I shouldn't do this. Not here. Not now.
My father was kind enough to get me a job at his construction company. I heighten the angle of the jackhammer—the least I can do is not orgasm on the job. Still, it was a good momentary stress reliever and mental escape from the brutal cold and rain. Another breeze penetrates the damp threads of my jacket, but I keep my head held high, not daring to look weak in front of my predominantly male coworkers.
I have worked here for several months, yet they still refuse to let me work with heavy machinery without supervision, and "supervision" is putting it lightly. Most of my days consist of pressing buttons and fetching tools. There is also the occasional coffee run set aside for those times when I'm especially unneeded. It's not that I've done anything wrong: I haven't done anything, not with their restrictions. Mike, easily the worst offender, would scream if he saw me with this jackhammer. Lord knows he has already spent countless hours warning me of its high intensity. In a strange, selfish way, I'm glad Mike got walking pneumonia.
I have an opportunity to prove my worth. If that means suffering through this cold, wet day, so be it. A little wind chill never hurt anybody—except maybe Mike. I do hope he gets better, preferably after many weeks of rest. He's insufferable and patronizing, but a human being nonetheless and a loyal asset to my father's company.
And his warnings do give me an idea on how to keep warm...
I angle the jackhammer a little lower, slowly directing the vibrations to my pelvis. My thighs hungrily prepare for its "high intensity" and weaken as my hands close the gap. The first taste elicits a delicious shiver up my stomach. It rises and knots deep in my chest. The knot feeds off of the rhythm of the jackhammer. It's growing bigger and bigger. I want to scream. My grip on the handles tighten. All of my muscles tense, and I'm fighting to keep my knees locked in place. Blood is pumping faster, harder. My spine arches up as a much needed rush of heat courses through.
The knot is now swallowing up my lungs. I try to steady my breathing but am left gasping for more air. It's getting harder and harder to control my own body. It's taking an exhausting amount of effort to keep my eyes and mind on the jackhammer. I should stop here. I should stop here. But a self-indulgent part of me doesn't want to stop. A little more, a little longer. It's too late to stop now.
The knot bursts.
I mindlessly throw my head back. The chisel slips against the wet concrete, sending the jackhammer to the ground with my left leg pinned underneath. In my weakened state, I attempt to pull my leg out. Someone must have heard the eighty pound jackhammer slam against the hard concrete or my screams for help.
I close my eyes and enter a wakeful sleep. Seconds feel like days. Minutes feel like years. I hear ambulance sirens in the distance and am suddenly surrounded by multiple voices—some recognizable, most not. They are talking to me, I think. Not sure. Much of their words are drowned out by the worst pain I've ever felt.
I'm strapped to a gurney and rushed out. The next time I open my eyes, I'm met with a short-haired woman. We are in a well lit room, presumably in a hospital. The woman soothes the back of my hand. "You're going to be okay," she whispers.
I have so many questions for her. Who found me? What happened to me? What is that sharp pain? But if I open my mouth, I will not be able to hold in the scream that has been festering in my chest.
A door opens behind me, and her face lights up. "Thank god you're here, Doctor Cullen. This woman lost her leg in a construction accident."
I lost my leg?
"Do you have the severed leg?" a masculine voice responds.
"It's on the table."
My leg is severed and sitting on a table?
She takes both of my hands. "Don't worry. You're in good hands with Doctor Cullen. He'll take good care of you."
She moves to let Doctor Cullen take her place at my side. He's much younger than the typical middle age doctor I had expected—more attractive too. His hair is well-contained in a cap with the exception of a few copper strands gracing the front of his ears. He hovers over me, letting my eyes indulge in his perfect jawline, well-defined and with a hint of stubble. Everything about him is gorgeous. It's the type of beauty that you only come across once or twice in your life. If it weren't for the scrubs, I'd take one look at him and immediately forget where we are.
But the pain persists. And my leg is out of reach.
It's taking all of my willpower not to scream in this beautiful man's face as he examines my wound. "Has she been given anesthetics?"
"No," the woman replies. She turns her back to him and opens a drawer. "We didn't have any left. You said you'd go to the anesthetics store this morning."
His eyes bulge. "Yeah…I did that...I got lots of anesthetics...this morning."
The pain has only worsened with time. I can no longer keep my mouth shut and an earth shattering scream reverberates around the small room. Doctor Cullen looks deep into my eyes, his expression unreadable. "Nurse, I need you to grab more gloves from the supply room."
"But we have more right over there." She points to a large stack of boxes in the corner.
His brows furrow. "We need more than that."
"More?"
"More!"
