5 - Theresa.

I have a problem.

A delicate, ridiculously sweet problem. 

Because since Dr Storm touched me last night and left me aching, since we came so freaking close and yet fell so far short, I've been in one seriously foul mood.

"What's wrong?" Casey Evans, my boyfriend asks on our way back home from school. Casey and I have been together for three months, and it's been hell trying to force myself to develop feelings for him, while actively lusting over Doctor Storm.

And now, as I sit in his car, meeting his gaze, a part of me feels sorry as I realize that I'll never feel anything remotely strong to what I feel for Doctor Storm for this equally amazing man. Though we've been dating for three months, Casey has never pestered me for sex. He understands me. Has always been there for me. Sometimes I curse the heavens for bringing me across Doctor Storm, because if Doctor Storm wasn't in the picture, I would have fought myself harder to love Casey. "Um, nothing."

"That's a lie, babe and you know it," he says gently. "Is it still the fall? Is it affecting you that badly?"

I've healed from the bad fall I orchestrated to get Doctor Storm's attention, but his question shines light on a new idea. "Yeah," I say, nodding. "I still feel pain in my waist joints. Can we stop by at Doctor Storm's? I won't take long, I promise."

"Anything for you, my love."

I might regret this later, I know. But Doctor Storm started this fire. He can freaking quench it.

Pure, molten frustration swirls in me as Casey speeds the whole way there. Sparks surge through my veins when we pull up in the hospital Doctor Storm works in. I feel Casey's eyes drill holes into me as I make my way inside while he waits in the car, and a swoosh of guilt seizes me once again. But when I step into the bright hospital lobby and smell the tang of cleaning spray, I'm seized with a new fear. What if Doctor Storm has changed his mind? What if he sends me home without doing anything? Without touching me?

No. This needs to happen.

I need to see it through. No matter what.

There's a line already at the reception desk, but I march past to the map on the wall. Carts of medical supplies trundle past, pushed by porters in navy scrubs, and the tannoy reminds us all about the fire exits.

I've been here recently, damn it. Why can't I learn the layout? And why do all the corridors in this goddamn building look exactly the same?

Grumble, grumble, grumble. If he's not here, I'm gonna cry.

After several minutes of scowling at the map, I give up and pick a random corridor, my shoes squeaking against the linoleum. If all else fails, I'll close my eyes and let my pussy lead me there, because by the feel of it... the doctor's got us tethered on a string.

* * *

Dr Storm has a brass name plaque on his office door, and one of those flip signs that says 'Do Not Disturb'. I'd turn around on the spot, sweet aching or no, because I've been raised to respect doctors' time—except his door is propped open and I can see him in there, clicking away at his computer and sighing.

There's no patient in there. No one to bother except him.

I nibble my bottom lip and knock. "Um. Dr Storm?"

Our family friend rockets out of his desk chair, wheels clattering across the floor. Those green eyes are wide, and he stares at me like he's seen a ghost. "...Theresa? What are you doing here?"

Is it really so shocking that I'd be here? After yesterday? Oh god, did I blow what happened between us way out of proportion?

"Theresa," the doctor says, then snaps back to life. He crosses the room in a few strides, then ushers me inside and closes the door behind us. The lock thuds into place.

My mouth is dry.

He looks different here. I knew that, obviously; I saw him at work the other day, but that was before... well. Before.

And today, in his full doctor garb, Dr Storm looks like all my Christmases and birthdays have come at once. The pristine white coat clings to his broad shoulders; his charcoal tie draws a line down that toned stomach. Even the shadows under his eyes are doing something for me. The threads of silver at his temples make my tummy flip.

"Um." I smooth both hands down my front, second guessing my outfit choices. Maybe wearing the skirt and knee-highs again is pushing my luck, because Dr Storm glances down my body, then looks troubled by what he finds. "Should I have made an appointment or something?"

Green eyes meet mine, then soften. "Of course not, Theresa. You're always welcome here," he says, then visibly remembering his job, the doctor adds: "Even when I'm with patient or — "

I hold up one palm, fighting a grin. "I get it, Doc. You're forever loyal to my father."

The smile that spreads on his face is worth getting lost for twenty minutes in the hospital corridors just to see the blush spreading over his cheeks. He shrugs helplessly. "I didn't think I'd see you again, Theresa. At least not...so soon."

What? Why not?

Numbness spreads through my fingers and toes, but I'm proud to say that I act normal. Like my whole world isn't crashing down around my ears. Like my sweet boyfriend isn't waiting for me in the parking lot, clueless as fuck. "As in... you didn't want me to come? You regret what happened yesterday?"

Will I die of this sweet ache?

"I—regret? Theresa, come on." Dr Strom glares at me like I'm the one who's being confusing as hell. "Of course I don't regret it one bit. That was—I will treasure that memory, even if we don't... even if we never..."

A heavy sigh of relief gusts out of me, and I'm surprised the posters don't flap against the walls. This idiot.

"I liked it," I say, cutting across whatever noble meltdown he's having. "No, I loved it. I want to do it again and again, and I want to get to the best part this time. Don't you?"

That perfect chest rises and falls. Little ID cards and a dangling watch hang from his lapel like medals.

"Your father told me about your boyfriend..." Dr Storm begins cautiously, and I close my eyes. I don't find Casey a serious hurdle. I can always break up with him. Dad is the main hurdle. The only hurdle, really, because if we'd met any other way, you bet your ass I'd have thrown myself into the doctor's arms long ago. "Are things serious between you two?"

"No," I say flatly.

He stares at me for a few minutes. "When were you planning on telling me about him?"

I shrug. "Probably never? Casey and I aren't serious. He's not going to be a problem, trust me."

"Do you love him? Your father seems to be quite taken by him..."

"Dad wants me to be happy." Even as I say the words, I will myself to believe them. "But he has to understand that I'm old enough to make my own choices. He'll get over Casey eventually. Maybe he'll be shocked at first, but it'll be fine. It will be fine."

Please, god. Let this all be fine.

"He trusts you more than he trusts Casey. He likes you more than Casey," I whisper.

Dr Storm snorts. "That's only a matter of time. He wouldn't be so pleased if he finds out what we...um...what we did — "

"Who's going to tell him? Definitely not me."

"Definitely not me either. Alright, well... forget your father. Are you sure, Theresa? Because," he says, steering me back toward the examination bench, that hungry glint back in his eye, "I won't be an experiment. This won't happen once or twice, then never again. If we start this, we're in this. Do you understand?"

I nod as my ass hits the bench. He grips my hips and lifts me up, muscles flexing, and Jeez Louise, how's a girl supposed to think straight when that happens?

"These socks," the doctor says, circling one fingertip on my knee before nudging my legs open, "are an act of war."

My spluttered laugh is met with a crinkle-eyed smile. There he is. There's the man I've loved for years.

And though we haven't settled any details, though my father and boyfriend is a hurdle, whether we like it or not... I'm lighter than air as I beam at Dr Storm. He steps between my spread thighs, then bends his face to mine.

"Theresa," he says against my parted lips. His kiss is long and hard and hungry, and my insides fizz as his tongue strokes mine. "Christ, Theresa. How will I ever deserve you?"

My head swims, and I grip the sides of his white coat for balance. But one idea presents itself, right as my pulse throbs between my legs: "You left me aching yesterday, Doc. Why don't you start there?"

His smile is wolfish. "You're right, Theresa. Let's take it again. From the top. And this time? I'll make sure we finish off."