Page 5 of The Malibu Secret

Oh, yes. Yes. His tongue traces slow, deliberate circles, then flicks with perfect pressure against that sweet spot that makes my thighs tremble. I arch my back, fingers tangled in his hair as he slides one finger inside me, then another, curving upward in rhythm with each stroke of his tongue. My breath catches when he hums against me, the vibration sending electric currents straight to my core. God, this guy knows exactly what he's doing and I don’t want him to ever stop. This is better than any painkiller I could ever think of. Good god, they should bottle this feeling - there would be no more Oxycontin addictions.

His fingers curl inside me, finding that perfect spot that makes my back arch off the couch. I gasp his name as he adds another finger, stretching me deliciously while his tongue traces hot, deliberate patterns that send electric currents through my entire body. The pain that had consumed me before Cameron arrived dissolves into nothing—replaced by a pleasure so intense it borders on unbearable. I claw his back, desperate for more, for him to fill me completely, but he refuses. Instead, he doubles down, his mouth relentless, his fingers moving with devastating precision until I'm trembling, begging, coming apart beneath him. He's determined to worship me this way, and God help me, I'm powerless to do anything but surrender.

I shatter into a thousand pieces, convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me, but it's not enough—I need more of him. Cameron's mouth blazes a trail up my bruised skin, his tongue leaving fire in its wake until he collapses beside me, his breathing as ragged as mine. "This crosses every line," he says, his eyes still dark with hunger. "You're my patient."

"Then diagnose me, doctor," I gasp, my body still trembling. "I'm addicted to your touch—no prescription drug could ever compare to what your mouth just did to me. I'd swear under oath that this was purely medicinal, even as I beg you to do it again."

He shakes his head. “I didn’t come over for this.”

I cock my head. “What did you come over for?”

“I wanted to check on you. It’s my day off, and I thought about you all last night while I was on shift.” He plays with my hair, which is now long, but is still streaked with every color of the rainbow. “All I could think of is that you’re Celeste’s best friend and that made it personal that you were in my ER. I thought I should personally check on you, that’s all.”

I take a deep breath. “Well, I just took from you just now. What did you get out of that?”

He smiles. “Tally, if you only knew just what I got out of that. I made you feel better. And as much as you shattered by what I was doing, it’s safe to say that you’ll feel the painkilling effects for hours to come.”

I smile, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Dr. Kensington."

His eyes darken as he grabs my wrist. "Don't call me Dr. Kensington. Not right now." His grip tightens. "Do you have any idea what I've risked for you? Ten years of medical training, my license, my reputation—all of it hanging by a thread because I couldn't keep my hands off you." His jaw clenches. "One minute I'm treating your injuries, and the next⁠—"

"You're making me come so hard I see stars," I cut in, pressing against him. "God, when you touch me, it's like being struck by lightning. Better than any drug. You should see the way your pupils dilate when I moan your name." I drag my fingertips down his chest. "Forget opioids—the world needs what you do to me."

He lays on top of me, his breath hot against my neck. "It's biochemical warfare. Pure endorphin rush straight to the brain's pleasure centers." His hand slides under my shirt. "And I'm about to give you another dose."

And he does just that. For hours. He doesn’t ever seem to tire, even as he never even considers taking even one climax for himself.

Chapter Four

CAMERON

Christ. What have I done?

I grip the steering wheel as I drive away from Tally's place, knuckles white. The medical board would have a field day with this—doctor sleeps with patient, loses license, film at eleven. But how could I resist? The way her Black Orchid perfume lingered in the air between us. Those Mediterranean-blue eyes watching me from beneath dark lashes. The curve of her waist under my hands, so delicate I could almost encircle it completely. Her beautiful full breasts consumed me—the weight of them, the heat, the way my tongue traced her nipples until she gasped my name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

Alecia's face flashes in my mind. Two years without dating anyone, and now this. The guilt sits heavy in my chest even as I remember Tally's sighs, the way she arched against me. I justified it as medical care—endorphins are nature's painkillers, after all. Those bruises from the accident looked agonizing, and when I arrived, she couldn't even make it to the bathroom without help.

For a few hours at least, I distracted her from her pain. At least that's what I tell myself.

I need to talk to someone about this whole situation, so I dial up Dr. Elias Stone. We've been tight since our Harvard Westlake days—the fancy prep school where the Kensington boys get polished. I'll have to admit I crossed a line with a patient, but Elias won't report me. We've got a brotherhood that runs deeper than DNA. Don't get me wrong—I love my actual brothers, all seven of them. But with Elias, it's different. He chose me, and I chose him. That kind of bond hits different than the one you're born into.

I call my friend as I’m driving home from Tally’s.

"Eli," I say when he picks up. I check my watch—7:30 PM. He's been home for hours already. Lucky bastard with his pediatrician's schedule, nine-to-five with weekends off, while I'm pulling another double shift in the ER. That sports medicine fellowship can't come soon enough, but first—Sicily. One more month and I'll be on a plane, spending a year with Doctors Without Borders helping refugees. "I need to talk."

"Door's open, Cam,” Elias says. "Sarah just put Molly to bed. Wine's breathing on the patio."

I hate barging into Elias' perfect little world. His life is exactly what mine was supposed to be when I married Alecia. We had Stephanie within a year after those "til death do us part" vows, never imagining death would claim her just two years later. Watching Elias with his clockwork routine, his beautiful wife, his four-year-old daughter, the age Stephanie would now be - it stings. We used to joke about the cosmic timing—both having baby girls who'd grow up as best friends. The four of us were inseparable: weekend cabins at Lake Mead, skiing trips to Mammoth, that amazing week in New York. Then suddenly, my world collapsed while his remained intact. I don't resent his happiness—I'm not built that way. But knowing he'll probably meet me alone on that terrace, without Sarah, because we're no longer two couples but a pair and a spare—that's the part that cuts deepest.

I get to Elias, and, sure enough, Sarah and Molly are nowhere to be seen. “Sarah is upstairs with Mol doing a puzzle with her,” Elias says. “She’s so bright that she helps her mom do 500-piece puzzles. Can you imagine?”

I nod and sigh. Yeah, it’s difficult hearing about Molly’s milestones just because Molly is the same age that Steph would be right now. And Steph was an extremely bright child, too - she was a little younger than one when she was killed, but she was ahead of schedule for her milestones - babbling in complete sentences, walking already, tracking objects with those intelligent eyes while she was still crawling, already knowing her colors. So she probably would’ve been able to help Alecia put together a puzzle, just like Molly is with Sarah. And it’ll always be like this, I know - when Molly is going to kindergarten and learning her tables, I’ll think that Steph should be doing the same. When Molly makes the swim or gymnastics team or whatever she’s bound to do, I’ll wonder what sports Steph might’ve liked. When Molly gets her driver’s license, there’ll be a pang that Steph isn’t doing the same. When she graduates high school, goes to college, gets married…I’ll always wonder about Steph. After all, they were the same age so all the milestones Molly hits, Steph would’ve hit them at roughly the same time.

But there's no way in hell I'm saying a word to Elias. What am I supposed to do—make him feel like shit because he's living my dream? The white picket fence, the whole package I'd sketched out in my head. Christ. One hint of how I really feel, and he'd get that kicked-puppy look, start dodging my calls. So I swallow it down, paste on a smile, and keep my jealousy locked behind my teeth where it belongs.

He hands me a glass of wine and settles back into his patio furniture. "So," he says. "What's going on?"

I stare at my palms like they might hold answers. "I don't really know." I exhale slowly. "I'm kind of..." My words trail off. "I might have..." I run a hand through my hair. "I met someone.”