Impatient Patient

Liz Jordan paces the cold exam room, paper gown flapping open at the back. "Some appointment," she mutters, glancing at the clock. Then a wicked spark flashes. She climbed out of bed early this morning. No time for her usual relief. Late doctor, empty room—no point wasting the moment. She hops up on the table, leans back against the paper sheet, and slips two fingers under the gown. Her breath comes tight, thighs flexing, the leather beneath her warming fast. Shh-click—the door cracks open. Dr. Dana Vespoli steps in, coat half unbuttoned, eyes widening. "Sorry, there was an emergency." They both go rigid. Liz's hand stalls between her legs, slick and obvious. The moment stretches, silent except for the hum of fluorescent lights. Then Liz grins like the devil just handed her the house keys. "Late's late, doc. Care to catch me up?"