Baumgartner Hot Shorts (10 page)

“Tonight?” She made a face, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on them. “We’ve got that Christmas thing tonight, don’t we?”

“Damnit, that’s right.” Doc ran a comb through his dark curls. She loved the way that little Elvis-curl fell over his forehead. “I can’t bail. I promised Wilson we’d be there for moral support.”

Carrie rolled her eyes. “Is he still pining over that Chlamydia chick?”

“Camille.” Doc smirked, grabbing his boxers and pulling them on.

“Same difference.”

“I wouldn’t want to work with my ex.” Doc yanked on his scrub pants, making it final—he was going to work and there was nothing she could do about it.

“No, it sucks for him,” she agreed, trying anyway. She couldn’t get the memory of him out of her mind, his cock pounding her ass. She leaned back on the stool, spreading her thighs wide, showing him as much pink as she could.

“Damnit, Carrie...” He was definitely distracted, his scrubs shirt caught halfway down his chest. His voice was choked, pleading. “Will you stop?”

“I can’t...” She whimpered, her fingers parting her pussy lips, showing him, teasing the aching bud of her clit. “It feels too good...”

Doc groaned, checking the time on his beeper and then looking back at her as she played with herself. “I’m gonna get in so much trouble.”

But he dove in anyway, his scrubs getting wet where he leaned against the side of the tub, pulling her pussy against his mouth. He went straight for the win, his tongue practiced and sure, giving her just what she wanted—what she
needed.

“Yes,” she whispered, drawing her knees up, spreading wide for him. Her belly quivered, her thighs spasming, her climax so close she could almost taste it, but she wanted to hold off, wanted him here, wanted it to last forever and ever...

“I love your cunt.” His dirty talk sent shockwaves through her body, ratcheting her senses up even higher. “So fucking hot.”

He spit on her pussy, as if she wasn’t wet enough, and then swooped back in, rubbing his face all over her flesh. Carrie whimpered, trying to hold off, knowing it was impossible. He was going to get what he came for, whether she liked it or not.

“Gonna come,” she panted, her eyes closing. “Oh, baby, I’m gonna come all over your face!”

And that’s just what she did, giving him what they both wanted, her body convulsing with electric heat, her husband a conduit. She fed him every last bit of her orgasm, sliding off the stool to the floor of the tub near the end, collapsing into a sweet, wet puddle of jelly at his feet.

“There.” Doc grinned, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “That should hold you for a little while.”

“You wish!” She called, her hoarse voice belying her words, as Doc rushed out to get dressed.

“What are you doing today?” Doc called from the bedroom.

“Laundry.” Carrie got out, drying off and wrapping a towel around her head, coming out of the bathroom to find him sitting on the bed, pulling his socks on. Her body was still flushed from her climax.

He frowned. “Sure you don’t want to wait for me?”

“Baby, if I wait for you, neither of us will have any underwear.” Carrie snorted. “Besides, I have a laundry date.”

“Oh?” Doc paused, his foot only half in his shoe. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

She grinned. “Daphne.”

“Oh, Daphne.” He grinned back. “You can fold her up and bring her home in a basket with you if you want.”

“Very funny.” She whipped the towel off her head, using it to rub her hair dry.

Doc came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and nuzzling her neck. “Can you at least accidentally get some of her panties mixed in with our laundry? Preferably dirty ones?”

“Doc!” She laughed, twisting in his arms, mock-pouting. “You’d rather have her panties than mine?”

“Of course not.” He scoffed, kissing her softly, drawn in by her mouth, her tongue. “But I wouldn’t mind seeing your panties next to hers... especially if you’re both in them...”

“You’re incorrigible.” She pressed herself fully against him, breathing in shampoo and aftershave and another smell that was just wholly and completely “him.” It was a scent that lingered about him and one she craved. She wouldn’t have admitted it, but sometimes when he was gone, she would go to his closet and bury her face in his shirts, a sensory reminder.

