Serving the Soldier - Part 1 (An Alpha Military Romance) Read Online Free PDF Page A

supplies.
    I yanked a couple of surgical gloves from the box I had retrieved from the bathroom, pulled them on, and then carefully measured the length and width of the surgical scar, jotted down my notes, remarking on the color of the skin and healing scar tissue around it. Then I pulled off the gloves and replaced them with a fresh pair, only then reaching for the tube of antiseptic ointment. I squeezed some onto the tips of my fingers.
    “Sorry, this might be a little cold,” I said, and then gently dabbed the ointment over the length of the incision. I felt just a brief contraction of his muscles as I applied the ointment. “The incision looks clean, but I’ll keep an eye on it for a day or two.”
    I finished with the ointment application, removed that glove, and replaced it with yet another. Next, I reached for a package of 5 x 5 square gauze and tore open the paper wrapping. “Please don’t go into the pool until this is completely scarred over,” I instructed as I retrieved the gauze square and gently laid it over the incision site. In a matter of moments, I had the new bandage taped into place.
    I briefly glanced at the other healing scars that I could see, but knew I also needed to check the ones on his right hip and thigh. Closing my eyes and stealing myself, I spoke. “Can you roll over please?”
    He did, slowly, once again crossing his arms behind his head, watching me. I knew he was watching every reaction, so I schooled my features and refused to give him any satisfaction. I was here to do a job, and I would do it to the best of my ability, no matter how aggravating the guy could be.
    I was used to getting tested by my new clients, and if not by the client themselves, by their family members. It was kind of like a “getting to know you” interaction that didn’t so much involve me as it involved clients and their families trying to figure out if I was professional, skilled, patient, slow to anger, or whatever.
    This was especially true of family members of those with dementia. I understood. They wanted to make sure that I was the right fit for their loved one and that I would be patient, understanding, and compassionate. Still, this experience with Jax was totally new. I had a feeling that he was testing me for altogether different reasons.
    I carefully eyed and measured the jagged and freshly scarred wound threading down his right hip and then the one on his thigh, curling around to the back of his knee. I ignored, or tried to, the fact that his cock was only inches from my hand.
    Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement. What the hell? I briefly shifted my gaze to the movement and realized that his dick was moving, slightly, but moving nevertheless.
    For a brief moment, I wondered what it would feel like to wrap my fingers around his penis. It looked so soft and velvety, but I could imagine that upon full arousal, it would be huge, hard, and thickly veined, throbbing with passion. I imagined what it would be like to cup his balls. Would they be heavy? Then I wondered how long his dick would be when fully aroused.
    From the size of him, I imagined his cock would be pretty big as well. I imagined what it would be like to sit on it, to lower myself onto it, to feel him fill me up, to make love to him. I tried to stifle my wild imaginings, but just the thought of having sex with him, imagining his tongue swirling around my nipples, his penis pumping hard into me made me wet. The pulse in my neck throbbed, and I caught my breath. My eyes widened in surprise.
    I glanced at Jax’s face and saw him watching me with what I could only term as an expression of wry amusement.
    “I can’t help it, it has a mind of its own,” he said.
    I made a face, straightened, and stepped into the bathroom. Reaching under the sink counter, I grabbed a fluffy blue towel. I returned to the bed, extended the towel, and lifted an eyebrow. “Cover yourself please,” I said. He made no move to reach for the