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Authors: Rosemary Rey

Tags: #erotica, #erotica romance thriller, #erotica suspence, #erotical thriller, #erotica womens erotica chicklit, #erotica adult fiction, #erotica book 1, #erotica with a twist, #erotica adult contemporary, #erotica romance with sex

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The Pentagon
Group

Book
I

By Rosemary Rey

Published by Rosemary Rey at
Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Rosemary
Rey

 

 

 

Published by Rosemary Rey

Copyright © 2014 Rosemary Rey

Cover Artist: Rosemary Rey

Editor: Rosemary Rey

 

 

ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized
reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in
print without written permission, except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction.
All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance
to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or
dead is entirely coincidental.

 

Dedication

 

To all the readers of
romantic erotica with a twist, I had to get this story out of my
head. This is a first effort, and I hope I did the characters and
storyline justice.

To my family who allowed my
crazy while I wrote and edited, especially my son who said to
finish ‘your stupid book’--encouraging words from a ten-year-old
who wanted dinner on time. If this writing thing works out, I’ll
try to get myself on a better writing schedule. I
promise.

CONTENTS

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

Stay Tuned . . .

ONE

I hated visiting doctors. I don’t have the patience to sit
and wait in the waiting room, watching people sick or injured wait
to be attended to. My dislike of them started when I was seven,
hives broke out all over my chest and shoulders while waiting to be
seen by one. My mother asked him to also look at the ensuing rash
on top of the anemia that I’d been suffering. The blood draws, the
medicines prescribed, and my mother’s fears for my health was a
perfect combination for creating an irrational fear of doctors. I
felt tortured by those sadistic men in white lab coats, stroking
their beards as they looked at me and thought or convened to
discuss my illness. Despite my fear I’ve never wavered from
attending annual visits or when I was profoundly ill.

My animosity worsened when my mother
became terminally ill, and as the only caretaker in the home I was
tasked to take her to her doctor’s visits or the emergency room
when things would go bad fast. I’d have to tell them her life
history and answer endless questions about her illnesses,
medications, diagnoses, and I felt like a broken record as these
men would listen passively and look at me and my mother
clinically.

The worst is the smell. The smell of
disinfectant is distinct and seems to be a universal smell that can
be found from a small doctor’s office to a large medical hospital;
unmistakable and unforgettable. Waiting to see an orthopedic doctor
for the hip, lower back, and sciatica pain that I’ve been dealing
with since starting to teach at the gym increased my anxiety a
thousand fold. I thought getting a job as a membership sales
consultant would be the spark that I needed to lose the pesky
twenty pounds that I’ve gained on my five feet, six inch frame
since separating and divorcing Ben; my husband of five years.
Because of the classes I teach, I managed to lose ten of the twenty
pounds in the last two months, and I can already see the tone. I
feel stronger, but the discomfort in my hip was a reminder of the
pain that I experienced as a dancer at the Conservatory. I
tolerated the pain because I was young and loved to
dance.

I was grateful for my best friend,
Chelsea, whom recommended me for the job. She’d been working at
Duration Fitness for three years. She loved her job as the Director
of Group Fitness. She thought I’d be great for the Sales Director
position. The owner was not quite sure if I was capable of doing
the job, but I’ve worked there on a contract basis. I’ve been asked
to take on more responsibilities and have received great praise for
the work and suggestions that I’ve offered to boost and retain
membership.

Chelsea, whom I call Chelz, also
scheduled me to teach a couple of the fitness classes. I was a bit
embarrassed to teach because I don’t have a dancer’s body anymore.
She assured me that I’m too talented of a dancer to not teach the
‘Latin Cardio’ class. I’m embarrassed to admit, she also has me
teaching the ‘Take It Off’ class, which is a burlesque dance class.
It isn’t pole dancing, but more sensual dancing with feathers and
other props. It has been such a hit, that we’re considering
scheduling a second class during the week. The extra classes give
me a bit more money, and every little bit helps me live
independently as a twenty eight-year-old divorced woman.

The extra exercise and jobs, rather
than sitting behind a desk at my former job as the Financial
Director at Ben’s company, probably has exacerbated old injuries
from my dancing days at the Conservatory. For the majority of my
shift at my other part time job at the Liberty Inn, I get to stay
off my feet.

I asked Paul, the Director of Personal
Training, about my hip pain and he recommended that I go to the
office of Dr. Mathias Keene, who is renowned for his work with
athletes both in the United States and internationally. Because of
his prominent reputation, I was concerned that he wouldn’t be part
of my mediocre health insurance. I was pleasantly surprised that my
insurance would be accepted, and thankfully, my contribution was
minimal under the insurance plan that I’d signed up for at
Duration. My insurance kicked in within the nick of
time.

I was glad that I was given an 8 a.m.
appointment because I could go straight to work when the Sales
Office opens at nine. Dr. Keene’s office isn’t too far from
Duration, and I could walk, just making it to my shift.