He kissed the top of her wet head. “You know I love you and would do anything for you.”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” she said airily, stepping out of the circle of his arms and stepping into a pair of panties. “I’ll just carry those big, heavy baskets to the Laundromat all by myself...”

He rolled his eyes, putting his wallet and keys and things into his pockets. “You’re a very bad girl.”

“A bad girl?” Carrie crawled seductively up onto the bed, presenting her ass to him like she had in the shower, this time with the stretch of pink panties over her behind, looking back at him with a smirk on her face. “A bad girl who needs a spanking?”

“Trouble,” Doc muttered, his eyes getting that dark, wolfish look again. “I married trouble, I’m telling you.”

“But you love trouble.” She waved her behind at him, a tease.

“You have no idea.” Doc groaned, tackling her on the bed, making her squeal and kick beneath him as he kissed her quiet.

Carrie smiled, tracing the line of his lips as they parted. “Go save the world.”

“Only if you promise you’ll be waiting for me when I get home.”

“Always.” She kissed the tip of his nose.

Doc pressed his forehead to her breasts, nuzzling. “I’m a lucky man.”

“Go,” she whispered, trying to ignore the sweet sensations traveling from her nipples to her clit as he caressed her. “Before I decide to lock the door and tie you to the bed.”

“Promises, promises.” He lifted his head to kiss her again, briefly, before bolting for the door.

Carrie sighed, languishing on the bed for a moment, running her hands over her body, remembering the way he touched her, wishing they could have had a quiet, uneventful Saturday together. She hated when Doc had to rush off to the hospital, but that was the life of a first-year on-call resident—there was no getting around it—and in spite of the inconvenient hours and calls, she knew her man was following his calling, doing just what he was born to do. Somehow that made up for the empty feeling when he had to leave her like this.

The university provided central laundry facilities for everyone in married housing but their apartment was at the edge of the complex and consequently half a mile from them. There was a little Korean Laundromat right around the corner, however, where the machines took bigger loads and fewer quarters, so instead of packing everything in the car and going to use the married housing facilities, Carrie put her two baskets into a little red wagon, put on her winter coat and mittens, and walked around the corner.

Daphne was already sitting in one of the orange plastic chairs, a book open in her lap and two machines spinning with laundry behind her. She got up to help Carrie with the door, allowing her to wheel her wagon in unimpeded. They had the place mostly to themselves. There was just an elderly woman in the corner folding doilies on a table and a scruffy looking guy asleep in the row of seats on the other side of the Laundromat, his arms crossed, head back, mouth open, snoring lightly.

“Hey girl.” Daphne let the door swing closed behind her. “I thought you weren’t coming!”

“Sorry,” Carrie apologized, flushing. “I got... um... distracted.”

“Oh?” Daphne raised one finely plucked red eyebrow, putting her book down on the chair beside her and watching as Carrie opened a machine, starting to put clothes in. “You and Doc doing a little horizontal mambo this morning?”

“Something like that.” Carrie laughed, closing the washing machine and digging in her jeans pocket for her roll of quarters. She loaded up the coin slot, shoving it in and pulling it back out, hearing the click and first whoosh of the water filling the machine.

“A little frolic in the cornfield? A romp in the hay?” Daphne teased. “Churning some butter? Batter dipping the corn dog?”

“We were having sex, not visiting the county fair.” Carrie snorted, picking up her friend’s book and sitting beside her. “What in the hell are you reading?”

“Give me that.” Daphne flushed, grabbing the book out of her hands. It had a picture of a bare-chested man on the cover and a woman with what couldn’t be described as anything but a heaving bosom. “While
you
get to do it,
some
of us just get to read about it.”

Carrie smirked. “You seriously need a man.”

“You’re telling me?” Daphne sighed, running a hand through her mass of red hair. It was thick, long and wavy, the color of a shiny copper penny. She tucked the paperback into the back pocket of her jeans.

