Good Time Doctor

It’s hard. I want more of him, all of him, right now. But I try to temper my impatience, try to let myself relax

and enjoy the flow. And, to my surprise, I find that I do. He slides a hand down between us to finger my clit as he fucks me slow and steady, and soon I’m bucking up against him, faint cries escaping with each thrust as I near the peak.

“That’s it,” he coaxes me. “Come for me, Naomi, come again.” I hit my orgasm after a long, slow time, and cry out, shaking as wave after wave of pleasure sweeps through me.

He drops his hand then, and starts to fuck me in earnest, his hips driving into mine, his balls slapping against my sensitive pussy lips, just hard enough to make little gasps escape me each time, as the pleasure and the ache mingle to make my next orgasm sharper when it comes.

This time, he comes at the same time I do, grabbing my body and pulling me against him as he finishes, a wordless guttural groan escaping him at the same time.

We fall back onto the sheets in a tangle, and I find myself staring at him, this man who appeared out of nowhere to turn one of the worst nights of my life into one of the hottest.

He smiles. “What is it?” he asks, as he rolls off of me to climb out of bed.

“What’s your real name?” I ask, watching him as he slowly peels the condom off his cock to tie it off and drop it into the trash next to the bed.

He pauses. Waits until he’s completed that task before he meets my eye at long last. “Does it matter?” he asks.

“You know mine,” I point out. “It’s only fair.”

“You called me,” he points out in response. “And who said I came here to play fair?” His grin is sharp, hungry. But it doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

I keep watching him, quiet, patient.

Finally, he sighs and shakes his head a little, clearly defeated. “You’re dangerous,” he says. “I don’t know how anyone can resist that stare of yours.”

A faint smile touches my mouth at that, in spite of myself.

“Jason,” he tells me.

“Jason,” I repeat softly. “It’s nice to meet you.” I mean it.

He holds my gaze as he replies. “You too, Naomi.” And I can tell he means it, too. But then he pushes up to a stand and bends down to start collecting his things. I notice he takes his wallet and phone off the bedside table first, even before he puts on his pants. It’s like he’s worried I might dig deeper, ask for more, now that I’ve gotten his first name out of him.

It hurts more than it should, for me to realize that he doesn’t trust me. Really? I scold myself. You’re mad that the escort you dialed from the back of a bathroom stall doesn’t trust you?

But I wonder if I was wrong about the whole escort thing. For one, he doesn’t ask me for payment. I don’t bring the topic up, either, since it feels like at this point it would cheapen our whole thing. If he expected to be paid for this, he would have told me upfront, right?

Should I offer to pay? My stomach churns with uncertainty. I don’t know how this works. I don’t even know what this was. I watch him dress with a sinking sensation in my stomach, because all I can think about is how I want to start all over again. Rewind to last night and spend another night in this hotel room, exploring each other’s bodies. I want to fuck him again. I want him to lick my pussy again. Hell, I want to suck that gorgeous cock of his—it strikes me, now, this much later, how unfair it was that I didn’t get the chance.

“So, er…” I push myself off the bed too, and stand, arms wrapped over my chest, unsure. Should I get dressed too? See him out?

He catches the expression on my face and steps over to me, pausing to cup my face between his hands briefly. “Don’t overthink it,” he tells me.

I swallow hard. Nod. “Okay. I mean, I’ll try not to.”

“I’d stay if I could,” he says, and it makes my belly flip to hear it, even if I’m not entirely sure it’s true. Would he really? He bites his lower lip, looking honestly disappointed. “Unfortunately, I have somewhere I need to be.”

“Some new lady to seduce?” I joke, but it falls flat between us. He winces, and I do too. “Sorry,” I stammer. “That wasn’t fair; I don’t even know you, I know, and… I… this was just…”

“This was unusual for me too,” he says. “Extremely. Trust me.”

And for some reason, staring into those dark gray eyes of his, so steady and sincere in the morning light, I realize that I do. I find my head nodding, eager to accept his reassurance. Eager to believe this wasn’t just fantastic for me, but a great night for him, too. “Thank you, Jason.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t you dare thank me for that.” He laughs and leans in to kiss me once more, soft and slow and sweet. “That was one of the best nights I’ve ever had, Naomi,” he whispers, and my heart skips in my chest, expanding until it feels uncomfortable in my ribcage.

