Indecent Encounters (8 page)

Evie moaned softly as Ryder squeezed one of her breasts. “I did. You guys, please don’t blame him. It’s my fault too.”

“Be quiet,” Ryder told her, looking over her shoulder again. “What if she gets pregnant?”

Evie turned, curious to see and hear where the conversation was headed. Nick walked over to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. “We keep fucking her until she has the baby, then we fuck her again.” He shrugged. “It’s too late now anyway. I’ll fuck her when you’re done. If you didn’t already fuck her and cum inside her, you can do it after me. At least we all have an equal chance of fathering her kid, if she gets pregnant.” Nick looked over at Zane. “Guess we can throw out all those condom packets.”

Ryder nodded to his brothers. “You’re right.”

Bristling, Evie lifted herself off Ryder’s finger. “I’m sitting right here and you guys are talking about me as if I’m a piece of furniture. I thought it was the four of us in this together. Or am I still just here for your amusement?”

Nick walked over to her, scooping her off Ryder’s lap. He cradled her in his arms. “Sorry, sweetheart. We didn’t mean to make you feel like that. Give us some time and I’m sure you can train us to your liking.” He winked at her and laid her on the rug, lifting her dress. Evie spread her legs for him, flushing at the way Nick’s eyes darkened the instant he glanced between her legs. “He gave it to you good, didn’t he?” She nodded despite being utterly embarrassed. Evie wondered what she looked like down there, sticky with Zane’s semen.

Nick sighed and unzipped his pants. “Let me get this straight. You have Zane’s seed in your pussy and Ryder’s cum down your throat?”

Evie lifted her eyes in shock, but unable to refute what Ryder said. Nick laughed softly and pumped into her harder. “I think you’re right. She’s squeezing the fuck out of me.” He grabbed her breasts, pushing into her with long strokes. “Ryder’s right isn’t he, sweetheart? It turns you on being used by the three of us, doesn’t it?”

Keening her answer, Evie twisted her head to the side and back, looking at the men. Nick rolled her nipples between his fingertips. “We love you, sweetheart. All of us. We love you so much. You’ll always be ours. Even when we’re old and gray, you’re going to keep that cunt naked and ready for us. The three of us fucking our perfect little love slave.”

Her orgasm slammed into her and Evie cried out. The sound wrung from her heart was suddenly muffled by a pair of lips crushing over hers. Ryder. She felt and saw Zane press his lips to her neck.

“I love you too,” she whispered, after her kiss with Ryder ended. “I love all of you and I’m happy you kidnapped me. The only thing I’m still trying to figure is which one of you slashed my tire.”

Nick groaned and slid out of her. “Sorry sweetheart, that was me too. I did it after I saw you go inside the club.”

Lovingly, Evie slapped Nick on the shoulder. Zane folded his arms around her while Ryder continued to kiss her face. She laughed softly. “You guys owe me a new tire when we go to pick up my stuff.” The brothers nodded, their eyes reflecting the love she felt for them. Evie swallowed, her eyes misting and snuggled closer to her men.

Sure, they’d kidnapped her and used her body, but in the end, Evie wouldn’t change it for the world. She was loved and wanted and needed by three men. What else could a wanton woman ask for?

The End

Post Op

Copyright © Erin O'Riordan

My first surgery of the day was still a few hours away. I showed up at the hospital early to make my rounds. The first patient on my schedule was Joseph Zorich, twenty-eight years old, in room 304.

I checked his chart. Judging by his meds, Joseph Zorich should either be asleep or
really
out of it. He was on enough painkillers to knock out Marlon Brando.

I went up to the room and knocked softly on the door. It swung open, and I was eye-to-eye with a man.

He was in his twenties, dressed in jeans, a ball cap (on backwards) and a t-shirt with a beer company logo, giving the appearance of an overgrown frat boy. Or maybe a jeans model. He was tall and solidly built, with a wide chest. His longish, chestnut brown hair was a shade darker than his thin, neatly-groomed moustache and matching soul patch. He smelled faintly of marijuana, and his dark eyes were lined with pink.

“Oh, are you the doctor?” he asked, stuffing a pack of cigarettes back into the front pocket of his jeans.

I held out my hand for him to shake. “I’m the surgeon, Dr. Maggie Keller. I don’t suppose you’re my patient, Joseph Zorich?”

“No,” he said, moving aside to let me into the room. “I’m Max. That’s Joey in the bed by the window. Excuse me, Dr. Keller. I’m going outside.”

As he walked away down the corridor, I fought all of my baser instincts not to stick my head out the door and watch him go. I don’t know what it was about Max that got me going, but I had an instant crush.

I cleared my throat, walked past the sleeping patient in the first bed, and introduced myself to my three o’clock surgery. “Mr. Zorich? I’m Dr. Maggie Keller. I’ll be performing your operation this afternoon.”

Joseph Zorich had the same dark eyes as Max; they might have been brothers. Like Max, Joseph was clearly stoned, except that Joseph’s drugs were legal.

“You’re a chick,” Joseph said.

“I know,” I said. I’m used to this kind of stupid comment. This patient at least had the excuse of being whacked out of his mind on painkillers. “I’ve come by to ask you if you have any questions about your surgery.”

“Your hands are tiny,” he said, staring with wonder at my hand clutching the clipboard. Good thing I’d just had my nails done. “Very delicate. You’re going to do a good job of fixing my back, I can tell. Max is worried.”

“Oh, yes,” I said. “I met Max at the door. Is he your brother?”

“He’s my lover,” Joseph said, without the slightest hesitation. “If he was my brother that would make some of the things I do with him pretty sick.”