“It’s your own fault.” Carrie leaned back in her seat. “You could have the pick of anyone on campus.”

The redhead wrinkled her freckled nose. “Shut up.”

“You could and you know it.” Carrie nodded at the sleeping guy across the aisle. “You could go up to that guy right now, wake him up, and ask him to go back to your place, and he’d jump at the chance.”

“Stop it.” Daphne rolled her bright blue eyes, crossing her arms. She was wearing a pink Ren and Stimpy shirt, stretched tightly across her ample chest. She could have modeled for one of her romance book covers.

Carrie shrugged. “I’m just saying, you don’t have to just read about it, if you don’t want to.”

“A girl’s got to have some standards.” Daphne looked at the guy, snoring away across from them, his Doc Martens sticking out into the aisle.

“Maybe yours are too high,” Carrie speculated. Daphne snorted, but she wasn’t really offended. They said things like that to each other. It was one of the reasons they’d gravitated to each other in the first place, their ability to tell each other the truth, no matter what the other might think.

She and Daphne had only been friends for about half a year, having found each other in the Laundromat and discovering that talking and drinking coffee and eating donuts together for the few hours it took to do laundry was a much better way to fill the time than just sitting there watching the machines spin.

They’d found they had a great deal in common, even if their present circumstances were quite different. Daphne’s parents had died when she was young, leaving her to be raised by a maiden aunt. Carrie had never known her parents at all, living most of her young life in various foster homes. They both knew what it was like to be alone in the world.

But Carrie had to admit, she felt a little guilty, having Doc while Daphne had no one.

“What, I should just go over to Mr. Scruff and say ‘Hey, let’s you and me bump uglies?’”

Carrie glanced over at the guy. He was a little rough around the edges, but still kind of cute. “Why not?”

“Because he’s not the one.” Daphne waved the suggestion away, reaching for her purse and pulling out a stick of gum.

“What are you waiting for?” Carrie took some Fruit Stripe gum from her friend’s pack.

Daphne chewed thoughtfully, finally saying, “Mr. Right.”

“I’m afraid he doesn’t exist.” Carrie blew a bubble and snapped her gum.

“He does, too—you found him, didn’t you?”

“Well...” Carrie felt that stab of guilt again. Daphne was always telling her how lucky she was to have Doc. And she knew she was.

“I blame you.” Daphne poked her lightly in the ribs. “You proved that it’s possible.”

“So what are you doing for Christmas?” Carrie asked, trying to change the subject.

“You mean, speaking of Christmas miracles?”

She laughed. “Ho ho.”

“I’ll be working at Blockbuster, what else?” The redhead tossed her gum wrapper toward the trash can full of lint and missed. “Me and the Jewish kid are splitting the Christmas shifts.”

Carrie felt guilty about that, too. Daphne was working her way through school, and although Carrie had her undergraduate degree and had gone to college in Boston on scholarship and grants—where she’d met Doc in the first place—she hadn’t really done anything with her degree since.

Doc said he liked having her home, and while things got a little tight sometimes, with Doc’s residency paying just enough for them to live on each month, they really wanted to have a baby, and she didn’t want to be tied down to a job when that happened. They’d had one bright moment of hope last year, but she’d miscarried that baby and hadn’t gotten pregnant again since.

But every time Daphne mentioned her job at Blockbuster and her diet of Ramen noodles and Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, Carrie felt a twinge of guilt about not going to school or having a job.

“What are you guys doing?” Daphne interrupted her thoughts.

“I don’t know.” She sighed. “Doc’s parents are talking about going to Key West. They have a timeshare on a private beach. But I’d miss the snow at Christmas time...”

Daphne scoffed. “Are you kidding me? You have the chance to spend Christmas on a private beach in Florida and you’re complaining?”

Ouch. There was that twinge of guilt again. “I’m not complaining, exactly...”