Hotshot Doc
Page 47
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.
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.
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.
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.
