that he has a baby to put in her belly and a life of nothing but leisure and pleasure for her and her children.
That’s all that flashes through my mind when I see her. That, and how I plan to fill her with my seed to implant said baby, of course.
She’s got the smoothest looking skin and the purest, clearest eyes to match. Her body was made to grab hold of. I can see that and childbearing hips with a tasty apple-shaped ass to match.
Finding the right ‘fit’ doesn’t mean I need a woman six feet seven inches tall and made of chicken bones for a man of my size. No.
I need a lot of woman to grab hold of, something soft to grip hard and smoosh right up against me. And looking at Mandy, it’s like eyeing the missing piece. She’s the missing part to the puzzle of ‘me’ I think I’ve overlooked my whole life until now.
And because of that future image in my mind, my gut feeling tells me she’s the one, I can’t help but obsess over it.
Obsess over her.
Mandy.
My Mandy.
It’s to the point of dropping in to order coffee up to three times a day when she’s working. Of course, giving any other guy who gets coffee from her such a look, they assume the worst.
Not a good look for a senior doctor in the hospital, but I couldn’t give a shit about that.
I’d give it all up tomorrow if she asked me to.
I’ve already got enough tucked away for ten lifetimes with her, and our kids.
I try my best to tip her too. But Old Mrs. Peters isn’t having any of it, and as much as I follow hospital policy to the letter, I can’t help but make an exception when it comes to Mandy.
See, I followed her home last night.