The Paramedic
by
Trinity Marlow
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Smashwords Edition
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The Paramedic
Copyright 2012 by Trinity Marlow
Published by Brazen Snake Books
Edited by Carol R. Ward
Cover Art by Heidi Sutherlin
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination, and used fictitiously.
Smashwords Edition License Notes
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Table of Contents
The Paramedic
Maggie swore as the knife sliced cleanly through the underside of her forearm, deep enough that the cut didn't even bleed right away. Her heart beat faster as the blood started flowing and she grabbed a towel off the hook above her sink to press it tightly over the wound. Sliding to the floor, she tried to stay calm, but the questions swarmed relentlessly through her mind.
What if I cut something important?
What if I pass out, and no one finds me?
What if I get gangrene and have to amputate my arm?
The last one made her mentally roll her eyes. "Dramatic much, Mags? Breathe," she reminded herself quietly, forcing herself to take a breath, then let it out slow. Closing her eyes, she focused on her air intake, but the suffocating feeling in her chest wouldn't go away. Carefully pulling the towel away, she looked at the cut, knowing she needed to at least rinse it out. Another deep breath and she pushed to her feet and started the faucet, holding her arm under the water for several seconds. After a mental debate on whether to use soap or not, she opted to skip it. As she wrapped her arm in a clean towel, she debated going to the hospital for stitches. Trembling as she leaned against the counter, she knew she needed to calm down or she'd go into a full-blown panic attack. Just the thought of sitting on the floor gasping for air had her grabbing her keys and purse and running for the door.
Not this time, she thought as she went down the first flight of stairs. The elevator was broken more than it worked, and just the thought of being stuck there for any length of time made her shiver. I won't panic. I won't.
A faint voice in her head warned her that it was too late. She was already panicking, and driving was not a good idea. But she wasn't going to call the paramedics again. That was a humiliating experience she never wanted to go through again, even though the men had been kind and stayed until she was able to function again.
Gasping for air, she stopped on the second floor, leaning against the wall to catch her breath. All too aware that she was wheezing air in gulps and shaking harder by the second, she slid down the wall to the floor, pulse racing and face hot as she prayed no one would come by. She never should have left her apartment. Bringing her knees up, she hugged them with her arms, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried again to control her breathing.
A door opened, then shut, and she shrank back tight against the wall, hoping whoever it was wouldn't see her.
"Shhh...it's okay," a mellow, soothing voice spoke close to her ear. "I'm a paramedic. I can help you."
Maggie shook her head. "Go away. I'll be fine. Just...I just need to calm down. I didn't mean to disturb anyone." She opened her eyes and turned toward the man, her pulse ratcheting up another notch at the sight of his bare, perfectly sculpted torso. Her own issues forgotten for a moment, she stared, mesmerized. How long had it been since she'd seen a man that enticing outside of a magazine? "You...ah...you're not...you're a paramedic?"
He cocked his head, looking confused for a minute, then glanced at his chest. Flashing her a grin, he chuckled. "I might have to start going to work without a shirt, if that's the kind of reaction I get."
Embarrassed, Maggie looked away, chagrined to realize that her breathing was almost back to normal. If she'd known all she needed was a half-naked man to shock her out of her own head, she'd have subscribed to Playgirl (TM) a long time ago.
"I'll be fine," she repeated, taking a deep breath, and letting it out on a sigh. "I just...I cut myself, and I wasn't sure what to do, and I needed to just...calm down."
"Well, I am a paramedic," he said, leaning closer. "Let's take a look at that cut."
She held her arm out, still avoiding his gaze. "I rinsed it out in the sink, but I wasn't sure if it needed stitches or not, and...well, that's it." She decided against telling him about her fears regarding gangrene, which sounded more silly in her head with each passing moment.
His touch did fun, tingly things to her skin as he gently unwrapped her arm and turned it this way and that for a better view. Finally he looked at her, his hazel eyes warm and sympathetic. "I don't think you need stitches, but a few butterfly bandages will help keep the scarring down. Do you have some at home?"
She shook her head. "I'm not even sure what those are. Are they expensive?"
He smiled, the expression doing funny things to her stomach. "Not at all. Come on, I have some in my apartment. We'll get you all fixed up, okay?"
Reluctantly she accepted his hand and let him pull her to her feet. Trailing him to the second door on the right, she wondered if she should wait outside, but when he opened the door, he simply reached inside and brought out a navy bag with a red cross on it. He pulled the cut together with some skinny white adhesive strips, then handed her the box.
"You should probably just leave that alone for awhile," he said, putting his bag back inside his door. "But if they come off, just pull it together again. It should heal in a week or two."
"Thank you," Maggie said, hesitating a moment. "And thanks for...before too. It's just so stupid, but I'm such a worrywart and I think too much and it just gets way out of hand sometimes, especially when I'm by myself. Which is most of the time." She laughed, a weak, self-deprecating sound even to her own ears. God, he must think she was pathetic. "Anyways, thank you. I'll...um..see you around. Maybe."
"What's your name?" he asked, holding out his right hand. "I'm Kyle. Kyle Trieber."
She placed her hand lightly in his, warmth suffusing her body yet again. "Maggie Norris."
He shook her hand, then held one finger up. "Wait just a second, Maggie. I'll be right back." He disappeared into the apartment, leaving the door ajar. She peeked through the opening long enough to see a massage table set up in the living room, with a pile of black rope on top. Ducking quickly back from the door, she wasn't sure whether she should be worried or intrigued.
