Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
…Because I’ve already seen him naked.
I’m a doctor, for Christ’s sake. I’ve spent years studying the human body, inside and out, and I see nudity on an hourly basis, every single day. And yet somehow, every single ounce of professionalism went out the fucking window when they laid him on that operating table and cut his clothes away. The guy was out cold, half dead, and in immediate need of a hefty blood transfusion if he was going to have a shot in hell of getting through this.
But God help me, they cut those pants off of him, and then his boxers, and my jaw just fucking dropped. Because half-dead or not, patient or not, and professionalism or lack thereof, I took one look at the package between his muscled thighs and my mind went to mush.
There’s no way I could even guess at how many dicks I’ve seen in my life. I mean, hello, I’m a doctor. In my personal life? Well, that’s another story—a laughable, sad, and tragic story. Those I could certainly count, and believe me, it’s a very small, very disappointing number. I mean, I had friends and I have colleagues who date all the time, and who got wild all through college and med school. But I have no freaking idea how they managed to pull that off.
I mean who had the time to get laid while studying for MCATS? Who the fuck had time to fuck when cramming for Bio-Chem? And once I was actually in medical school? Yeah, forget it. If I had time to shower and feed myself, it was a good week. Forget going out and trying to pick up guys.
Let’s just say I’ve put a serious dent in the battery industry over the last few years and leave it at that.
My teeth rake over my bottom lip as my eyes land on the bulge under his sheet. I blink. Hang on, bulge? I frown in confusion. He’s obviously not aroused, I mean the man just went through a couple hours of life-or-death surgery, he’s been shot twice, he’s crashed a car, I think maybe gotten into a knife fight, and lost a few pints of blood. No, it’s gotta be that some idiot orderly left something under his sheet or something, because there is no freaking way he’s—
I pull back the sheet, and my breath catches.
Oh shit.
Wrong. I was dead wrong. Because there, throbbing, thick, and maybe half hard against his muscled thigh, is his huge cock.
Fuck me sideways, he’s not even fully erect and the freaking thing is halfway down to his knee and almost as thick as my wrist. My eyes widen, and my breath catches as I just stand there staring at his cock like a complete fucking psycho. A horny, thirsty psycho.
My eyes drink him in, but then I sigh, my shoulders slumping. He’s ridiculously hot, with this strong, chiseled jaw, perfect nose, dark hair, and thick dark lashes, and these utterly mesmerizing blue eyes. He’s built like a professional athlete, his tattoos are gorgeous, not cheesy or tacky, and to top it all off, he’s hung like a fucking horse.
That’s the “pros” side of the chart. But then there’s the “cons.” Number one might be that he literally is a con, as in convict, probably. The admitting nurse has already told me that the police want to talk to him and run some prints when he comes to. On that note, here he is handcuffed to the freaking bed. Then there’s the two gunshot wounds, the five knife slashes, and the fact that he got here in a stolen car.
I sigh.
Just once, once, could it be that I find a normal hot guy? I know it’s the job—it’s that I’m at the hospital ninety-freaking-hours a week. It’s that this job is my relationship. A colleague a few months ago forced me to download Tinder and set up a profile. I was on it for a week, and the three guys I agreed to meet based pretty much exclusively on their good looks turned out to be the worst. One flat out told me he was “collecting” professions. He’d already screwed a dentist, an x-ray technician, a nurse, and—wait for it—a vet, and now he wanted ER surgeon on the list. Yeah, fuck off.
Another was broke, living in his parents’ basement and, oh right, registered on a sex offenders list for “a misunderstanding.” I won’t even get into the third guy who literally pulled his oddly small dick out in the middle of a restaurant.
And here we go again. I find a gorgeous, hot as hell guy. If this were a romcom movie, he’d wake up, instantly fall for me, and we’d run off together. Except, this isn’t that movie—those movies do not involve handcuffs, gun shots, and the cops.