Betrayed Chapter 8

I flinched when the words left her lips.

Mistaking my suspicion for hesitation, Angie pressed her body tightly against mine and ground her pussy into me enticingly. She smiled that alluring Cheshire smile again.

"You do want my body, don't you?" she purred. "At least, you gave me that impression Monday night."

This was the same double entendre I had experienced with Dianna. If I denied her one, would she then deny me the other? Why should this matter to me when I had Dianna? Did I have Dianna? For that matter, did I have Angie? Beebeebeebeebeebeebeebee....

"Let's go see a doctor about a body," I sighed.

She kissed me softly.

"I knew you would," she murmured. "You are gonna look so delicious with a pair of full, firm melons, a tiny waist, and a big, round bubble butt, just like me!"

As I said: tasteful.

***

Dr. Peter Reagan's offices were in one of those gentrified ex-warehouses. The airy loft-style office was all bright, freshly-sandblasted brick walls, glossy hardwood floors and doors, comfortable-but-not-ostentatious chairs and sofas, framed water colors, brass hardware and the obligatory potted ferns. The high ceilings were criss-crossed with exposed, freshly-insulated ductwork. It almost looked like a River North Yuppie bar, rather than a doctor's office. I half expected the doctor to resemble Butch McGuire, incarnate.
He didn't. Doctor Reagan was in his late thirties and stood about six feet tall, with a thick shock of dark brown hair, piercing grey eyes that missed nothing, rugged good looks and a smile that would melt a glacier in Antarctica.

"Miss Layne, it is a pleasure to meet you," he intoned sonorously. "You come highly recommended."

"I've heard that," I sighed, smiling ruefully, then added: "Thank you."

The grip from his large hand was so gentle as it took mine, yet I could easily visualize it crushing bone. I was grateful when he offered us seats in his office. My knees were having difficulty supporting my weight in his presence. I knew he knew at a glance, yet his demeanor was nothing but quiet admiration. I glanced down and noticed he wasn't wearing a wedding band. Now why the hell would that interest me?