Harlow: A Military Bad Boy Romance: The Bradford Brothers (14 page)

I take Whitney’s kiss as a sign that she’s ready for the next round. I can’t stop looking at her naked body, and touching her soft skin. I’m glad I accomplished my goal of making her feel so good. And now I want to take her, claim her as my own while I keep making her feel even better.

I turn her over so that she’s lying on her stomach.

“Oooh,” she says teasingly, as I run my hand down her naked back. “What a way to start out.”

“You know it,” I tell her. “I want our first time to be magical and memorable, not the traditional missionary position.”

Although I wouldn’t mind being in that position— and any and every position— with her in the future, of course.

I take off my shoes, pants and underwear while I kiss her neck and then my lips make their way down to her back and her perfectly round ass. I slip on a condom as I knead her ass, which makes my dick hard as a rock.

I get onto the bed and sit behind her, pulling her ass up to my cock while her head rests on the pillow.

“You just relax and keep feeling good,” I tell her. “Let me do the work.”

I put my cock up against her pussy and I can feel it throbbing desperately for her. I might even feel embarrassed at how much I want her, if I weren’t so turned on.

I slide through her wet and welcome opening and she moans as I slip inside her. I love her she moans. When I’m almost all the way inside, a tiny gasp escapes her mouth.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

I pause.

“No. I mean. It’s fine. Keep going.”

I continue until I’m all the way inside her and then I gently pump while she starts moaning again. I love how tight and wet her pussy feels when my cock is all the way inside it. I can’t restrain myself now, and I push in and out of her at full force.

“Yes. Harlow. Yes!”

I hold onto her shoulders and then her hair. I pull her hair and she doesn’t even cry out in pain. The only sound escaping her lips is pure pleasure.

I’m excited that I’m making her feel so good, while I myself feel good too. It seems like the perfect balance that is usually so unattainable.

I grip her hips and push myself into her further, faster, and harder. I’m panting and she’s groaning and calling out my name.

“Whitney,” I say, wanting her to know how she makes me feel. “Whitney. Whitney. Whitney.”

I feel her pussy tighten even more around my cock as her juices explode on it.

“You’re making me come. I’m coming again.”

“I’m coming too.”

I feel the cum from my cock pulse into her, as her pussy spasms around it. I can’t remember ever feeling so good physically and emotionally after one fuck.

It
is
just a fuck, right?

We collapse together on the bed, my arms wrapped around her in a cuddle.

I don’t fucking cuddle.

I also don’t fucking
come
so quickly. But I haven’t been with anyone in a while thanks to having Whitney all up in my head. All I wanted to do was let myself go with her, physically and emotionally.

What the hell am I doing?

I hope to God that Jensen’s wrong, that this really is a real thing and that real things can actually last. Could I be fooling myself?

Hell, just a couple weeks ago I thought this girl was my worst enemy. So what if I really
am
literally sleeping with the enemy?

As I hear her breath slow down, and feel the relaxed comfort of the side of her hip in one of my hands and her soft, gorgeous brown hair in the other, I know I’m not going anywhere tonight.

If I’m sleeping with the enemy, at least we just had out- of- this- world sex, and at least I’ll have sweet dreams before I wake up to my real- life nightmare.

The first thing I see when I walk into my office is Dr. Davis.

He’s sitting in
my
office chair. I freeze in the doorway, before saying a startled, “Hello?”

“Whitney,” he says, and beckons at me to come in. “How nice to see you today. Please close the door.”

I do it, if only out of complete shock. He’s acting like this is
his
office.

Who let him in here? Who is allowing him to do this?

The questions fly through my mind faster than any answers can come. But it’s obvious that he has more power and control here than I thought he did. I’d best tread carefully.

I obediently sit down at the chair in front of my desk, which is supposed to be for patients. I wonder if Dr. Davis somehow knows what Harlow and I have been up to. Would Harlow have told him? Does he somehow have Harlow on some sort of high- tech top- secret surveillance? He sure
does
seem to keep close tabs on him.

Dr. Davis is staring at me suspiciously, as if wondering how I’m going to play this. So I decide to play it cool— pick up where I’d left off with Dr. Davis, or tried to anyway— and not show any of my fear. Not that that’s as easy as it sounds when the plan first crosses my mind.

