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Thorn meets his mate.

I had to pay the student loans somehow, and my rent was due soon.

He was my only customer, so he invited me to sit with him for a few minutes. We talked about the clinic, and about how if some funding didn't come through soon we might have to reduce our hours or cut back on some of the services we offered. He started talking about how much he missed working more at the clinic, but how his dad had put him under so much pressure to go into private practice that he felt he had no choice. As near as I can figure, he makes more in a week than I make in a month working two jobs. And then things got weird.

He said he knew he might offend me, but he was willing to take that chance. "You need money. I need sex. It's a fairly simple arrangement."

I asked him for some time to think about it, and he gave his card after scrawling his cell number on the back. Three days later, I called him and we arranged to meet Saturday night.

I arrived at his house at 9:00. He greeted me at the door wearing a robe and handed me a glass of wine. I'm more of a pale ale girl, but what the hey.

"I was just about to shower. Care to join me?" I'd never bought into the old "save water shower with a friend" idea. But, then again, it's his dime. Looking back, I was starting to think like a hooker already. But I digress.

I set my purse down on the hall table next to an envelope with my name on it. I was well aware of the $500 inside. My plan was to pretend this was a date -- one in which we were skipping ahead to the sex. So I took a healthy swig of wine -- merlot? -- and followed him down the hall.

His bathroom reminded me of a Roman bath. The ceiling walls, and floor were a pale stone, but the tan hue gave the room a warm and cozy feeling. Well, it didn't hurt that there was a small fireplace in one corner with a fire going.

He gestured toward the bench in front of the hearth. "You can leave your clothes there."

Ok then. I took my time peeling off my sweater and jeans, and when I took my socks off, I discovered the radiant heating in the stone floor. Someone had wasted no expense on this room. By the time I wriggled out of my bra and panties, he was already around the corner in the walk-in shower. I expected it to be dramatic, but what I saw took my breath away.

The shower alcove was round, as though it were in a castle turret. Narrow rectangular niches in the wall and a curved stone bench on one side added to the medieval feeling.

And there he was, waiting for me under a needle sharp spray of warm water, clouds of steam surrounding him. Damn, he looked good. I had no idea that body was hiding under those hospital green scrubs all these years.

When I stepped into the shower, his arms and his lips and the steam enveloped me, and I forgot why I was there.

Ok, well, not entirely. The sex part was top of mind. The money part wasn't. Paying my loans didn't raise goosebumps the way his hands did when he gently stroked my arms. Making the rent couldn't compare to the warm softness of his lips on mine, while a harder softness pressed against my belly.

I don't know how long we made out in the shower, but eventually he led me to the bench in front of the fireplace. Unlike in my bathroom at home, the transition was seamless -- no cold floor or draft from a rattling old window -- just an all-encompassing warmth mirrored in his body as he lay me down and began a slow, sensuous exploration of my wet flesh with his hands and mouth. He must have pushed my clothes onto the floor, but the only thing I could focus on was the feel of his skin on mine.

I'd heard from some of my classmates that doctors made lousy lovers -- especially surgeons with their God complex -- but he made a liar out of them. He started with that little spot behind and below my ear, kissing it softly as his hands gently stroked my arms.

His lips followed the trail left by his hands, down my arms, up across my collarbone, and between my breasts.

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