Hotshot Doc(71)
I’m shaking as if he has me on the edge of a cliff. One single finger could push me over. I’d tumble down, and right now, there’s no way to know what awaits me at the bottom. Pain, love, heartache, elation—each is as likely as the last and I can’t willingly do this to myself. I can’t give myself over to a man who has the power to upend my life so easily.
I make a small move to step away at the exact moment he bends his head and captures my mouth in an endless, passionate kiss. His strong grip keeps me there, pressed against him. I feel drugged as he kisses me again and again, his hands shifting higher, stroking and teasing and caressing everywhere within his reach. His thumb curves around my ribs and brushes the very edge of my breasts through my dress. His mouth slants over mine and I shudder. It’s seduction, pure and simple. I’m helpless and frozen, using all of my wits just to stay standing, let alone kiss him back. My hands haven’t moved from his chest. I’ve forgotten how to execute the simple act of breathing.
He pulls back and his hand wraps around my chin so he can lift my face toward his. His beautiful features are masked by desperate need. It’s nearly enough to break my heart when his lips press against my temple, my cheek, the delicate groove just below my ear. My eyes are pinched closed as tingles ricochet down my spine.
“Kiss me,” he pleads, his hands sliding around me, hauling me up against him so there’s no space left between us. “Bailey…kiss me.”
The words are as effective as a puppeteer’s strings. The longing in his tone breaks the final chains straining around my heart. His parted lips find mine again and this time, I’m not frozen. I’m a woman taking exactly what she wants. I moan with hot need, tangling one hand in the thick hair at the base of his neck at the same moment my mouth opens and my tongue teases his. I kiss him with a hurried fervor, suddenly too anxious for this. I kiss him with all the desire I’ve foolishly tried to repress, every bit of longing that’s built up over the last few weeks.
His response is a deep, hungry groan and it lights a fire inside me. Now we kiss with no holds barred. His hand wraps around my thigh and my leg lifts of its own accord. My dress slides up to my waist and his hand shifts higher, dragging across the heated skin of my upper thigh so he can keep my leg wrapped around his hip. My stomach tightens in anticipation. Sizzling desire floods my system.
We kiss until my lips are sore, until I have to break away and gasp for breath, until I feel lightheaded and dizzy with need. If I had a bottle of water within reach, I’d dump it on my head. Everywhere he touches, it feels like he’s dragging a flame across my skin. It sears. It ignites. It turns me on to the point of clothes-tearing, nails-dragging, teeth-biting insanity.
My hands are on his suit pants and I’m fumbling with the button, like gimme, gimme, gimme.
I want him to push me up against this wall and end my three-year dry spell. I want to finally know what it feels like to have Matt drive into me and lose control, rock his hips against mine and…I’m saying all of this to him. Every word spills out and Matt is cursing under his breath and tugging on my panties, trying to drag them down my hips, and Jesus.
“Just tear the damn things!” I plead, near tears.
He does and stuffs them in his pocket. Dammit, those were my good panties, but who the hell cares, because Matt’s fingers are between my legs and I’ve watched him operate with those hands, but this is what they were really meant to do. This is…this is…
DEAR GOD.
His hand glides back and forth and he likes how ready I am, how very, very, very wet I am. For him.
He presses his mouth to the shell of my ear and tells me how good I feel as his finger slides into me.
My mouth drops open and I’m not one hundred percent sure my jaw doesn’t come unhinged because DR. RUSSELL drags his finger out slowly and adds a second, and that gentle pumping turns not so gentle. I’m grinding against the heel of his palm as he shifts us to the left and pushes me against the wall. It’s almost humiliating how easily I’m coming undone, how easily two little (okay, big) fingers can make me mewl like a kitten.
“I want you,” I demand sharply, sounding nearly possessed with need, but he’s the one thinking clearly, because he shakes his head and uses the pad of his thumb to swirl in the exact spot that makes my toes curl and my eyes pinch closed.
Those first few waves of pleasure start to crest, but he staves them off, working me up even more before his thumb returns, swirling just slowly enough to put me in a straitjacket.
“There’s not time,” he insists, his voice velvety and commanding before he quiets my protests with his mouth. His teeth bite my lip and he’s a little rough, but then I knew he would be. That softness he hides from the world is lost in this moment too. The man doing wicked things to me in this bathroom is the same man who inspired that devil picture in the lounge. This is the hotshot surgeon with all the confidence in the world, the man who scares me as much as he excites me.
He pulls back and watches me with hooded eyes as his fingers continue killing me slowly. His faint smirk tells me he’s pleased by every one of my moans and whimpers.
Except for one hip pressing me against the wall and his fingers pumping in and out, he doesn’t touch me. He stays just like that, disengaged enough that he can watch what he’s doing to me. It feels like I’m performing for him. Maybe later, I’ll be embarrassed by my flushed skin and swollen lips, but right now, I like his eyes on me. I like letting him do this to me.