“I’m so glad you’re here, too, Dr. Davis,” I say, taking a moment to regain my composure. I sit up straight in my chair and smile at him, as if nothing in the world is wrong. As if I didn’t just have sex with his prodigy patient. “I left you a message, and was hoping you’d get back to me soon about that. So thank you.”

“Yes, I’m here to discuss Harlow, of course,” he says. “Which is something that obviously needs to happen.”

“Obviously,” I say, trying to suppress a gulp.

Is it possible that he’s really just here to discuss my voicemail and Harlow’s treatment plan? Could I be worrying for nothing?

I try to relax.

“He’s obviously not improving while working with you,” Dr. Davis says, with a frown.

“I’m sorry. He’s… what?”

“Not improving. Your message and your charts and notes are quite clear. We need to step up Harlow’s training. Have him work with someone more experienced, who can hopefully get better results out of him.”

“Not improving? Dr. Davis, I don’t think you heard my voicemail correctly…”

“Of course I did. But I’m beginning to think you’re the one who isn’t hearing me.”

He leans back in his chair—
my
chair— and crosses his arms across his chest. I’m beginning to realize that the situation is worse than I could have possibly thought.

“Dr. Davis,” I say, trying to sound firm and bold, as I pick up Harlow’s file that he had left in front of him on my desk, “My notes have well documented that—”

“That Harlow is behind in many areas. That he needs a lot of extra therapy.”

I flip frantically through the pages, until I find some of my notes. Except, they’re not my notes. They have my signature attached to them, but they are not what I put into the system.

I had printed out my notes to go over them with Lance and Dr. Davis. So at least I know I have the originals, but these are not them. Where I had given Harlow glowing reviews on his assessments, this imposter’s copy shows that he is lacking in many areas.

“I… I don’t understand…” I falter, at the same time that I’m beginning to think I do.

At first, I think that someone must have mistakenly switched my notes in Harlow’s file with those of a different patient. Then, broaching the possibility that it was something more nefarious, I begin to think that someone purposefully changed them.

But then I realize that that “someone” was Dr. Davis. And the light must dawn in my eyes, because he nods his head at me knowingly.

“Of course you understand,” he says. “You know exactly where Harlow stands. Even though you may have wanted to exaggerate how well he’s doing since you have a romantic interest in him. You know that’s not what’s best for the patient. You have to be truthful even when you wish the patients were doing better than they are.”

“Dr. Davis, these are not my notes,” I begin to say, feeling my face redden with heat and anger.

I was right about him all along, and I should have trusted my initial instincts. I’m determined to stand up to him.

At first I thought he was lying about how far Harlow had come in his recovery but now I realize that for some reason he’s lying about how little progress Harlow has made. It makes no sense, but I’m certain I can get to the bottom of it.

“Yes, they are your notes,” he says, leaning forward to glare at me. “And we can work this one of two ways. A way that’s good for you, or a way that’s bad for you.”

He cocks his head to the side, to make sure I’m listening.

“I’m sure you know that I have everyone in this place in my back pocket. They listen to anything and everything I say. So it all depends on how you want me to spin this. I can go out there and tell your boss that we had a nice chat and I appreciate the work you’ve done with Harlow but that you and I have decided he needs a higher level of treatment. I will give a glowing performance review and recommend that they keep you around here, for your ability to help Harlow as much as you could and to recognize when he needs very experienced care.”

Dr. Davis clears his throat, and then continues.

“Or I can go tell them that you don’t know what you’re doing, that you slowed down Harlow’s progress even more, and that you should be terminated immediately. And just what do you think they will do if I tell them that?”

I look at him, but don’t say anything.

I know they would terminate me. He’s right. He’s like a god around here and I’m a brand new intern.

Now it makes sense as to why he chose me to work with Harlow. He thought he could intimidate me into doing whatever he wants. He’s since realized I won’t, but he doesn’t care because he knows they’ll never believe me over him. So he just threatens to get me fired if I dare challenge him.

“Whitney? Are you all right? Or did our friendly little chat scare you?”

I just sit here, not saying anything. I don’t know what there is to say at this point, as he’s clearly got me right where he wants me.

“There, there,” he says, getting up from my desk and walking around to pat me on my shoulders. “I knew you’d see it my way. Everyone always does. I’ll just go out there and let them know that we had this nice little talk. I’ll go with Option A for the time being, but if I hear a protesting squeak out of you, I’ll be sure to have Plan B as a backup.”