That’s what I get for assuming the whole world is heterosexual. I should have known they weren’t related; their bodies were totally different types. Max was thick and solid, with rosy pink skin. Joseph was long and lean, but not skinny. His skin was olive-toned, and the shoulder that I could see through his badly-fitting hospital gown was dotted with freckles.

Joseph went on. “You’re pretty,” he said. “You’ve got beautiful tits. I’d love to suck them. Max would like you, too, I think. What do you say, doctor? Instead of a surgery today, how would you like to have a three-way with me and Max?”

I can’t say the thought of hopping into bed with Mr. Zorich, especially if Max would come back from his cigarette break, didn’t cross my mind. But I’m a doctor; I’ve heard everything. And I didn’t let this patient get under my skin.

“Mr. Zorich, you’re obviously in a lot of pain, and under the heavy influence of the painkillers they’ve given you. I’m going to leave my card on your bedside table. If, at any time between now and your surgery, you think of any questions you’d like to ask me, feel free to call. I’ll try my best to answer all of your questions before I see you on the operating table.”

“Have it your way, Doc,” he said, suddenly looking sleepy. As I walked away, I tried not to stare at the circus tent under his thin sheet. Joseph Zorich obviously had a lot on his mind, other than his upcoming surgery.

* * * *

I made my morning rounds, seeing two more patients before my first surgery. Mr. Zorich’s surgery was my second of the day. I’d pushed all thoughts of him and Max out of my head until I saw him, anesthetized and face-down in front of me. It wasn’t really like looking at Joseph Zorich, the human being, at all. I was looking at a sterilized four-inch-square area of the skin on his back—my worksite—little more than a piece of meat. The only thing recognizably human about it was a strip of those freckles.

I did what I’d been called in to do: operate on a herniated disk in Mr. Zorich’s back. I did it well, never once thinking about his wildly inappropriate comments—or his sexy boyfriend. Then I scrubbed up for my next surgery.

After my five o’clock, I stepped outside the hospital for a cigarette break.

“Doctors shouldn’t smoke,” said a voice behind me. I turned; it was Max, out for a cigarette break, too.

“I know,” I said. “It’s a bad habit. But you know, I don’t think I would have made it out of medical school without these things.” I frowned at the half-smoked cigarette between my fingers, dropped it, and crushed it underneath my high-heeled shoe.

“I quit a couple of years ago, technically,” Max said. “But I go back to it when I’m nervous.” He added, “Joey’s still knocked out. I can’t wait for him to wake up.”

I put my hand on his bare arm gently. Touching him set off something inside me, but I forced it from my conscience. “It can be hard watching someone you love feel pain,” I said. “But Joey should be fine in a couple of weeks.”

“How long will they keep him here?” he asked.

“Two days, usually,” I said. “They’ll just want to make sure he doesn’t try to do too much too soon.”

Max looked down at the sidewalk, and I knew what was on his mind. He was thinking about the home he shared with Joey, and how empty his bed was going to feel without him.

“He hurt his back playing basketball,” Max said. “Joey’s got a long jumper that’s just impossible to block.”

“I’ll bet,” I said, thinking of Joey’s long arms and legs. A body like that was designed for shooting a long jumper. And for other things. Images of Max and Joey together crossed my mind. I wondered if Max could see it in my eyes.

“Max,” I said. What a name. What a man’s name. And Max was definitely a guy’s guy. He and Joey might be lovers, but I’d bet they’d never once in their lives been called all those names that boys love to throw at each other. Queer. Fairy. None of them applied; Max and Joey were men, pure and simple.

* * * *

I’ve performed thousands of surgeries in my career. Most of my patients are over sixty. The younger ones are almost always trauma victims. A few, like Joseph Zorich, are just unfortunate enough to injure themselves seriously enough to need surgery. I’ve seen a Joseph Zorich or two in my career. But I’ve never,
ever
in my eight years as a surgeon, responded to a patient sexually before.

When I was in the operating room I was all business. Joey and Max didn’t cross my mind once as I performed my usual array of spinal surgeries. It was in my off time, when I was alone, that they kept creeping into my mind. As I sat in the cafeteria eating my salad and drinking my cappuccino, my eyes would suddenly close, and I’d be watching my own private erotic slideshow.

Joey and Max in the shower.

Joey and Max on the living room sofa.

Joey and Max in the hospital’s elevator. Joey and Max and
me
in the hospital’s elevator, going down…

I don’t usually fantasize about being with two men. I’ve always been a good girl. I’ve never cheated on a boyfriend, never experimented with another woman. I have no problem with people being gay or bisexual, but it’s not something that I usually think about. Still, I had to face it: Max was hot, Joey was hot, and the two of them together made my knees weak.

A week went by, and more and more the fantasies involved Joey and Max—and me. I told myself this was normal. Probably just a sign that it had been too long since my last date, but otherwise normal. The ability to engage in sexual fantasies is a sign of a healthy mind, I reminded myself, quoting one of my psych professors. And that’s all it was—just daydreaming. Joey left the hospital three days after his surgery, and I didn’t think I’d ever see him, or Max again.

One afternoon I checked my office voice mail. I was expecting all the usual calls from other doctors’ offices, and maybe a call or two from my mother. I wasn’t expecting a message from Max Lowell.

“Dr. Keller?” Max’s voice said in the message. “I found your card in Joey’s hospital room. I hope it’s okay that I called you. I just have one more question about his surgery.” He left a call-back number.

I wrote the number down and stuck it in one of my pockets, making a mental note to call Max back later. My calls to other doctors and their offices came first, though. I ended up in a long debate with a radiologist about some films, and by the time I got around to Max, it was the end of the day. I decided to call him from home.