Doctor Does Diesel Ch. 12bySatisfyable©
When pacing the room got old he climbed in his car and called her again as he drove to Redmond Medical center. No answer. He pulled into the parking lot, saw that her car wasn't there. Strange. She said she'd be here--was expecting him to come see her--he wondered if he knew her well enough to peg this as unusual behavior. Cause for alarm. He reached up to pull a cigarette from behind his ear but he'd forgotten to place one there. When he plucked the pack from his glove department he found it completely empty. A slight sheen of sweat broke out across his forehead.
He climbed from the car and stared up at the building, realized he was standing right where he had been the first day he came back to Reno. Right before he ever laid eyes on Madison. He walked calmly toward the building, the heat of the day and the glare of the sun increasing his anxiety. He stared up at the sky and the blue reminded him of the shade of the skies of Iraq.
He wavered on his feet. "Shit," he cursed to himself.
He began to think as he walked, and soon he wasn't walking at all. He got a whiff of something; fertilizer or fresh mulch he wasn't sure which, but that was all it took to remind him. It all came slamming back, the stench. Iraq had smelled like feces day in and day out due to the ever burning garbage pits located on the outskirts of the base. Memories of the smell brought recalled memories of the thick, stifling air. The heat. Doing patrols beneath a sun so hot it had felt like the exposed parts of his skin were baking.
He remembered kids that would trail beside them while they were on patrol, running alongside the road where he and his partner soldier--usually Archie--walked, flanking tanks or convoys. He saw images of the kid who'd been strapped with C-4, and who hadn't known or forgotten how close he had to get to blow up more than himself. He and Archie had watched him explode, shielded their faces against a thick spray of shrapnel and sticky flesh and blood.
"Dammit," he cursed to himself. He felt weak, hot. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He fished it out and held it to his ear.
"Diesel," her voice came through, and it didn't sound like her; there was a rasp, a weakness there that wasn't usually present in the honey tones.
"Madison? What's wrong?" His mind was clear instantly, and he was already heading back to his car. He'd been right. Something was wrong.
"4263 Bayer, call the--" and the call ended. He called the police and relayed the message before he stabbed his key into the ignition and sped from the parking lot.
His mouth was warm on her clit, a vacuum, his tongue was a piston of wet thrusts inside of her, and she arched on the bed, her hands gripping the wood dowels of her headboard. She spread her legs wider, urged him on. He looked up at her with that sparkle in his eye, his blond hair shining in the sunlight streaming through the blinds.
"You're killing me," she said. He was, after all. She'd already come two times, anymore she thought she might pass out from the pleasure. "Diesel, really, I can't take it anymore, put it in!"
"You've got to ask nicer than that," he said between licks. He lifted her legs up, let his tongue dip lower until it was licking the sensitive pucker of her asshole. She moaned and went slack, her mind blank.
"You don't really want me to stop, do you?" he asked. He stuck a finger in her wet channel as he came up for air, placing a series of kisses across her belly.
"No, she breathed.
He began again, this time suckling her, brushing his teeth across her clit, licking across it with just enough pressure to send her reeling again, awash in a wave of pleasurable pulses that left her spent. She closed her eyes, felt him moving on the bed, shifting his weight. She gasped when he entered her sudden and hard.
"You feel that?" he asked, his twang making his words sound cocky and self-assured. She'd felt every inch. He told her to put her legs in the air, whispered in her ear that he liked the red pumps she was wearing, ran a hand along the sparkly fabric of the thigh highs he'd bought her, snapped the straps of her garter belt.
His thrusts were slow and torturous, and when she opened her eyes she marveled at the sight of his battle sculpted body as his stomach muscles constricted and relaxed with the rhythm of his movements. He pinched her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, told her to play with his balls. She obliged.
His thrusts became harder right before he came,he exhaled hard when he came, shook and buried his face in her breasts.He was still hard.
He pulled out and told her to get on her hands and knees, entered her from behind with his hands on her waist. She did the work then, moving her hips and wiggling her ass as he smacked it in rhythm with the slapping sounds their bodies made when they connected.
"Look at that ass," he chanted over and over, "that's my ass." He pulled her up gently by her hair so that her back was to his chest. He snaked a hand down over her torso, played with her clit. "Lift that hand in the air baby, let me see that sucker shining in the sunlight," he said. She did as she was told, and as he fucked her they both admired the ring on her finger.
This is what she thought of, what she relived as she sat on the couch watching the exchange taking place before her. It had all happened so fast.
She'd arrived to find Peter in his mother's living room with the shades drawn, tears streaming down his face. He'd come to his mother's house after she left for a gambling trip because he was afraid to stay at his condo. He told her that his ex, Carlos Santoro, had been stalking him and had left too many threatening messages to ignore.
"Carlos Santoro is--oh my God," she'd felt panicked as it all became clear to her. She should've known. How could she have been so stupid? "What has he been saying?"
"All sorts of things. Crazy things. All because I said I didn't want to be with him anymore. I told him that I wanted to try to patch things up with you. I told him that you deserved to be treated better and that you deserved another chance at the happiness I ripped away from you and he lost it. He threatened you but--I--I--thought he was bluffing."
"You thought he was bluffing?! He's been coming to see me as a patient, Peter! Pretending to need my help! Toying with me. Then you call me here! I didn't check my mirrors or even think that this could have been--possible. He could have followed me here."
And then the someone kicked the door in. It was Carlos of course, his eyes wild. He'd brought a gun with him and he fired a wild shot, Madison assumed, to let them know he meant business. He'd grabbed a cowering Peter and slammed his head against the wall, struck him in the face with the butt of the gun all the while laughing at what he said was the irony of it all.
"It's not what you think!" Peter had yelled.
Carlos replied by pressing his mouth against Peter's with his gun pressed against his temple. He tore his mouth away from Peter's dramatically.
"It is what I think! You cast me aside to play house with this bimbo!"
Carlos started to head toward her but Peter grabbed him and wrestled him to the ground. Madison pulled her cell phone from her pocket and dialed the first number she saw. Diesel. He'd answered. The sound of his voice had made her so sad she could barely speak. She only hoped he'd heard her okay before Carlos successfuly wrestled himself away from Peter and hit her so hard her ears rang. He'd thrown her phone against the wall.
Now Madison sat on the couch with her lip bleeding and her face aching. She watched as Carlos screamed questions at Peter in a hysterical screech and then without warning he shot Pete in the shin. She screamed and Carlos trained his gun on her. She was so scared she couldn't move.
"Leave her out of this!" Pete wailed. He was holding his leg which bled profusely through his jeans.
"Why would I do that?" He asked. A car door slammed. Carlos grabbed her by the hair and dragged her over toward the window. He looked out and then looked down at her.
"You sit here and you be fucking quiet," he said before striking her again in the face with the back of his hand. Her vision blurred for a moment, she became sick to her stomach. She slumped against the wall and closed her eyes, listened to the knock that came.
When she heard his voice through the door her eyes shot open. "Diesel!" She screamed out.
Carlos whirled to face her and shot her once in the chest. Her last thoughts were of Diesel. She placed her fingertips against her stomach and hoped that if she didn't make it, if the bullet searing the flesh inside of her chest and making it hard to breathe took her life, Diesel would somehow never know about the loss of his child. He'd suffered enough pain in his life.