With that, he pulls away, and I watch as he strides for the door. I want to ask him to stop. I want to call him back, beg him to stay. I want to undress him all over again, and start over, to lock us both in this room all day and night. Instead, I force a smile. “See you around, then, I guess.”

He smiles back, easy and sincere. “I’ll see you around, Naomi.” With that, he opens and closes the hotel room door, and I sink back onto the bed with a groan, head in my hands.

I don’t move until the knock comes, half an hour later. My first thought is of Jason. He’s back. I spring out of bed and grab my silk nightie off the floor from where I’d tossed it near the windows. I yank it on over my head and go to answer the door.

But it isn’t him. My heart sinks. It’s just the room service guy.

Stupid Naomi. Of course your one-night stand isn’t rushing back to be with you again, I scold myself as I open the door. “Sorry,” I tell the waiter outside, who immediately turns red, I assume in an effort not to stare down at my nightie. “I didn’t order anything. Wrong room.”

“Ah, apologies, Miss,” he says, eyes on the ceiling. “But it was the young man who ordered.” He hands me a note, and then brushes past me, rolling the cart into the room as I unfold the paper to read it.

A smile touches my lips. Spreads, as I read his handwriting.

Sorry I couldn’t stay to bring you breakfast in bed myself. Hope this is the next best thing.

I stand there holding the card to my chest, even after the waiter retreats and leaves me alone with a full plate of breakfast. Then I grin and settle in to eat.

Well. His advertising didn’t lie. For a good time, call. That seems like the understatement of the year, now.

4

I’m still thinking about Jason when I climb into the car later that afternoon. More specifically, I’m still remembering the night and morning we just spent together, and the way he seemed to know my own body even better than I did. Every touch, every kiss, every trace of his tongue over my skin or brush of his fingers along my body.

Even just remembering the way he pushed me up against the window to tongue my ass is enough to make me wet again, and I have to school myself into avoiding any dirty thoughts, especially as I pull up outside the preschool where I’m headed today.

It’s Tuesday, which means it’s my day to pick up my best friend Monica’s daughter. She closes the flower shop where we both work every Tuesday and Thursday, as opposed to the other days when she works the opening shift and is free early enough to pick up Becca from school.

I pull into the lot with plenty of time to spare—which is good, because it gives me time to get my runaway imagination under control, and to stop the wild fantasies I can’t help having, every time I’m left alone with my thoughts for long.

I flick on the radio and flip through stations, trying to find some music that both Becca and I will like—the girl might only be four years old, but she has very particular taste already. No pop music for her. Classical or hip hop only, thank you.

I settle on a classical station and lean back in my seat to watch the clock until the bell rings in the distant school. Then I climb out of the car for one of the best parts of my day.

“Auntie Naomi!” As usual, Becca is one of

the first kids racing out of school, sprinting ahead of the teacher who’s trying her best to corral the runaways with a harried expression.

I kneel down to scoop her up in a tight hug as she giggles into my hair, at the same time mouthing sorry over her shoulder to the teaching aide, who looks relieved that Becca’s only run into me and not, say, straight into the street behind me.

She always has been a handful. But an adorable one. “How was your day today?” I ask, leaning back and offering my cheek to let Becca give me the usual greeting kiss.

She blows a raspberry on my cheek instead, and I roll my eyes as I pretend to grumpily drop her back to the pavement, albeit carefully.

“So rude. Let me guess, you spent the day torturing Mrs. White as usual?”

“It’s not torture,” Becca informs me. “She likes when I surprise her.”

“There are surprises and then there are raspberries,” I respond, making a show of wiping off my cheeks.

Becca just laughs at me and crosses her arms, impatient. “So? Are we going already?”

“Someday when you’re older, you’re going to regret spending all this time when you were small in a hurry,” I inform her.

“Doubt it,” she replies, as I swing open the backdoor. She climbs into the car seat before I can even undo the buckles for her, and does up the clasp herself, though of course I still make her let me check it.

I climb into the driver’s seat next, and double check the mirrors to ensure there aren’t any other hyper runaways like Becca in my immediate surroundings before I pull away from the curb. All the while, she keeps up a steady stream of chatter—filling me in on the coloring projects she made that day, her teacher’s opinion of it, the other kids’ projects and the teacher’s opinion of theirs, and so on.

I’m still half-listening, my mind ten steps ahead of me to the flower shop and what I’m going to tell Monica—do I admit about the whole one-night stand thing? What do I say? Do I tell her where I met this guy, and how?