Daniel left that morning before he actually fell asleep and before day shift arrived. Poor thing was dead tired and couldn’t pull all-nighters anymore, which made him staying so late to help me extra sweet. My already long shift ended up being four hours longer covering for a resident’s clinic hours. I didn’t mind, though; just another six weeks of being chief medical resident and being overworked. I really hoped a job offer waited at the end of this tunnel.
I dropped by the corner pharmacy to pick up my new anxiety medication. The bottle was among many steps toward mental health, light in my hand but holding so much power.
I arrived home at noon. The blinds were open and the room bright in the warm, cozy glow of afternoon light. All I wanted was to shower and sleep a few hours in a real bed before practicing my presentation.
After taking off my shoes, I dragged my feet to the bathroom. I opened the door and yelped when I nearly slammed it against a half-naked Daniel.
He barely startled, wrapped in nothing but a towel low on his hips, a razor partway to his shaving-cream-covered face. His muscles flexed with every small movement in his frozen stature. He’d been nicely built back in the day, but had been a bit leaner, more of a cardio guy. Now? His biceps and triceps tightened as he returned to the mirror and kept shaving. Every play of his mesmerizing muscles ignited memories of his body gliding over mine.
The lines of his sides went in and out of shadowy contour as he twisted to catch the best light. His abs tightened with every breath and I wondered how solid they’d feel beneath my touch. My fingers twitched to reach out, but no. Nope. Brain, we are not doing this. We are smarter than this!
“Just gonna watch, huh?” he asked.
“I could’ve killed you!”
“Let’s not get dramatic.” He ran water over his razor and clanked it against the side of the sink, dislodging particles.
“What if, in your surprise, you’d accidentally cut your throat with that very sharp razor?”
“I’m guessing you’ve had one too many cut-and-go procedures lately?” He dabbed his face with a damp washcloth.
“Maybe?”
“At least you’re a doctor and know how to fix me up.”
“What are you doing here in the middle of the day?”
“I decided to work from home.” He walked over to the shower and turned on the water. Then he clenched a hand over his towel and grinned. “Well…unless you want to join me?”
Eh? I stood immobile for a minute because…I mean…good lord! Seconds away from water and suds running down Daniel’s glorious body.
His smirk teased even more as he slowly loosened the towel and oh my god, was I staring like a starstruck groupie? Yes. Yes, I was.
“You need to take a shower anyway, right?” he asked, stepping toward me until he was within reach. “Don’t want to get the bed dirty.”
He was close enough that I could actually run my hand over his defined abs, chiseled chest, and broad shoulders. I could almost feel the smooth skin of his back as I hugged him to me, smell the residual shaving cream as he leaned his head down to nuzzle my neck.
“No,” I said firmly.
“No…you do want to get the bed dirty?” His eyebrow went up.
“Enjoy your shower. I’ll wait until you finish.”
“Ah. You know that I don’t finish that fast.” He winked and went back to the shower. This time, I expected him to whip off his towel without any shame, which was why I slammed the door closed and stood there like a buffoon. Staring at this slab of wood and knowing that on the other side was a very naked, very wet Daniel Thompson thinking of me while he…finished.
Okay. I pivoted on my heels, washed my hands in the kitchen sink, and busied myself by rinsing my water bottle and coffee tumbler, then cleaned out my backpack and organized the kitchen. Busywork should keep my idle mind from getting ensnared in the Daniel Effect, where I forgot about reality and caved to carnal needs.
I waited patiently on the chair kitty-corner to the couch so I could see the door open.
“All yours, Doc,” he announced, looking sort of smug.
When Daniel walked out, wrapped in that stupid towel with teasing water droplets sliding down his body, I had to pick up my jaw—and my dignity—from the floor and get to my own shower. Quickly. So that he wouldn’t think I was in there reminiscing about anything.
Except, when I emerged, Daniel was walking around shirtless, with gray sweatpants on.
“Don’t you have a shirt to put on?” I grumbled, walking around the couch but leaving plenty of space between us.
“I wonder if your boyfriend has you staring this hard when he’s walking around shirtless.” He sounded so cocky that I couldn’t help but laugh. He craned his neck back and made a face that said, Whhhaaatt?
“You’re so childish,” I retorted on my way to the bedroom.
“Does this bother you? Me being half-naked? Because I don’t think you can stare any harder without damaging your retinas.”
“If I’m staring, it’s at your armpits. Thought you had this oddly strong anti-shave policy for yourself.”
He shrugged. “I now shave a couple new areas since the day. Nice and clean, you know?”
“Sure. Sure.” Like his chest? It was so sleek.
“But if I recall, you used to like the smell of my armpits.” He came at me, a mischievous promise lurking in his eyes.
I backed away. “Don’t. I regret the day I told you that very weird thing.”
He stretched up, all melodramatic, as my butt hit the back of the couch, my hands out to ward off whatever was coming. But there was no fighting it, not when over six feet of glorious muscles and wide chest and brawny shoulders easily overcame me. I laughed and faked disgust as he covered me with his giant arms, trying to plant my face in his armpit.
I pushed to no avail, screaming and dying with laughter. “Stop! That’s so gross!”
“You used to love it, though!”
“Not like this!”
But there was something very strange about enjoying sniffing a man’s armpits. Pheromones. There was a logical, scientific reason. And those stupid pheromones, or Daniel scent, or whatever, bombarded my senses and thrust me back to all those cuddles in bed surrounded by his smell and nothing else.
Since I couldn’t fight him off, I closed my hands over my face and burrowed into his chest. He hugged me then, in all of our wild cackling over something so odd. But the truth was, Daniel smelled unerringly intoxicating and I wanted to cocoon myself in his embrace.
“What other very Pree things about you do I remember? Oh, yeah. This one.” He reached down and touched the back of my knee.
I gasped, clutching his shoulder. “Daniel!”
He groaned. “Almost forgot the response to this one,” he said as he gently rubbed the sensitive spot behind my knee, which sent lightning bolts of pleasure to my center.
Yeah, I know. It was a weird turn-on, one that he’d discovered during tickling sessions.
His expression went from playful to one of need, a war of emotions. “Your boyfriend probably wouldn’t like me getting these sounds out of you.”
I bit my lower lip. “I actually broke up with him.”
His right brow quirked up. “Oh, yeah?” he asked, his fingertips brushing my skin in feathery touches that had me leaning into him.
“Yeah.”
“So…no impending engagement?”
“No,” I rasped.
“Should I…” He licked his lip in that slow, sensual way that had me wanting his kisses all over me. “Keep going?”
He didn’t let up, stroking the sensitive skin while pulling my knee up as he slowly rose to a full stand. Oh, boy. I was about five strokes away from having my leg wrapped around his waist and quite possibly orgasming from behind-the-knee fondling. How was that even a thing?
“No!” I yelped, pushing against his chest while crawling up and away from him, hence over the back of the couch and falling onto the cushions.
I scrambled to draw my feet into myself and basically twirled around like a breakdancing turtle until my legs were off the couch and I was sitting upright. I jumped up, now having the safety of the couch between us. I held up a hand. “You can’t do that.”
He grinned. “But it felt good.”
I tamped down a smile. Dang it! It had felt so good that my nerves were still lit.
Nevertheless, I marched into the bedroom and announced my nap time. Nope. Nope. Nope.
I mean…what was happening?
