The Hidden Connection

“Good afternoon, Ms. Wren. I'm Dr. Stone."

His voice snapped my head and attention towards me, his voice manly pulling my gaze away from the ceiling titles I was counting straight to him.

He stood in the doorway, filling the entire doorway with his entire six foot two of lean muscle under that white coat.

His wavy black hair was messy in a good way.

His brown eyes were on mine, his gaze was steady like he was assessing me. 

 He wasn't smiling, but something in his expression made my tummy flip.

 I swallowed hard, the paper crinkling as I adjusted.

“Hi. Isola’s fine.”

He nodded, closing the door with a soft click.

He walked to the sink, washing his hands, his sleeves were rolled up revealing his veined forearms.

Water streamed over his fingers, and for some crazy reasons, I couldn't look away, not even for a second.

Something about the way he washed his hands, applying soap on them and rubbing them together as water splashed over his hands felt intimate.

I shouldn't be doing this, I shouldn't be sitting down here imagining all those crazy thoughts. I tried to remind myself. But it felt like I was trying to convince myself otherwise.

“Tell me what's been going on,” he said, drying his hands and then turning to face me.

No charts. No distractions. It's just him, leaning on the counter, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

Ooh damn, focus Isola. The voice in my head warned. I can't, it's hard, I replied.

I explained the symptoms, irregular cycles, the reoccurring fatigue, the painful and unbearable cramp that is after my life.

Surprisingly my voice came out more steady than the way I was feeling.

He listened attentively, nodding occasionally, his eyes never leaving mine. 

It wasn't clinical detachment, it was focus. Like I was the only patient in the world.

“Sounds like it could be stress,” he murmured, pushing himself off from the counter.

 He stepped closer to me, and his cologne filled my space, it was woodsy. “But we will check everything.”

“Lie back for me, Isola."

The way he said my name... soft, almost tender.

I obeyed, then I lied on the table. He adjusted the stirrups, his hands brushed my calves as he positioned my feet.

It was gentle and professional. But my skin heated up at the contact, sparks running up my thighs.

“Breath easy”, he said, his voice low.

He pulled the sheet over my knees, then he wore a glove. 

I stared at the ceiling and resumed my official work of counting the ceiling tiles.

But my body betrayed me, my pulse was throbbing, I felt warm down there. I shouldn't be feeling that way.

His palm pressed my abdomen first. "Any tenderness here?" He circled slowly, fingers splaying wide, applying just enough pressure to make me arch slightly.

His palm pressed my abdomen first, warm and careful. “Any tenderness here?” 

He then circled his hands slowly, he moved his fingers more applying more pressure which was enough to make me jerk.

"No," I whispered, but my voice was barely audible.

 His touch lingered a second longer than necessary, or maybe I imagined it.

"Good." He moved lower, his breath even as he prepared the speculum. "This might feel cold. Relax for me."

I tried. God, I tried. The instrument slid in, inside me, it was chill against the warmth there.

But his fingers guided it with careful and gentle strokes that felt more like he was caressing me than examining me.

My breath hitched, and my thighs tensed. He paused, his eyes coming up to meet mine over the drape.

"You're doing great," he said softly, he sounded like he was praising me.

 His free hand rested on my knee, his thumb stroking me lightly.

It was a comforting gesture that sent electricity straight to my core.

 I bit my lip.

Trying to fight the warmth i wàs feeling on my cheeks.

 This was wrong. So wrong. But the ache building between my legs didn't even care.

He worked efficiently, but every movement felt deliberate and intimate.

 "Everything looks normal," he murmured, voice like sin. A sin you try to avoid but can't.

As he withdrew, his gloved fingers brushed my sensitive skin, and I gasped, quiet, but he heard it.

What the hell is even going on? I asked no one in particular.

 His eyes darkened for a few seconds, acknowledging that he understood what was going on before masking it.

He helped me sit up, his hand at my elbow, steadying me as I balanced myself.

 His touch lingered for some time, his  thumb rubbing my arm.

