At least, that was what I thought.
But the moment that the doctor all but fell into the room moments after she’d donned the gown—barely giving her time to get undressed and put it on—I felt a protective instinct start to surge inside of me.
One that demanded that I mark my territory so that other males knew what belonged to me.
“Belle, hi.” The doctor tried to act cool once he closed the door, but he didn’t accomplish it.
“Hey,” the nurse who’d followed him in squeaked. “Dr. Knight. Ow. You hit me in the face with the door. Watch it!”
During all of his flourishing entrance, not once did he turn to look at me leaning beside the door.
He walked right up to Belle and offered her his hand.
For some reason, that pissed me off.
I moved, walking to Belle’s opposite side, and drawing Benji’s attention.
“Uhh.” He paused, hand midway stretched out between himself and Belle. “Hello.”
“Belle isn’t comfortable with touches,” I said blankly. “Today, during this exam, you will announce everything you are about to do before you do it. Do you understand?”
Benji dropped his hand. “I’m very professional.”
I shrugged. “It’s not about being professional.”
“I have touch/sensory issues,” Belle said. “As well as a minor case of OCD. Which is why I’m going to ask you to wash your hands where I can see it. Otherwise I’ll obsess over it over and over again until you do. I’m sorry.”
That ‘I’m sorry’ was directed toward the nurse whose smile was soft.
“My daughter has autism,” she said as she walked over to the sink. “I’ll do whatever makes you most comfortable.”
My head tilted toward Belle, studying her.
Was that what she had?
If she did, it was a very minor case.
Or she was very adept at hiding it.
Whatever. She was good.
It was just another ‘I want her’ moment in my head that I tried to tuck away, but couldn’t.
Benji also went and washed his hands, and then did as asked, announcing every single move before he made it.
Five minutes into this exam, I finally moved away so that I was at the head of the table and couldn’t see what was beneath the sheet. But it really didn’t matter. I had one hell of an imagination, and what I imagined was almost worse than being shown.
I saw the way her smooth, tanned thighs parted, almost as if they were waiting for me.
The way her toes rested on the cloth-covered stirrups at the end of the bed.
Then I got to thinking about how fuckin’ perfect this table would be for what I wanted out of her, and how far out the stirrups could be pushed.
The doctor rolled his stool up between her legs, catching my attention, and I stared at him hard.
The nurse that was with him held out a plastic cup with a plastic wand with a pointy edge inside of it.
“This is just going to be a bit uncomfortable,” Dr. Benji Knight said. “This is going to be inserted into your vagina, and I’m going to scrape the end of your cervix with it.”