My Husband Sold Me to His Stepdad’s Clinic - Chapter 8: Chapter 8
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Daniel's Adam's apple jumped when I made the first move. I caught a flash of guilt in his eyes, but he didn't stop me—didn't even try.
"Sweetheart," he said, pulling away, "you need to focus on your treatment. I'm not going anywhere."
Yeah, right. Two seconds later, he was ducking into his study with some lame excuse about work.
The empty space beside me might as well have been screaming. Disappointment curled in my stomach, hardening my determination to beat this condition once and for all.
If he was just going to keep hiding in his damn study, what was the point?
At least Vincent had been MIA for days—a small mercy that let me breathe easier.
Eventually, I stopped asking Daniel to come with me to appointments.
Then came the real surprise: my usual female doctor was gone. In her place stood a man.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Roscente." He offered his hand, all warm smiles. "Dr. Felix Winston. I'll be taking over your treatment."
I fumbled through a hello, shaking his hand. His skin burned against mine—or was that my imagination? When we pulled apart, I could've sworn his fingers lingered.
But Felix's face gave nothing away. Just my overactive mind, then.
The man was built like a linebacker stuffed into a white coat. Every step he took radiated a quiet, predatory confidence that sent my pulse skittering.
I edged back instinctively. Lately, I'd been wearing shorter skirts for convenience during treatment.
Too convenient, maybe.
My bare legs gleamed under the clinic lights, pale as marble. Felix's gaze scorched over them, dark and inscrutable—a snake watching from the grass.
His mouth hooked into a smirk. "Lie down, Mrs. Roscente. Let's begin."
My palms were sweating.
After a beat, I obeyed, settling onto the table. The ceiling tiles blurred above me. Why switch doctors now, when my symptoms were finally easing—and my cravings growing sharper? A male physician was the worst possible timing.
The thought of those hands on me, clinical but undeniably male, set my face on fire.
It was too much like that day in Vincent's study.
Felix knelt beside me, his voice a low hum. "Relax. My approach is... more enjoyable."
Enjoyable?
Ice trickled down my spine.
How enjoyable?
His breath curled over me, thick as honey, slowing my thoughts—but my body stayed hyperaware of every shift, every touch.
"Sweetheart," he said, pulling away, "you need to focus on your treatment. I'm not going anywhere."
Yeah, right. Two seconds later, he was ducking into his study with some lame excuse about work.
The empty space beside me might as well have been screaming. Disappointment curled in my stomach, hardening my determination to beat this condition once and for all.
If he was just going to keep hiding in his damn study, what was the point?
At least Vincent had been MIA for days—a small mercy that let me breathe easier.
Eventually, I stopped asking Daniel to come with me to appointments.
Then came the real surprise: my usual female doctor was gone. In her place stood a man.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Roscente." He offered his hand, all warm smiles. "Dr. Felix Winston. I'll be taking over your treatment."
I fumbled through a hello, shaking his hand. His skin burned against mine—or was that my imagination? When we pulled apart, I could've sworn his fingers lingered.
But Felix's face gave nothing away. Just my overactive mind, then.
The man was built like a linebacker stuffed into a white coat. Every step he took radiated a quiet, predatory confidence that sent my pulse skittering.
I edged back instinctively. Lately, I'd been wearing shorter skirts for convenience during treatment.
Too convenient, maybe.
My bare legs gleamed under the clinic lights, pale as marble. Felix's gaze scorched over them, dark and inscrutable—a snake watching from the grass.
His mouth hooked into a smirk. "Lie down, Mrs. Roscente. Let's begin."
My palms were sweating.
After a beat, I obeyed, settling onto the table. The ceiling tiles blurred above me. Why switch doctors now, when my symptoms were finally easing—and my cravings growing sharper? A male physician was the worst possible timing.
The thought of those hands on me, clinical but undeniably male, set my face on fire.
It was too much like that day in Vincent's study.
Felix knelt beside me, his voice a low hum. "Relax. My approach is... more enjoyable."
Enjoyable?
Ice trickled down my spine.
How enjoyable?
His breath curled over me, thick as honey, slowing my thoughts—but my body stayed hyperaware of every shift, every touch.
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