Kiss Me Where It Hurts

Ariana's POV

“Hi, Mr… Fre… Fe… I stammered as I looked down at his file, my pen tapping the desk.

His cedarwood fragrance wafted into my nostrils, and suddenly I couldn't pronounce his name.

I felt him before I saw him.

Not that I disliked the smell, but I didn't think patients had access to strong perfumes. It felt like a violation.

I watched his veiny hand pull the chair back before he took a seat.

“Ferrari is the name, Malyshka—baby girl.” His Russian accent was thick and rich.

Running his fingers into his medium-length free raven hair, he relaxed into the chair.

“You have five minutes to make my time worth it.”

It took me a second to find his eyes, and it felt like my heart froze at the shock of his appearance.

My knuckles paled as my grip tightened around my pen.

I had been stealing glances the whole time, but now I looked into a pair of gray eyes that seemed like they were staring into my soul.

Folding his strong arms across his chest, I noticed a tattoo peeking from his arm sleeves.

His posture appeared to make the hospital gown he was in glue to his body like a second skin.

With those strong tendons shifting under the muscles of his neck….

“Are you going to assess me, Doc, or are we staring at Zavtrak—breakfast—a bit too hungry?” He asked, gesturing at himself.

The muscles of his arms contracted as he flexed them, and I swallowed hard.

I couldn't help but notice the corner of his lips twitched slightly, and my cheeks grew hot as hell.

Clearing my throat quietly, I sat up, looking up from his file because my mind suddenly couldn't grasp the details any longer.

So distracting. Him.

Gathering my composure, I checked his name.

“Well, Mr. Ferrari… I pause, finding it hard to keep eye contact because he seemed to be more interested in staring at me than focusing on why he was here.

“Your reports say you've been hospitalized, even brought in cuffs because you have a tendency to always force yourself on….

“Fuck not Force.” He interrupted, and my eyes widened a bit.

Leaning on his elbow, he brought his face closer to mine.

“That should be the word, doc.” He finished.

With a sober look, he continued.

“I tend to fuck every single time I'm horny. And trust I don't force myself on anyone.”

I blinked at his bold choice of words. His tone felt like he was presenting a valid point to a judge.

For a silly moment, I almost got convinced.

“But your assessment here says otherwise….

“To hell with the assessment. Why do they keep coming back to the dick if it wasn't good?”

When our eyes locked, I looked away, feeling my cheeks burn to a disturbing degree.

“Tell me, doc.”

I could feel my palms sweating as I concentrated on his straight, pencil-sharp nose, his faded pink lips, and how his Adam's apple bobbed.

His words were so inappropriate, but I strangely found them invasive.

Like they invaded my privacy. My innocence.

“Please refrain from using vulgar terms while our session is ongoing, sir, and as hospital policy goes, you're required to fill…. I stretched my hand, retrieving a file from the drawer next to my desk before placing it in front of him.

“Our consent form. It'll guarantee that whatever discussion we have in here remains within the walls. For assessment's sake it'll be recorded f……

“Skip that, Malyshka. I like getting to the point as much as I always find their g-spots on first tr...

“Mr. Ferrari.” I cautioned, my heartbeat racing so fast I was scared he might hear it, so I shrank into my seat.

A lazy smile playing on his lips, he tilted his head.

“Pardon me if I don't know how to put them in fancy dictionary words. I just want to express myself.”

God, he says those things, and then he defends himself with things like this after he's done messed up my whole system.

Why else was I feeling so suffocated in my seat despite the blasting AC?

Now I wish I'd listened to Zoey and dated at least once.

How do I know he's just being himself while I'm overthinking his every word because I'm a vir…

“So how do I sign?” His voice snapped me back to reality.

I half ransacked my bag and half cursed myself for being so clumsy before I finally brought the pen out.

Say something, Ari, you're the doctor here. 'Don't let him get to you,' I pep-talked myself inwardly.

“It's understandable if you want to express yourself, but do so in modesty…

He gave a sharp laugh, and I paused, my brow raising slightly.

“See, Malyshka, you walk in here wearing that little skirt and dare to talk about modesty?”

I glanced down at my blazer skirt, heat crawling up my neck as his gaze dragged over my legs.

“If I weren’t your patient…”

He turned slightly, gesturing to the examination bed, his voice dropping dangerously low,

“I'd put you right there and demonstrate…

“Mr. Ferrari!” I snapped, leaping to my feet, my heart pounding in my ear now.

Remembering he's a patient, I took a deep breath and then sat back.

My tone a bit shaky, I managed to say,

“That's enough, please.”

But I didn't miss the way his lips curled up in amusement at my reaction.

Like he couldn't take me seriously even if he tried.

Worse, the sinful voice in my head convinced me to glance at the curtained cubicle.

The examination bed in there was small and narrow, unfit for a man his size.

What did he plan on doing to me on that bed?

Ariana, focus! I screamed inwardly, shocked at where my thoughts were going.

“Forgive me, Milaya—sweetheart—”

Dragging his thumb across his stubbled jaw, he knitted his brows.

“I'll try not to be too..... expressive.”

For a strange reason my heart almost melted knowing he at least had remorse for his behavior.

I didn't know the meaning of those Russian words he called me, but I subconsciously felt closer to him.

As if he knew something personal about me that I didn't.

Who was this man?

“You can address me as Doctor York.”

He smirked.

“I have a name for you already, doc."

He didn't say but I knew it was Malyka.. or how did he even pronounce it.

"Shouldn't we be more focused on my addiction?"

The casual way he asked, made me realize this vulgar Russian wasn't bluffing about wanting to put me on the bed.

Blood rushed to my cheeks as I perused his file.

God, get me through this session, please.

Wait, he was forty-five?

Were there implications for lying about age in medical terms?

Because he didn't look a day older than twenty-nine.

“Can I have the pen, Malyshka?”

He said it again.

I was tempted to ask him the meaning of the word, but I held back.

Medical personnel aren't supposed to ask such casual questions.

Extending the pen to him, I watched him catch my wrist and press his nose into my skin, sniffing me.