 "We'll run some labs. Results in a week." Then, quieter, he says his eyes on mine 

"Take care of yourself until then. You deserve that."

I nodded, words stuck in my throat. He stepped back, removing the gloves, but the air between us changed.

It was awkward.

 I dressed behind the curtain, my fingers trembling on buttons as I put on the clothes, replaying every touch. Every word. 

By the time I stepped out, he was at his desk, writing notes. Professional again.

But when he handed me the follow-up slip, our fingers brushed, deliberate this time?

And my body heated up.

"See you soon, Isola."

I left the hospital in a daze, the city noise was too loud and messing with my head, as I thought about what happened.

Elias texted as I hailed a cab: Missed you this morning. Dinner tomorrow. Blue dress.

 I stared at the screen, deciding if I should reply or not. 

The bruise on my wrist was still there, but Dr. Stone's voice still rang in my head. Take care of yourself.

The week went on lazily, meetings, thinking and Elias’s increasing demands.

He hovered more—checking my phone, critiquing my outfits, his charm cracking into control.

He lingered near the more, checking my phone, critiquing my outfits, he became more controlling and insecure.

“You are mine,” he whispered in bed, his hand roaming over my body possessively.

But his touches left me cold now. I faked smiles, and also faked moans, my mind drifting to the gloved hands and brown eyes that saw through me.

By Friday, my chest tightened. I wore the blue dress he chose.

The silk of the dress hugged my petite frame, showing off curves I had earned through stolen yoga sessions.

My brunette waves were pinned loosely, I applied dark blue eye shadow that matches my eye colour and also hides the shadow beneath my eyes.

I flashed my gap teeth in a practiced fake smile. The one Elias would approve.

His penthouse was filled with guests, colleagues in suits, socialites dripping in diamonds.

 Elias stood at the center, his arms around my waist like he was laying claim.

“You look perfect,”  he murmured, his lips biting my ears softly.

But his grip tightened when a waiter lingered too long.

The doorbell rang. And Elias grinned, excusing himself. "Guest of honor's here."

I sipped champagne, chatting absentmindedly with a stranger, when Elias returned. Flanked by him.

Dr. Stone Alaric, 

“Wait what?”

The name made me freeze. That couldn't be right?

I blinked, once, twice. And then my stomach dropped. 

He stood there in a neatly tailored suit, with his coat on one arm. He still had the same commanding presence but it's more casual now.

He scanned the whole room, and then his eyes landed on me. It widened for a second then came back to normal.

"Dad, meet Isola Wren. My girlfriend." Elias pulled me forward, oblivious.

Alaric extended his hand and I shook his hand. But his thumb stroked my palm. A secret, a searing touch.

“Pleasure,” he said, his voice steady as his eyes were still on mine.

The world tilted. How come?

My doctor.

Elias's father.

Twice my age.

The man whose hands had been inside me.

Dinner was torture. I was seated across from him, every glance he looked my way ignited something within me.

His foot brushed mine under the table, and then  it slid up my calf. It was slow and deliberate.

I pressed back, my thighs parting on its own under the silk.

Elias's hands were on my thighs as he chatted. His hands on my thighs felt childish now.

 Elias leaned in. "You okay? You're flushed."

"I’m fine," I breathed. But Alaric's eyes promised more.

Conversation flowed as the dinner went on. I nodded, laughed but I was dying on the inside.

Alaric’s eyes promised ruin. “Wait, isn't he the calm doctor i met or he switched overnight?”

Dinner arrived, that was when Elias's phone buzzed, he went out to take the call excusing himself.

The guests were done eating as they moved to the balcony, the table was empty, filled with used plates and cutleries.

I gathered the plates without thinking, I need to get out of here.

I just needed to breathe. I needed distance.

Alaric appeared from nowhere and beside me in the kitchen, his sleeves were rolled up, and his tie was loosened.

He took a plate from my trembling hands.

"You shouldn’t be here, Miss Wren," he murmured, voice low enough to stroke between my legs.