I lay there, gown bunched up around my waist, the paper beneath me sticking to my skin. His gloved hands pressed gently against different parts of my stomach, moving lower each time.
Dr. Watson’s hands were warm, even through the gloves, as they pressed along my stomach. He started higher up, firm but gentle, as though testing each part of me.
“Any tenderness here?” His voice was even, almost soothing.
I shook my head quickly. “No, doctor.”
He shifted lower, fingertips pressing just above my hip bone. The pressure made my skin prickle. “And here?”
Again, I shook my head, though my throat was too dry to form words.
When his touch drifted lower down toward the soft flesh at the top of my inner thigh, my body stiffened. The breath I’d been holding escaped in a sharp gasp.
Dr. Watson pa