Kyle reappeared, holding out a black card with raised red lettering and a blood red ribbon motif swirling through the front. "Here's my number. Next time you feel an attack coming on, call me. I'm a relaxation therapist when I'm not on duty. I can help."
She nodded, flashing him a smile as she tucked the card in her pocket. "Thanks. I appreciate that. I'll head back upstairs now. Thanks again for everything."
"My pleasure," he said, that voice doing trippy things to her pulse again.
Maggie walked back to the stairs and started the climb up, not daring to look back though she could swear she felt his eyes on her. When she got to her apartment, she locked herself in and collapsed on the couch, pulling the card out of her pocket. Relaxation therapist indeed. She shook her head and tossed the card on her coffee table. No way would she ever have the courage to call. She lay back against the cushions and closed her eyes, drifting off to dream about what might happen if she ever did end up on his massage table.
* * *
Kyle watched Maggie walk up the stairs and hoped he hadn't let her go too soon. It had been awhile since he'd seen a panic attack, but the fact that she was clearly cognizant of it and trying to control it told him she'd probably had therapy for it in the past. He almost wished he hadn't given her his business card. He wanted to help, but damn. There was something about her that made him want to gather her up in his arms and hold her until she knew nothing bad could ever hurt her. If she did call, there was no way he could treat her like just another client, and judging from how she'd reacted to him, it seemed like she might be okay with that.
He closed the door and walked to his massage table, picking up the ropes he'd been working with. He'd been studying binding techniques as an alternate therapy to offer his clients, and he was just starting to get comfortable enough with the knots to look for someone to practice with. As his fingers slid over the smooth material, he thought of Maggie. He didn't claim to be a psychologist, but he'd had a few clients with similar issues and for them, it had been about a lack of control. Relaxation techniques and exercise seemed to help, but he knew that bondage done well could be very freeing for some people who were constantly grasping for control.
Rolling the rope into a neat coil, he pictured the deep wine color against Maggie's pale skin and his cock twitched in response. He should have gotten her number. Maybe if he asked nicely, she'd let him practice on her. He stowed the rope in his green bag and pushed the massage table back to its spot against the wall. Tomorrow he'd find out which apartment was hers so he could check on her. It was the least he could do.
He went to the kitchen for a snack, not really paying attention to the sandwich as he ate. Then he went to shower, images of his neighbor flashing unbidden in his mind. Picturing her in the shower, he admired the full breasts tipped with ruby pebbles, long slender torso, and the dusting of auburn curls that hide her most intimate places. He imagined soaping her up, the white lather sluicing down her body as he explored every inch of her with his fingers, and following with his tongue.
Palming himself, he stroked his cock, imagining what it would be like to have her legs wrapped around his waist, her lips on his neck as she took him deep inside. Just the thought spurred his fist to move faster, then faster still until he came with a loud moan, surprising himself with the intensity of his orgasm.
Bed springs squeaked overhead, and he grinned as he cleaned himself up and shut off the shower. He didn't know who lived above him, but someone had gotten a free audio show tonight. Stepping out of the stall, he dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. Padding out to the bedroom, he reached for a clean pair of sweats and pulled them on, topping it off with a t-shirt.
As he headed toward the living room, the phone rang. As soon as he picked it up and heard the wheezing noise on the other end, his heart raced and he knew who it had to be.
"Maggie? Is that you? What number are you in? I'm coming up."
Maggie heard the pounding on her door quicker than she'd expected. She wasn't sure why she'd called Kyle, but his number had been right there and when she woke up trembling from another attack, her only thought was to stop it as fast as possible. Seeing Kyle shirtless had helped once...would it help again so soon?
She forced herself off the couch and managed to make it to the door, barely stepping back in time as he pushed it open from the other side. Then he was standing there with her, reaching out to lightly stroke her arm and without thinking she leaned into his touch. He didn't seem to need more of an invitation, kicking the door shut and reaching out to lock it before pulling her into his arms, holding her tight to his chest.
He was so big. So solid. So...everything, surrounding Maggie completely as he held her. Breathing in his warm male scent, she realized that the trembling had slowed, and the tightness in her chest had loosened. What was it about this man that made her feel secure? He was like her personal security blanket, except for one minor issue.
He wasn't actually hers.
Her heart rate back to a normal level, she pulled away, thankful for the darkness to hide the heat she felt in her face. "I'm really sorry," she said, shaking her head as she looked at the floor. "I never intended to bother you, I just woke up and your number was there, and seeing you worked before so I just…"
He chuckled, the sound rich and deep to her ears. "It's fine." He awkwardly reached out a hand, letting it drop before he touched her. "I'm happy to help whenever I'm around. What guy would turn down the excuse to hold a beautiful woman?" he chided, making her smile. But his first sentence captured her true fear all at once.
"How much are your rates?" she asked before she could think too hard about it. "As a therapist, I mean. I appreciate you wanting to help and all, but I need to learn how to deal with this on my own, if I can. I went to counseling for awhile, and I tried drugs, but none of that really helped much. Maybe I could try some of your techniques, see if they work better?"
She could feel his eyes on her in the dark as he studied her. What did he see? She felt exposed, as if he was sizing her up for something. Hopefully he isn't a serial killer.
"Can we sit down for a minute?" he asked.
"Sure." She reached out to switch on a lamp, bathing the living room in a muted yellow light, then sat down on the couch, waiting as he took a seat in the armchair on the left. Resisting the urge to curl her legs up underneath her, she shifted restlessly, reminding herself to breathe. He reached out to put a hand on her knee, his touch calming her instantly.