And with that, he leaves my office, taking my courage and dignity along with him.

Even though I have to work for Dr. Davis today, I’m so happy I could whistle while I do it. I’m still on cloud nine from my night with Whitney, and looking forward to seeing her again. For once, I don’t even care that she’s been the subject of my every waking thought.

And I’m also excited to talk to Dr. Davis about my physical therapy results. Whitney had mentioned a wrinkle— something about Dr. Davis thinking we shouldn’t work together— but I know I can iron it out. It must be a misunderstanding that a chat with Dr. Davis should easily clear up.

When I go to knock on his door, he’s already in his office, and waves me in as if he was expecting me.

“Hello Harlow,” he says, in a serious tone.

“Hey Doc. What’s up? Were you able to talk with—”

“With Whitney Reid?” He asks, with a knowing nod. “Yes, and as a matter of fact, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Okay, good,” I say, sitting down.

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Harlow,” he says, a frown spreading across his face. “But please don’t be mad at the messenger. Whitney has reported that your progress is slower than she would expect and that you need even more work than she is able to provide you with at this time, being a new intern and everything.”

“She? What?”

I can’t believe it. I have no idea what’s going on, but there has to be some explanation.

“That’s not at all what she’s been saying to me,” I tell him, searching my mind to find some explanation.

“Well, here it is in black and white,” he says, handing me my file. “And from what I’ve seen and heard at the facility, it appears that Ms. Reid has a little crush on you. So maybe she’s not as forthcoming with you as she was with me, or she just can’t help but tell you what you want to hear. She seems to me to be a little weak, like someone who always plays it safe. So who knows what she’s really thinking? People like that are squirrely.”

I look down at the notes from Whitney, which definitely lay out a different story than she’s been telling me. She had said she had given me all 9’s and 10’s for aptitude but her charts document 2’s and 3’s at best. Her notes state that I’m basically incapable of doing anything I’m supposed to be able to do.

I scratch my head, perplexed.

“But Dr. Davis,” I protest, suddenly finding half my brain. “It’s not just that she told me I was able to do these things. It’s that, I was literally, actually, able to do them. I ran these distances in much shorter times than are shown here.”

“According to whom?” Dr. Davis asks, raising his eyebrows at me.

Fuck. Of course Whitney had been the one with the stopwatch. But why would she fudge my times? Why would she tell me I’m doing great, and tell Dr. Davis I’m doing so poorly?

I know she didn’t lie about my progress. I know I’m in tip top shape, almost as good as I was before the accident. But obviously Dr. Davis doesn’t believe me because Whitney’s notes say differently. And why would they say differently?

I stand up, angrily pushing my chair against Dr. Davis’ desk. I have to go talk some sense into her.

“Look Harlow,” Dr. Davis says, clearing his throat. “I don’t know what’s going on with that girl but I have to give her the benefit of the doubt. You’ve been accusing me of holding you back but now her notes show that you’re not ready. So let’s just concentrate on going from here. You’re being re-assigned, and certainly another Physical Trainer will be able to give us some clarity. Some insight into this situation. Maybe the truth lies somewhere in between what Ms. Reid— who is obviously goo- goo- ga- ga over you— thinks your abilities are, and what you think your abilities are. We’ll find out soon enough, and we can address this head- on.”

He’s right. Whitney must be telling me one thing— which I definitely think is the truth— and writing down another thing just to hold me back. She’s used to dating losers like Tony so maybe she was looking for a reason to keep me along longer. Maybe she doesn’t even want me to go back into the military because then I’ll have to go overseas.

Talking to her isn’t going to do any good. I really
was
sleeping with the enemy.

Now the events and outbursts the last time I saw Whitney were starting to add up. Dr. Davis must have found out how badly she reported that our sessions were going and started the process of switching me over to another physical therapist.

Whitney was probably shocked he’d taken action against her, and was sure I’d find out. That’s why she was so nervous, and had tried to call things off with me.

“All right,” I tell Dr. Davis, at a loss for anything better to say.

I guess he wins. Whitney wins. Everyone wins but me.

I storm out of his office, determined to never talk to Whitney again. I wish I never would have talked her into being with me in the first place.

I never should have fallen for her, no matter how cute her damn ass is.