The Doctor (Nashville Neighborhood 1)

“Proof,” he’d say, “of what a bad little girl you are.”

I twisted in his bed, rolling and bucking at my own touch, fueled by images in my mind that were so bad, I should have felt shame for thinking them. I imagined Preston walking in on us, seeing his father’s head buried in my pussy, teasing me with his skilled tongue. Preston would stand there, shock streaked over his face, unable to look away as he witnessed how much better his father was at giving me what I needed.

I was supposed to feel shame, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Nestled in Greg’s bed, I was impervious to guilt. I was safe here.

When the orgasm finally came, it wasn’t as acute, but still strong. It flowed through my center and ebbed away, pleasure lingering for a long, suspended moment. I collapsed against the sheets, spent and struggling to catch my breath. Everything was warm and tingling in my body, and I relaxed, staring up through the darkness at the ceiling. I’d wanted to hold off until he was on his way home, but my dirty mind had been too powerful. Too needy.

I closed my eyes, resting for a moment. I’d need to. He’d be here soon, ready to turn my fantasies into reality.

TWENTY-FOUR

I STIRRED AWAKE, and it took me a moment to place my surroundings. It was brighter in the room than when I’d fallen asleep—the light was on in the bathroom and streamed softly across the bed.

I shifted, drawing up onto my elbows, and blinked quickly to adjust to the glow.

The stark white of Greg’s coat stood out first, and my gaze traveled upward to meet his eyes. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the doorframe and a pensive look on his face.

I’d slept like the dead, and the corner of my mouth was wet. I quickly wiped the drool away with a hand, playing it off like it was a yawn and I wasn’t embarrassed. “Hi. What time is it?”

“Quarter to three.” His arms came down to hang awkwardly at his side. “I’m so sorry. I thought it was going to be quick. A few hours. But we had a hard time keeping him stable, and . . .” His gaze moved away from me, drifting to stare off at nothing.

I straightened and tried to steel my reaction. The hurt in Greg’s eyes was unmistakable. Oh, God. He’d spent all night battling for his patient—

And he’d lost.

A hole opened in my chest, and I bit down on the inside of my cheek. I was dying to say something, to offer comfort somehow, but my brain failed me. I couldn’t come up with a single sentence that wasn’t trite or a tired platitude.

“How much trouble are you in?” he asked. “It’s so late, your mom must be worried.”

I shook my head. “I told her I was staying over at a friend’s.”

“Oh. Good.” Relief spread across his expression. His voice was soft and light, masking his desperation. “Can you stay?”

Very little on earth could force me from this bed right now. “Yeah.”

He drew in a deep breath and pushed it out, like he was cleansing his emotions. The wrinkles around his eyes were more pronounced now, and he looked exhausted as he moved toward me.

“How long have you been up?” I asked.

His warm fingertips caressed my cheek, moving to cup the side of my face and draw me into a kiss. “I don’t know. Twenty-five hours, maybe?” His mouth tasted like coffee. Faint amusement darted through his weary eyes. “I thought I told you to get naked.” He toyed with the collar of the shirt I was wearing. His shirt, technically. “But I like this.”

I warmed, trying to match his mood shift. “You told me to take off my clothes . . . which I did.”

I threaded my fingers through his hair and tried to pull him down to sit beside me on the bed, but he resisted. He captured my wrists in his hands and freed himself from my grasp, straightening and giving me a studious look.

“Are you still experiencing discomfort?”

Confusion flooded me. “What?”

“Your problem earlier.” His expression hinted at the game. “Do you still have symptoms?”

My mouth rounded into an “oh” as I got it. Our scene from before, the fantasy I’d asked for. I softened. “Greg, you’ve got to be exhausted. We don’t have to—”

A sad smile curled at the edge of his lips. “You’re always thinking about other people and never yourself. That ends tonight. Cassidy, you want this, and I want to give it to you.”

I frowned and opened my mouth to tell him he was being silly. It was three in the morning, but he cut me off.

“What if I tell you I need this?”

I inhaled sharply at his confession and understood instantly. Hadn’t I texted him earlier tonight for a similar reason? To use my time with him to forget the heavy, emotionally draining day? I pushed my hair back, tucking it behind an ear, and struggled to refocus.