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A gasp tears from my lips as I press the wand down harder against my sensitive flesh, my hips undulating slowly as the pleasure builds. It coils tightly in my lower abdomen, sending little shockwaves through my system as I get closer to release.

“Does that poor pussy need to be filled, Ana? Does it need my cock to stretch it out?”

I let out a desperate whimper as my body grows hot and my muscles tense, my back arching off the mattress as I increase the speed of the wand. My inner walls clench around nothing as my clit pulsates against the vibration.

“Fuck, that’s it, baby. You’re so beautiful when you’re on the brink of an orgasm. Be a good girl and come for me.”

The speed increases again and my body reacts viscerally to the words playing in my mind. My pussy quivers as pleasure erupts from my throbbing clit and white dots dance across the backs of my eyelids. The ecstasy coursing through my veins is mind-numbing. My muscles unlock as I pull my knees together and lay panting on top of my blankets.

In my post-orgasmic haze, I manage to get up to get some water before changing into pajamas and wrapping myself into a cocoon of blankets. My mind drifts lazily as I think about tomorrow. Maybe I’ll meet a nice rugby player and I’ll fall in love.

I need something because I can’t spend the rest of my life with a wand and a memory.

I stand in front of the training facility and stare at the huge glass windows, gripping my coat tightly around my neck like that would hold in the panic. My heart is racing in my chest and my lungs burn with each breath, and it has nothing to do with the frigid air.

A man in a grey suit emerges from the sliding doors and hurries toward me, his breath misting in front of his lips as he pants. “Anastasia?” he asks hopefully and smiles when I give him a nod. “Great. I’m Brady. We spoke on the phone.” He shakes my hand and then promptly tucks his back into his pockets. “If you want to come with me, I’ve got everything set up in the conference room.”

“Okay.” I look around the entryway as we step through the sliding doors, my breath caught in my throat. The photos of this place just don’t do it justice. My heels click against the polished floor as Brady, the GM, leads me past the open gym doors. I can’t help but peek my head inside to see who I can catch a glimpse of, but the room is empty and the equipment is stacked neatly into rows against the far wall.

“The players won’t be here for another few hours,” Brady says from behind me, making me jump.

My cheeks heat and I step away from the gym. “Will I be able to get a tour after I sign away the rights to my soul?”

He chuckles softly. “You will get a tour, but you won’t be signing your soul to the team. This is a temporary position, just to cover for Dr. Logan until she’s able to come back.”

My heart drops to the floor. A temp position? I worry my lip between my teeth as we start back down the hallway. “How long is she going to be out?”

“She took 12 weeks,” Brady responds softly. “But between you and me, I’m not sure that she’s interested in coming back. With the new owner, everything is up in the air. But I don’t want you getting your hopes up, so it’s better to plan for this being a temporary spot.”

“Of course,” I mutter and follow him into the conference room. Despite his warning, I can’t keep the small kernel of hope from blooming in my chest. The table is littered with stacks of papers and files, some of which are open and spread across the surface like someone was pouring over them.

“Mr. Callahan was going to join us, but he got called away to deal with some…unsavory business,” Brady says with a slight scowl.

“That wouldn’t have anything to do with the most recent news article featuring the one and only Novak, would it?” I ask curiously, skimming my eyes along the paragraphs of the contract.

It’s no secret that the Tigers struggle to control Novak, and his image alone is dragging the team through the dirt. I saw the article last night as I was scrolling through the hashtags trying to find a mention of who the new owner is. Novak was arrested for yet another DUI after fleeing the scene of a bar fight. If he wasn’t the team’s only chance at winning games, I’d truly hate him.

As it stands, I was taught never to hate someone that I’ve never met, especially not someone who could be the only chance of a decent season for my team. I sit down and Brady slides a stack of papers toward me.

“That would be it,” Brady confirms with a chuckle. “News travels like wildfire, doesn’t it?” He sits down in a chair on the opposite side of the table and hands me a pen. “That’s the general contract. It includes the NDA, benefits we offer, and what we expect of our team doctors.”

I nod slowly as I read through the paragraphs. I have no idea what I’m actually looking at, and I’m regretting not getting my lawyer to look these over first, but it’s too late for that now. The stacks are detailed and slightly intimidating. “Do you have a coffee machine?” I ask sheepishly. “It looks like we might be here a while.”

“Of course!” Brady pulls out his cell phone and types out a quick message. “Betty will be right in. She’s Mr. Callahan’s assistant and is the main reason this place runs smoothly. She’ll be able to get you whatever you need.”

“Thank you.” I lean back in my chair and run my fingers through my hair, a few of the nerves dispelling at the thought of meeting the person who helps run the routine. Plus a coffee sounds great right about now since I slept like shit because my dreams were plagued with a pair of piercing dark blue eyes.

It took us almost four hours to get through all the nitty-gritty details of the contracts, but once we broke everything down into small increments it was easier to understand. I feel better about signing all those forms, but some of it was still too ‘lawyer-ish’ for me to understand. I can only hope that they aren’t going to screw me over at the end of my 12-week term.

I step into the locker room and reel in my inner fangirl. The open-faced lockers line the walls, and each one has a game-day jersey hanging neatly from a hook. Benches stretch out in front of the lockers and in the center of the room. The dark floor shines under the bright fluorescent lights.

A few players are bent over a phone screen, heads pulled together as they chuckle and point at the phone, but they’re too far away for me to hear what they’re saying. Two more players brush past us as they head over to their lockers, and I have to physically bite my tongue to keep the squeal contained. Both centers look over their shoulders and eye me suspiciously.

Brady clears his throat. “Boys, this is the new team doctor, Dr. Bellows. She’s filling in for Dr. Logan while she’s out.”

I want the floor to open up and swallow me as all the players turn their attention to me. I give them an awkward wave. “Hi, I’m Anastasia.”

“Did we get a discount at the school of medicine for getting a trainee?” A condescending voice cuts through the silence.