Page 290 of The Doctors Will See You Now

Christ, I think I’m already addicted.

She let her head drop back, a soft, audible thud breaking the pants of our labored breathing as it made contact with the wall.

I put a hand to the drywall and pushed off before moving my lips to her sweet throat again and sucking there, stopping just shy of marking her skin, as I walked us back to my bedroom and dropped her in the middle of my king-size bed.

“Scott,” she rasped, and my dick started to ache.

I lost the only clothing I had left, my boxers and socks, and followed her down, reaching up and to the side until my fingers met the knob on the top drawer of my nightstand.

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask her if she was sure if she wanted to do this, but I choked on the words as I sent them back down. If she didn’t want to, she’d say it. And I’d respect it.

But until then, this was the best almost-sex I’d had in years—maybe ever—and I’d be damned if I was going to let being too polite ruin the moment.

Back to the task at hand, I opened the drawer and grabbed a condom before shifting to my knees between her legs and rolling it down my length.

She licked her lips and sat up, moving her hand on top of mine to assist, and just like that, any lingering doubt fled the building.

Urgency clawed at the line of my spine and robbed me of some of my finesse as I fell forward on top of her, our heavy, panting breaths the only thing filling the room, reached between us to pull the gusset of her panties to the side, and thrust myself in to the hilt.

Fire built in my back as she scored it with her fingernails and closed her eyes in ecstasy, the roll of her groan nearly guttural.

I could relate. I was feeling pretty fucking splendid myself.

One thrust led to two as I lost myself inside of her tight heat and moved my hands over every inch of her body. She moaned as I grasped at her hips, the thin material of her thong driving me crazy as I set a rhythm. Like a quick squeeze of a hand, her pussy clamped down on me and sucked at me until I’d lost any semblance of control.

I roared, I heard it ring in my own ears it was so loud, as I ripped the material on both sides of her hips clean through.

Bliss, pure and carnal, took hold of every last cell of my body as we climaxed together in a way I’d never ever fucking forget.

I might have been blind to the look on her face as she came thanks to my own pleasure, but I swore I could feel it bleeding in through the inky blackness behind my eyelids.

We’d hardly spoken, but the roughness of her cry and the sting of her teeth as they marked my shoulder as hers said all of the words—maybe all of the words in existence—for us.

Slowly and reluctantly, I removed my arm from my face. I blinked, closed my eyes, and blinked again. Streaks of sunlight penetrated the unfamiliar window and damn near blinded me with its hot, white rays. A bit disoriented, I sat up and curiously scanned the bedroom that wasn’t mine. The room was sleek yet personalized—king-sized bed, white sheets, white comforter, and a few pieces of perfectly selected art hanging on the walls.

Where in the hell am I?

Scooting to the edge of the bed, I dragged my feet off the mattress and rubbed my knuckles into my eyes. I stretched my arms above my head and yawned as I watched my legs dangle above the light hardwood floors. The instant I stood up, my eyes caught my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror beside the white armoire. Cripes. I’m naked…

Where in the hell were my clothes?

Across the bedroom toward the door, I scanned the space until I caught sight of my dress haphazardly strewn across the floor like it’d been dragged into the room by a stampede. Hazy—yet somehow very real—memories of last night filtered into my brain.

The party. Drinks with Scott. Dancing with Scott. Sex with Scott.

Oh. My. God.

Last night, I’d had a crazy, slightly drunken, toe-curling, several orgasms, amazing-sex night. With Scott Shepard.

My eyes met my reflection in the mirror again, and I couldn’t stop myself from laughing at the absurdity of the situation. I mean, I’d just had sex with someone I’d written Gossip columns about. I’d never done that. Hell, I’d made a point never to do that.

Blame it on the alcohol?

More like my vagina and the fact that you’re really starting to like Scott…

I ignored the latter and focused on the first part. My horny vagina. Yeah, she was definitely to blame in this scenario. But, in her defense, Scott was walking, talking sex. After the Barron debacle, all she’d wanted was to feel good.

The longer I stood there staring at the wanton, slightly disheveled woman in the mirror, the easier it became to pick out the details. I wasn’t just naked—I was worked over. Beard rash covered ninety-five percent of my skin, and two very large and obvious reddish-purple marks dappled my breasts. Each breast to be exact. Hickeys? Seriously?