I arrived fifteen minutes early,
dressed as required for the appointment. I made sure to wear shorts
underneath my navy skirt. I convinced Duration’s co-owner, Warren,
to allow me to wear my own clothing and not the non-form fitting
logoed shirts and khaki’s. I wore a cream colored top, which
accentuated my great upper body. It had been typically rainy this
April morning in Boston. I wore my navy rain coat and rain boots.
My brown colored oxford heels will round out my look once I get to
work. Due to the rain, I put my long, curly hair in a French twist,
held up by a clip. It’s the only way to manage the frizz that
plagues my hair. I didn’t put on any more makeup than usual; tinted
lip gloss and waterproof mascara would have to do, so nothing runs
down my face from the excess moisture in the air.

Despite the extra ten pounds I carry
in my midsection, hips, and behind, I looked good. I felt sexier
because of all the workouts I’d been doing on my own and those when
I teach. Now that I’m finally free of Ben and his family, my
confidence has skyrocketed. I even indulged in my favorite treat
this morning, a medium sugary, soy latte as a reward for taking
care of myself with the doctor’s visit.

The nurse called my name. She ushered
me to a room at the end of the hallway. I put all of my things on
the second chair and laid my latte on the desk. She took my vitals
and asked me several questions regarding my hip pain. In between
the formal medical questions, we talked about the weather,
exercise, and work. We had a few laughs at my expense when I would
inject a few comedic answers. She told me that I could remove my
skirt, leave my top on and stay in my shorts and socks. She was
sweet and when she left the room, the smile on my face remained.
However, the jitters intensified while waiting for the doctor’s
gentle knock on the door requesting entry.

I felt an itch at my neck and
scratched my neck. My heart started beating faster, and I could
feel the nervous squirms in my belly. I stopped myself from
scratching further, but I couldn’t stop fidgeting. And then the
pacing started. I found myself chewing on my index fingernail. I
wanted out. Just when I decided to live with the hip pain for the
rest of my life and walked over to the chair to retrieve my skirt,
I heard a quick knock at the door. Without answering, the door
opened, and the doctor entered.

I turned my head to see the most
gorgeous man enter the room. He was tall, probably stood at about
six feet, three inches. Ben was five feet, nine inches tall, and
this man stood much taller and broader than my ex. His muscular
shape showed through his fitted button down shirt and denim jeans.
His longish hair was black and wavy with the early presence of gray
at his temples, which trailed down to his trimmed beard. He was
dressed in an athletic cut, button down shirt in blue, a plaid blue
and green tie. His jeans were dark denim, which fit his athletic
legs like a glove. I was shameless in my ogling of his amazing
frame. I even noticed the brown leather belt, which matched his
brown leather shoes; neither looked worn or faded.


Hello. I’m Dr. Keene. How
are you?” His voice was deep and masculine. He extended his hand
for a handshake. I turned completely around and walked toward him,
extending my hand.


Perla Mercurio. Nice to
meet you.” I said. We shook each other’s hand firmly. He gave me a
terse smile and walked to the desk. I sat down on the examining
table, pulling my shirt away from my body so that my belly wasn’t
accentuated by the fabric. I folded my hands on my lap, and waited
until he started to ask questions.

He asked the same questions that the
nurse already asked about my health, what I do for a living, and
where I work. It didn’t help my nerves to have to repeat myself,
which lead me to give monosyllabic answers. I could feel myself
becoming agitated. I took deep breaths and hugged myself to curb my
anxiety. He read, asked, and clicked around on the computer during
the question and answer period.

He turned around, and said, “Mrs.
Mercurio . . .”


Ms. It’s Ms. I’m not
married.” I corrected.


Oh, my mistake. It’s
listed here that you’re married.”


No. I’m no longer
married. I thought I clarified that with my primary physician when
I asked for a referral to your office.”


I can fix that on your
record.” He turned around and clicked again. “Ms. Mercurio, I want
to do a bit of testing on your legs to see how things are working.
It’s just a series of movements. I’ll manipulate your legs to see
the range of motion. I want you to tell me when I’ve pushed you to
discomfort. Can you lie down on your back?” He stood up and
proceeded to walk toward me.

I started thinking about how miserable
my life is that the only way I can get a hot guy to touch me is to
be in pain. I leaned back, resting on my elbows, and lay flat on
the table. The clip in my hair dug into my scalp. “I’m sorry. I
just have to take this clip out of my hair.” I said as I sat up on
one elbow, stopping him in his tracks before he touched my
leg.


No problem. Whenever
you’re ready.” He said, raising his palms in the air, and watched
me while I pulled out the clip. His hands were huge with long
fingers. With my anxiety, I didn’t notice how his hand dwarfed mine
when we shook each other’s hand. The long thick twist of curls
unraveled. I pulled my hair forward to rest on my shoulder as I lay
back down.


Ready?” He asked with his
hands up. I noticed there wasn’t a ring or tan line on his ring
finger, which I already knew meant nothing because Ben claimed that
because of work he couldn’t wear his wedding ring. I never bought
the claim that he had to work in construction sites and could get
it caught on machinery; like he’d pick up a tool to save his life.
However, I’d never suspected infidelity.


Yep. Thanks.” I said. I
put my hands on my belly and took a deep breath. I exhaled gently,
and said a silent prayer of healing and recovery without this God
touching me having to intervene any further. He made me more
nervous than my regular doctor’s visit. Thank goodness he wasn’t a
gynecologist or I wouldn’t have been able to keep my arousal a
secret.

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