We continued our conversation with talks of Azmir’s birthday bash and didn’t revisit the topic of my sex life and befuddling dating status. We left the café and I returned to work. When I entered the practice reception area, I asked Sharon for my messages. She handed me three. I quickly decided none were from anyone I wanted to speak to right away so I jumped right into my next appointment who was a college student that was injured while horsing around with his fellow drunken buddies. As I was examining his soleous muscle to see if it was responding to the treatment I’d prescribed, I noticed how muscular he was. I thought to myself, His sexual stamina must be at its peak. That thought immediately took me to Azmir. I couldn’t help but to think about that night with him. He served it up so generously, dispelling my original fear of him being a five-minute brother. He was so gentle and intense.
The orgasms he delivered were so unexpected; it was unraveling. Shit. I ran from one of them! That was the awkward part of our experience. When I tried to regain control of our sexual excursion and he wouldn’t allow it. After the first vaginal orgasm, for some strange reason, I was frightened. The last thing I expected was euphoric sensations of a vaginal orgasm. My plan was to work him over, not for him to have my toes curling with explosions detonating from my core. It scared the shit out of me! So, when the first one was over I tried like hell to savage control so it wouldn’t happen again. As much as I’d enjoyed it—and now look forward to it to happening again—I hate surprises, especially in such a private manner. Azmir wasn’t hearing any part of it. It wasn’t that he was aggressive per se, he just didn’t agree to my control.
I could never share this with Michelle, she’d have my ass on a pitch fork. And when he went down on me—my goodness…the things he did with that tongue! When he went into my vaginal canal, he did some type of flapping number and butterflied his extending tongue to reach my walls!
I felt myself getting aroused at the memory of it all.
“Ahhhhhh!” my patient, Brian, cried.
Damn! I over-extended his flexor tendon.
“Have you been bending your knee and leaning forward? Remember that is to increase the knee flexion,” I quizzed trying to cover up for my mind drifting off to naughty land.
Though I apologized, I blamed him by scolding him for not doing what I asked. I knew it was wrong but—hey!
“I’ve been doing a little,” he strained to speak.
“You need to hold for between ten and thirty seconds.”
I had become so randy that my clitoris was throbbing. I needed a release…I needed Azmir. While I busied Brian by having him flex and straighten his leg, I paged Sharon.
“Sharon, do I have any messages?”
“Mr. Jacobs actually called since you’ve been in with your patient. He had something delivered for you. It’s in your office,” Sharon informed me.
“Oh…okay.” Excitement exploded in my belly and I shivered at the mention of his name. What has he done? The remainder of that session was nothing short of torture as it seemed to last an eternity.
I walked into my office to find the area across from my desk transformed into a dining setting for one. It was unmistakably a private dining set-up with a tablecloth, a small vase filled with flowers, and one china plate covered by a metal salver, wine glass, one cloth napkin, two forks, a knife, and spoon. There was a candle lit with a card waiting for me. I walked over to the desk and picked up the phone to summons Sharon.
When she came in, I fired off questions about the surprise waiting for me. She explained that it was from Azmir, which was the only reason she permitted them in my office. She assured me she supervised the set up that took less than five minutes.
I dismissed her and sat down to open the card that was typed:
The Most Delectable Ms. Brimm,
Regrettably, I’m not there to express my thanks for such an extraordinary birthday. I have a meeting in Atlanta. Nonetheless, one delicious dish deserves a gourmet meal.
Let me know what you think about the food. I’m auditioning this chef for a job.
Call me.
A.D. Jacobs
My heartbeat increased and the tips of my fingers began to prickle. I removed the salver from the plate to find a wonderfully aromatic and succulent looking steak with a lobster tail, russet potatoes, and asparagus. Next to the plate was a description card of the meal that revealed the steak was fillet mignon. My stomach began to growl from the tang.
I went for my cell phone to call Azmir and he answered on the second ring.
“Is the steak melting in your mouth like butter? Were you able to slice right through it?” Azmir’s voice never failed to do things to me. Damn.