Chapter 5 – Aftercare

Dr. Cole

The door clicked shut behind Elizabeth Monroe, and I immediately sank into my office chair, elbows on my knees, head in my hands.

“What the hell was that?” I muttered into the silence.

I’d just cleaned her up.

Not just wiped away the excess lubricant like it was a standard procedure—which, to be fair, it sometimes was when a nurse was present. But no. I’d done it gently. Tenderly, even. Like she was something fragile and precious and not a routine patient in a paper gown.

I scrubbed my hands over my face.

Unprofessional.

Too intimate.

Absolutely not okay.

I’d been practicing medicine for over twenty years. I’d performed that exact same exam more times than I could count, and I had never once done what I just did. I’d also never once had to remind myself that a patient was off-limits because my brain was too busy cataloging the curve of her waist and the small sigh she made when she exhaled.

Or the way she tensed when I—

I stood up too fast and paced to the counter, bracing my hands against the edge like it might stop the flood of regret rushing through me.

God, I hoped she hadn’t noticed.

Or if she had, that she thought nothing of it. That it didn’t register as anything beyond clinical thoroughness. Because if she read it the wrong way… if she reported it…

I exhaled sharply. My license. My reputation. My practice. All of it could come crashing down because I let a single moment of softness get the better of me.

And still—

Still.

I shifted uncomfortably and glared down at my traitorous crotch.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

There it was. Rock hard. Like I wasn’t currently spiraling over a potential malpractice accusation.

I stared at the bulge in my slacks like it had personally betrayed me.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I hissed under my breath. “I’m panicking over a possible lawsuit and you’re out here trying to salute the goddamn sun?”

No response. Just throbbing silence and the faint hum of the HVAC kicking on.

“You realize she’s half our age, right?” I added. “Bright, sweet, clearly brilliant, and now probably traumatized because I couldn’t keep my shit together for a routine fucking exam.”

Another beat passed. Then, like the devil himself had a sense of humor, my brain offered a flash of her face. Her lashes fluttering. The way her lips parted when I—

I slammed my hand against the counter.

“Stop.”

Deep breath in. Hold. Release.

Focus.

I needed to get it together. I had two more appointments back-to-back, charts to finalize, labs to review, and a very long, very cold shower in my future.

Because Elizabeth Monroe—Miss Monroe—was not just a patient.

She was a complication I could not afford.

No matter how sweetly she said thank you.

No matter how soft her skin felt under my gloves.

No matter how goddamn good she smelled.

I took one last breath, adjusted myself with the world’s deepest sigh of regret, and opened the next chart.

Back to work.

Back to pretending I hadn’t just committed the cardinal sin of clinical temptation.

The cursor on the open chart blinked like it was mocking me.

Focus, I told myself again. But there was no focusing—not when every cell in my body was screaming for something it shouldn’t want. I adjusted my pants again, then gave up entirely and leaned back in my chair, rubbing the heel of my palm over the thickening pressure.

Christ.

That little sigh she made when I told her to relax…

I swallowed hard.

It wasn’t just her body that had me coming undone. It was her mouth—sharp and clever when she teased me during the first visit, soft and grateful today when she said thank you. It was her eyes—wide and curious and just a little unsure. It was those heels—fuck, those heels—and the way they made her legs look even longer.

She was tiny, delicate almost, but the way she moved in those heels? Commanding. Like she knew the power she held and dared the world to underestimate her anyway.

My hand shifted lower.

“Goddamn it,” I muttered under my breath.

The knock startled me so hard I jolted upright, yanking my hand away just as the office door creaked open.

“Well, well,” said a familiar voice. “Looks like I showed up at just the right time.”

I didn’t have to look to know who it was. Madison. The pharmaceutical rep I occasionally let take the edge off when I got too restless to think straight.

She was already stepping inside, heels clicking on the tile, her eyes trailing down to where I was still half-hard in my pants.

“I figured I’d drop by and see if you wanted to grab a late lunch,” she said, closing the door behind her. “But this looks way more fun.”

I should’ve told her no. Should’ve sent her away.

But my thoughts were still wrapped in dark chocolate waves and wide hazel eyes. And Madison—well, she wasn’t her.

