Filthy Vows (Filthy Vows #1)(17)

I parted my feet slightly as he ran the tip of his pen along my butt cheek, pulling the underwear higher to expose more skin.

“Anything I need to know about here?”

“Not that I know of.” I tried to chuckle. “But I also didn’t know about the freckle you just took photos of. It’s hard to see my butt.”

“Have your husband check you every other month or so. In between our appointments. With your family history, it’s important that we stay diligent.”

We. I thought of him doing the exam with Easton. Easton would scowl at the easy familiarity the doctor had with my body. He’d stop his hands before they got anywhere close to my ass. I’d have both of their attention, both of their eyes, both of their hands, running over me at the same time. I bit my lip to keep my breathing in check, the idea one that was practically making me pant.

“Turn around, Mrs. North.” He stayed on the low stool, and when I turned, he was at eye level with my hips.

He played a good game. Dr. Richards was strictly professional. All business. It only made the fantasy hotter, only made me question the boundaries more. I didn’t buy the gold wedding band or the ironed scrubs, his geeky Timex with the 24-hour time setting on. Fuck the fancy med school diploma on the wall. He’d chosen a profession where he could put his hands all over women. He liked for us to undress in his office and stand before him, shivering under the too-cool thermostat that he set himself. Tonight, maybe he’d beat off to me. He’d picture me just like this and grow hard. Fist his cock and imagine my mouth, my skin, my wet and tight pussy.

I clenched my inner muscles and couldn’t stop the tremor that hit me when his hand landed on my upper thigh. I kept my eyes on the floor, but felt the blush hit my cheeks. Had he noticed?

“You look good, Mrs. North. Everything here is staying similar in size. I don’t see any biopsy needs on this visit.”

He stood, his eyes critically moving over my cleavage, even though he’d already covered that ground.

“I think you should come back in a month, just for another look at that new spot on your back. Unless you want to just keep me posted, and have your husband check it.” His eyes met mine.

“No, I’ll come in.” I laughed. “My husband doesn’t have great attention to detail. It could be the size of a quarter and he wouldn’t notice.”

He smiled. “Then I’ll see you in a month.”

He left me to dress and I flipped the lock on the door, lying back on his exam table and shoving my panties down to my thighs. Rubbing my fingers gently over my clit, I gave in to the illicit fantasy. I closed my eyes and thought of his touch. Imagined that he had a camera hidden in the vents. He was probably back in his office right now. Barely able to shut the door before he had his dick out, swollen with need, the tip of it wet with pre-cum. I straightened my legs, my body tensing, and thought of him watching me, his eyes widening at the view. He’d barely make it to his desk chair before his nuts would tighten, his orgasm close. Mine was close. My body was humming, my nipples pricked and sensitive in the cool air, my feet arching as I almost lifted off the examining table and into my hand.

He wouldn’t be able to hold back the groan. He’d shoot his release all over his desk, all over important documents and client files and test results. He’d keep coming, his eyes glued on the screen, glued on the image of me, and he wouldn’t care, wouldn’t think about anything except how badly he wanted me—

My orgasm crested, my touch softening, my back arching as the waves of pleasure bundling and breaking, my body sinking into the padded plastic as they ebbed, then fell away.

My hand fell away from my soaked opening, and I lay there for one long moment, recovering.

Recovering… and hating myself for what I had become. Insatiable and freaky. I had a porn star of a husband and still couldn’t keep my imaginary knees together.

Easton didn’t know it, but I’d stopped taking my fertility drugs three months ago in an attempt to curb the fantasies. They hadn’t stopped. If anything, they were getting stronger. More frequent. More insistent. Prior fertility drugs, I’d been able to have a fleeting attraction and move on without a second thought. Last week, I’d temporarily shut down an open house so I could finger myself in the powder room, my head clogged with filthy thoughts of the owner coming back early and catching me.

I had to do something. I couldn’t continue like this, not without getting caught by someone.

A cart rattled in the hall and I rolled over with a contented sigh, then got dressed.





8





I hovered my palm over the horn, prepared to lay on it if the Maserati ahead of me got any ideas. “Keep going,” I urged under my breath, hissing out a breath as I watched the nose of the purple sports car ease toward the only parallel spot on Lincoln. Its brake lights flared and then went dark, the engine sounding as the driver gunned it forward. I whipped my wheel to the left, then right, ignoring the irritated horn of the car behind me as I maneuvered my snub-nosed coupe into the tight spot. Lifting my hand, I waved my thanks to the impatient driver, then jerked the shift knob into park.

Opening the car door, I was hit with the full force of the Miami humidity. The heat was like a wool blanket, clawing up my skin and working its way under my loose chiffon top. I stuck one wedge-clad foot out, then the other, sticking close to the car as I eased out and avoided the lane of traffic that flew by.