I was miserable lying in the hospital bed, knowing that soon enough I would be completely under. My ankle had been crushed in a car accident years before and this, my third surgery, was just the latest in the sequence of medical torture. It wasn't so much that it hurt, which it did, but it was the nausea that always accompanied the recovery part. Anesthesia did not agree with me in the least apparently, leaving me with this sinking feeling, knowing that soon enough I would be sore, aching, and retching.

As I sat there in my mental misery, contemplating what was to come, a nurse entered the room. I hadn't heard him, hadn't seen him, until he was next to my bed. I snapped out of my haze and met his eyes. It wasn't time for the surgery because he didn't have anyone with him, there was no gurney, etc..

He smiled and I felt myself blush slightly. I had always had that borderline medical obsession, finding men in scrubs to be significantly more attractive than I could put into words. And knowing that I had just blushed, made me blush more.

His smile grew and he said sweetly, "Hallo there, miss. Dr. Winter wanted me to give you something to fight your nausea." My ears semi twitched at the sound of his Australian accent. Yet another soft spot for me, unfortunately. But, what he said was even hotter than his voice. Fight the nausea, you say? Yes please.

I hadn't been informed of anymore shots. Lord knows I had been given enough in the past few hours to knock out an elephant. But, if it would keep me from that less than uncomfortable feeling that I dreaded, then I was completely okay with it.

"Just roll over onto your side for me, miss," he said sweetly, placing the small tray he brought with him on the bedside table.

Wanting desperately to comply with the man in scrubs, and also to get the aid he was offering, I did as he asked, rolling onto my side. I heard that familiar sound of rubber gloves being snapped on. I always wondered about that, coincidentally. Why do they snap them? Is it some sort of medical protocol? His hand touched my hip suddenly, forcing me to stay focused on my particular situation. His fingers pushed my gown up the rest of the way, his palm seeming to stroke my hip. Then, just as suddenly, his hand was gone. I expected the familiar alcohol rub on my skin, the pad that was neither coarse nor soft. But it didn't come.

"Pull your right knee up to your chest as far as you can for me," he said, his voice heavier than it was before. Not really understanding, but quick to comply, I pulled my knee up. "That's my good girl," he said, his words almost husky.

He moved away, the sound of something shuffling on the tray following almost immediately. In less than 30 seconds, he was behind me again, one hand on my hip. I braced myself for the needle, but instead felt a finger enter my rearend, making me jump slightly. He held me firmly, the pressure keeping me still.

"Just relax, love," he said, his hold on my hip getting tighter. He withdrew his finger and his hand quickly. Soon enough, I heard the sound of a wrapper opening and his hand returned to my hip. "Bear down for me, sweetheart. Like you're trying to go to the bathroom." I did as he asked, my heart racing. I know it was wrong, so wrong, but I was getting excited, the pressure from his palm on my skin making it worse. I felt an odd sensation as his finger re-entered me, his long digit pushing something almost soft deep inside me. I gasped, not really expecting that feeling, but not hating it either.

He wiggled his finger around after holding it in place for a few moments. He laughed under his breath softly, his left hand rubbing from my thigh to my hip.

"You really have no idea how hot you are like this do you, Cassie?" Hunter borderline giggled.

"Are you quite done?" I grunted, my own repressed laughter obvious in my tone.

"Fine fine," he laughed, placing my gown back over me and letting me roll over. He laid down next to me after dropping his gloves into the trash container, kissing me on the forehead. "Feeling any better?" he asked, running his fingertips along the edge of my face.

"Yes," I responded, kissing him softly on the lips. "Do you really think that now was an appropriate time to play?"

"Why not? Joseph wanted me to give you one after I mentioned how sick you had been before." He kissed my forehead again. "Nothing wrong with having a little fun while I'm at it."

"Yeah yeah." I laid my head against him. I knew that he would be there when I woke up after surgery and I knew he'd take care of me more when I got home. After all, that's what husbands are for.