She scrambles up and out the room. He stares intently at the door, not once diverting his attention to me until the door clicks shut. He latches onto my shoulders and lowers himself over me. His upper body is almost parallel with mine. We lock eyes. It's overwhelming, and I avert my gaze to his perfectly muscular shoulder. I feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek.
"I'm going to take all of your pain away," he rasps. "I'm going to fuck you."
What! I must be hallucinating. This beautiful, breathtaking man would never touch a girl like me. Is this a dream? I close my eyes. Wake up, Bella, wake up! Then I hear the tearing of fabric. I open my eyes and he is tearing off my jeans with his bare hands. His long fingers trace the black lace of my panties before ripping them to shreds.
Oh my fucking god.
He looks closer and notes the white stains from this morning. "So wet."
He slides my body to the edge of the stretcher with one hand pressed firmly on my hip, bringing me closer to him. His core is pressed against mine. I can feel his throbbing erection through the thin fabric of his scrubs. I spread my leg, welcoming him and all his glory. His eyes bore into mine. I bite my lip.
But we are rudely interrupted by the fumbling of a doorknob.
He throws the nearest surgical drape over my body, carefully bunching up the cloth where our bodies meet. Despite our compromising position, Doctor Cullen is careful to not let his panic reach the surface as he greets our visitor.
"Jacob, what are you doing here?"
"Alice needed another nurse to cover her. Said she has to find more gloves."
Such nonchalance. If I could turn around, I'm sure I would have seen him shrug his shoulder. He's oblivious, but Doctor Cullen is far from relaxed. He curses under his breath, and I briefly wonder why until I hear the footsteps drawing closer to us.
Shit.
Jacob steps deeper into the room and stands on the side of my stretcher opposite Doctor Cullen. He stares at me. "Shouldn't she be put under?
Doctor Cullen makes no point to hide his annoyance as he continues on my leg. "She is."
Jacob tilts his head. "Why are her eyes open?"
"Because some people sleep with their eyes open."
Jacob accepts that answer, though begrudgedly. There are a million questions etched on his face but he knows Doctor Cullen is in no mood to answer any of them. Jacob begins to walk closer to my stretcher but stops mid-step. His jaw drops.
Fuck. He noticed.
"Are you reattaching her whole leg?" he asks in awe.
Or not.
Doctor Cullen lifelessly nods.
Jacob begins to circle around my stretcher. "Wow. I can't belie–"
"Don't move!" Doctor Cullen glares up at him. It's a look that could kill a man. "Stay on the other side. I need space to concentrate." Jacob's face contorts in confusion, but he steps back. Doctor Cullen sets to distract him before he can bring anything into question. "Hand me that taper point needle."
Jacob, now standing on the opposite side of my stretcher, cooperates but curiously hovers over me in the process. Doctor Cullen notices it too.
"Jacob, I need you to stay back. It's a deep wound. You don't need to see this."
Jacob defeatedly steps further away. Doctor Cullen pushes further into me. His entire length is inside of me, and my hips instinctively buck against his.
"She's convulsing!" Jacob rudely interrupts. "She has to be in pain. Shouldn't we administer some Lidocaine or something?"
Doctor Cullen's lip curves up in a crooked smile. "I already gave her something far more powerful."
I bite my lip.
He pierces my skin with the surgical needle in his hand. Meanwhile, his thicker and more swollen needle matches its rhythm, pumping in and out of me with delicate precision. Flames ignite between my thighs. An involuntary moan escapes my lips.
"Doctor Cullen! She's trying to tell us something."
"Goddammit! That's just a side-effect from the sedatives. Who's the doctor here?" There's a rough edge in Doctor Cullen's voice. "Now hand me those scissors, Nurse Jacob."
Both rhythms come to a stop. Doctor Cullen reaches up to take the scissors from the nurse's hand. The motion forces his member where I needed him most. As his scissors tear through the thread, every cell in my body shatters in oblivion.
Nurse Jacob turns around. Doctor Cullen slips himself out of me, and I look down to see that I have two legs once again.
"Oh my god!" The words slip out louder than I intended.
"She's awake!" Jacob yells with his palm turned up and directed towards me.
"Of course she woke up. I'm done reattaching her leg." Doctor Cullen's tone is very matter-of-fact which only exasperates the tension in the room. "Now make yourself useful and alert her family in the waiting room."
My family is here...
I guess these are my last few seconds with this beautiful man. I look deep into his eyes and try to take in and memorize each of his flawless facial features. Suddenly, he inches closer, as if doing the same to my face.
"Miss Isabella Swan. I'll need to see you in two weeks to get your stitches off." His fingertips brush against the thread on my thigh. "And to get you off."
