Page 50 of Wrong Number Right Doctor

I close my eyes for one second.

God help me.

Then I open them and put my hand on her thigh. “Turn over.”

She’s flushed and dazed, thighs unsteady, lips swollen from my mouth. I should stop. Let her sleep. Let myself get control of whatever this is.

But then she sits up, pushes her hair out of her face, and climbs into my lap. My back is against the headboard. She lowers herself onto me inch by inch, eyes locked on mine, mouth parted as she takes me. I put my hands on her waist, then her ass, helping her move.

Her breasts brush my chest. Her hands brace on my shoulders. Every roll of her hips drags a rough sound out of me.

“You’re going to kill me,” she whispers.

I almost laugh.

Instead I pull her closer and kiss her until she forgets what she was saying.

She rides me until her legs shake. Until she buries her face in my neck and comes while whimpering into my skin.

That one undoes me. I hold her down on my cock and come deep, jaw clenched, one hand fisted in her hair, the other locked around her waist like I can keep her there by force of will alone.

After, the room goes quiet. Her body is heavy against mine. Warm. Damp. Used in the best way. Her breathing slowly evens out against my throat.

I don’t move her. For a long time, I sit there with her in my lap, one hand moving over her back, feeling the small aftershocks leave her.

Eventually, she makes a soft sound. Sleepy. Almost embarrassed. “I should move,” she mumbles.

“No.”

She huffs something that might be a laugh.

She lets me lay her down. I pull the sheet over her, then get in beside her. She turns toward me without opening her eyes, one knee sliding over mine, her hand landing on my chest like it belongs there.

That should alarm me. It doesn’t.

I watch her for a while. The soft parting of her lips. The flush still high on her cheeks. The faint mark my mouth left near her collarbone. Her hair spread across the pillow.

I put my arm around her and close my eyes.