Hotshot Doc(72)

A heavy fist knocks on the bathroom door and I jump out of my skin.

Matt’s fingers curl into me.

The door handle jostles as a deep voice asks, “Is someone in here?”

Matt’s thumb swirls faster and I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from crying out.

His gaze finds mine and he shakes his head, pressing a finger to his mouth.

There’s another knock as the person grows more impatient. I have half a mind to shout, WE’RE ALL IMPATIENT, OKAY, BUDDY?!

I’ve waited so long for this moment, and the idea that it could be taken away in an instant makes me more desperate than ever. My chest rises and falls in quick succession. My hand hits Matt’s wrist and I grip it hard. The gesture says, If you stop, I’ll kill you.

His smirk turns him into a devil and he gets the hint because there’s no slow teasing anymore. There’s only his thumb and his eyes on me and “I’m going to come,” I whisper. His hand covers my mouth at the precise moment the peak of pleasure crashes into me. Ricochet after ricochet. Tingles rack me from head to toe. I cry out against his hand and he smothers the sound as best as he can, but it’s still probably not enough. The pope, my first-grade teacher, and my grandmother could be standing outside that bathroom door and I wouldn’t be able to stay quiet.

Matt’s hand makes it hard to breath, but this orgasm is never ending, and I live in the clouds now. I refuse to float back down to earth. His mouth presses against my forehead in a chaste kiss and his hand eases a little bit.

“Bailey?” he asks, his tone tinged with amusement. “I’m going to move my hand now.”

I nod to let him know I’m not going to do anything crazy, like proclaim, DR. RUSSELL IS DOING DIRTY THINGS TO ME IN HERE, EVERYONE.

Though, just to be clear, a part of me does want to do that.

He steps back, slowly pulling his hips away from mine, and I take stock of my body: my limbs are somehow still intact, my breathing is slowly returning to normal, my cheeks are still flushed, and they’ll probably stay that way as long as Matt is looking at me with that knowing gleam in his eyes. I adjust my dress, step toward the mirror, and cringe. My mouth says, I’ve been naughty. My hair is a riotous mess. I drag my fingers through it and try to get it to lie as flat as possible, but there’s no way to get it back to normal.

I groan as reality sinks in.

We’re at the company Christmas party.

I’m not wearing any panties.

There’s still someone waiting outside the door.

“How the hell are we going to get out of here?” I ask, peering at his reflection over my shoulder.

Matt’s apparently already thought of that.

When I’m good to go, I give him a thumbs-up, and he tugs open the door just enough to stick his head out.

“Dr. Richards.” He winces gently. “I need help. I’ve been throwing up nonstop—food poisoning or something.”

“What?!” Dr. Richards groans. “Are you okay? You didn’t have the spinach dip, did you? Dammit, I knew I shouldn’t have gone back for seconds.”

“No, no. Just go get me some water, will you? And something to settle my stomach if you can find it.”

Dr. Richards mutters something under his breath and Matt watches carefully as he turns down the hallway to complete his errand. The moment he’s out of sight and the coast is clear, Matt straightens, adjusts his coat jacket, and offers me his elbow.

“Let’s get out of here.”

I shake myself out of my impressed stupor.

“Honestly, you went into the wrong profession,” I tease. “That performance was worthy of an Oscar.”





Chapter 26





MATT



Let’s be perfectly clear: everyone knows what just happened in that bathroom. Dr. Richards is the only one who still thinks I’m having stomach problems. As I take Bailey’s hand and lead her back to her sister, he rushes over to me with water and some antacids he found in his wife’s purse. Sweat drips down his forehead as he presses a hand to his stomach. “Now that you mention it, I don’t feel so good either.”

Bailey has to stifle her laugh with a poorly executed coughing fit, and I tug her along before she can blow our cover.

“Really?” I chastise, unable to wipe the satisfied smirk off my face.

She shakes her head and covers her smile. “I can’t stop.”

She’s giddy from her post-orgasm high. At least that makes one of us. I’m still so hard, a soft brush of her hand across my crotch and I’d be a goner. It’s pathetic. I need to get the hell out of here. My mission is done. I came, I saw, I conquered. Well, I did the second two.

“People are still staring at us,” Bailey hisses under her breath.

“Huh.” I sound bored. “Are they?”

“You know they are,” she says, wrapping her free hand around my forearm, shielding half her body behind mine. A few minutes ago, she wanted away from me as fast as possible. Now, suddenly she can’t get close enough. It’s the best case of whiplash I’ve ever had.

“Just smile and look confident. They’ll move on. Look, Dr. Goddard and his wife are over there making fools of themselves. No one even cares about us anymore.”

It’s true. Dr. Goddard is stamping his foot and insisting the children “stand in descending order by age, not height” for their photo with Santa while his wife shouts back angrily. Still, half of the room remains laser-focused on us. I should probably let go of Bailey’s hand. It’s not helping matters. Instead, I tighten my grip.