Borrowing From Dr. Stepmom

Diane reached for the handle of her bedroom door with one hand, checked her watch with the other, and cursed under her breath. The leather bag was nowhere in sight. Probably grabbed it for class notes yesterday and left it behind. Nora would know. She always knew where things went. Diane climbed the stairs, knocked once on the teenager’s door, and pushed it open. Nora stood in front of the full-length mirror, Diane’s hospital scrubs hanging off one slender shoulder, the stethoscope looped twice around her neck. Her bare feet were planted shoulder-width apart on the rug, the top two snaps of the scrub top undone so that the deep cleft between her breasts flashed every time she shifted. A pink webcam light glowed on her nightstand. Diane froze in the doorway. The younger woman turned slowly, cheeks flushing rose. “I took it,” Nora blurted. “I needed props for tonight’s shift. I’m… I’m a camgirl now.” Diane shut the door behind her. “And you look good in my uniform.” Her voice dropped a half-tone, heat curling at the edges. They stared at each other for one tight heartbeat. Diane stepped forward, brushed the cold metal diaphragm of the stethoscope aside, and traced the warm skin just above Nora’s collarbone with one fingertip. “You’re actually okay with it?” Nora whispered. “People like to fuck and they like to watch each other fuck,” Diane said plainly. “That turns me on.” Her palm flattened against the loose cotton, felt the hard bead of Nora’s nipple through it. “Right now it turns me on a lot.” Nora exhaled, the sound shaky. Diane kissed her, fast and hungry, then spun her around so they both faced the mirror again. Diane’s hand slid inside the open scrub top, cupping, squeezing, while the fingers of the other tugged at the waistband of the matching pants. The elastic eased down Nora’s thighs in a soft hiss. They climbed onto the bed still half-dressed, Diane’s slacks on, blouse unbuttoned, bra shoved under her breasts so nipples grazed Nora’s bare back every time she drove two fingers deeper. The stethoscope hung between them like punctuation. Nora rocked back onto those fingers, breath stuttering, the sleeve of Diane’s scrub top fluttering with each thrust. Diane licked up the line of Nora’s spine. “Keep the top on,” she murmured. “I want to see it move when you come.” They moved faster. The headboard tapped the wall in steady rhythm. Diane’s scrub pants grew slick between them, cotton clinging to skin, and neither woman cared that Diane was already late for rounds. All that existed was breath, sweat, and the soft slap of skin hidden beneath white fabric.