But for right now… she’d do.

I stood up and crossed the space between us in three long strides, gripping her waist and turning her around before she could say another word. She gave a delighted little gasp as I bent her over the desk, already hiking up her pencil skirt and tugging her panties down with practiced ease.

“Still not much for foreplay, huh?” she teased, glancing back over her shoulder.

I ignored her.

Spit. Hand. Pressure. Just enough slick to get by. I was already pushing inside her before the last of her words faded.

She moaned, loud and open-mouthed, bracing her forearms on the desk as I drove into her. My grip tightened on her hips, pace unforgiving, body chasing something my brain knew it shouldn’t.

But it wasn’t Madison I saw. Not really.

It was Elizabeth.

Her flushed cheeks. Her parted lips. The way she looked at me when I told her to relax.

“Fuck,” I muttered, jaw clenching.

Behind me, Madison was still gasping, her voice breathy and smug. “God, maybe I should stay away more often if this is the kind of welcome I get.”

I said nothing. Just drove harder, faster, chasing a high that was sharp and wrong and tasted like guilt.

When I finally pulled out, I came in a hot, heavy pulse across the curve of her ass, jaw tight, breath ragged.

“Eliz—”

I caught myself mid-name. Swallowed it like a curse.

But it was too late.

Madison straightened slowly, smoothing her skirt down as she turned to face me, brows raised.

“Did you just almost call me someone else’s name?”

I said nothing.

Her smirk faded a little. “Huh.”

She grabbed her purse, tone shifting from flirty to cool. “Well. Good to know.”

And then she left.

Leaving me there, breathless and ashamed, cock still half-hard, and head spinning with the name I hadn’t meant to speak.

Elizabeth.

Madison’s heels echoed down the hallway, fading like a warning bell I should’ve heeded earlier.

I ran a hand through my hair and exhaled, sharp and unsteady. My pulse was still elevated, sweat prickling at my lower back. I glanced down at the mess on my desk—displaced files, a discarded tissue, the lingering imprint of a decision I couldn’t take back.

Get it together, Stacy.

I turned back toward my chair and reached instinctively for my favorite pen—matte black with a weighted barrel and gold clip, a gift from a former patient who knew I liked things precise.

It wasn’t there.

I frowned and checked under a folder, then behind the tablet.

Nothing.

I paused. Shit.

I’d had it during Elizabeth’s appointment. Was using it to write her lab orders—right before I panicked and bolted from the room like an intern on his first day.

Of course.

I blew out another breath, stood, and forced my legs to move. The hallway felt longer than usual. Every step toward the exam room was one more chance for regret to stretch its claws into my back.

The door creaked softly as I pushed it open.

It looked exactly how I left it. Neat. Sterile. Still tinged with the faint scent of lavender soap and something warmer—something I couldn’t quite name.

I spotted the pen instantly, right where I’d left it beside the glove box.

But that wasn’t all.

I froze.

There, crumpled neatly on the edge of the exam table, were her pantyhose.

Black. Sheer. Rolled halfway down, like she’d peeled them off in a hurry and meant to come back for them.

My mouth went dry.

For a long moment, I didn’t move. Just stared at them like they were radioactive.

Then I crossed the room and picked them up—gently, like they might shatter in my hands.

Soft. Warmed from her skin. A whisper of perfume clinging to the fabric.

My mind went places it shouldn’t.

She was in a rush. She didn’t even notice. Don’t make this something it’s not.

But it was already something.

I swallowed hard, fists tightening around the fabric.

There were lines I’d never crossed in over two decades of practice. Never touched a patient inappropriately. Never called one after hours. Never looked at one the way I looked at her.

And yet—here I was.

Holding a forgotten scrap of clothing like it meant something.

Like she meant something.

I stared at the table for a beat longer, remembering the way she looked at me right before she left. Flushed. Breathless. Polite, but something else flickering beneath the surface.

Did she know?

Did she leave them on purpose?

No. No, don’t be ridiculous.

This wasn’t a fucking romance novel.

I shook myself, folded the pantyhose carefully into a biohazard bag—because what else could I do?—and forced my feet to walk back to my office.

The pen still dangled from my fingers, completely forgotten.