The Doctor (Nashville Neighborhood 1)

He looked . . . unsure.

“Is everything okay?” My words were raspy, my throat raw.

A shift went through him, and the cool, confident doctor persona snapped back into place. “Can you turn over, please? Onto your stomach.”

I really, really wanted to resume what we’d been doing just a second ago, but I was so close to coming and desperate for release, I was willing to do anything he asked. I turned onto my side, then rolled onto my stomach, pressing my breasts into the mattress. The pillow was cool against my cheek as I turned my head to peer up at him.

“That’s good,” he said. “Perfect.”

He adjusted the waistband of his underwear, tucking himself away. His fly was yanked up, but the button at the top was left undone, and I frowned in my confusion. Were we taking a step backward? Had I done something wrong?

Greg’s focus turned to his left. He leaned over, pulled open the drawer of his nightstand, and jammed a hand inside. Items rattled around, and then he dropped something onto the top of the nightstand with a crinkle of wrappers and a distinct thud. It was dim in the room, and before I could get a good look, he turned and blocked my view. He gripped the hem of the dress shirt I was wearing, drew it up, and cool air wafted over my newly-exposed ass.

Warm palms smoothed over my curves, sliding across my skin like it was made of silk. Any other time I would have found this sensual massage relaxing, but not now, not when my heart threatened to leap from my chest. My impatient body demanded satisfaction. I could barely tolerate it when he began to knead my cheeks, working his way down to my legs, rubbing the backs of my thighs.

“You’re tense.” His tone was reassuring. “Try to relax.”

Was he kidding? I was tense because he’d left me in this worked up state half the damn night—

Thoughts scattered when his hand veered up between my legs, running through my cleft, and then continued its indecent path up, slipping shockingly between my cheeks.

Holy fuck.

TWENTY-FIVE

I JERKED AT HIS WICKED, DIRTY TOUCH, and pushed up onto my elbows. “Uh—”

At my startled reaction, his hands returned to their innocent holding pattern, caressing my body. He tried to conceal his embarrassment. “Pretend that never happened.”

It was hard to slip in and out of the scene so abruptly. I didn’t want him to be ashamed, and more importantly, “It’s okay. You, um, just caught me by surprise.”

It was one of those statements that came out before I really evaluated the thought. Was it okay? I’d never done that before. One night, first semester when I’d been hammered, Preston had tried anal. No discussion, no lube, or anything. We’d been having sex, and when he tried to put his dick in a new place, I’d given him a full five seconds to attempt it before realizing I couldn’t deal. But hey, I’d given it the old college try.

Before Greg, Preston was pretty much all I knew in the bedroom. I hadn’t believed oral sex could feel like it did now. I’d enjoyed sex with my boyfriend at the time, but I had no comparison. I hadn’t known what I was missing. And I wasn’t disgusted by the idea of anal stuff, or even outright opposed to trying it, but I was fairly confident I’d never enjoy it.

Was it possible with Greg I might?

His voice was so low, it was barely audible. “Yeah?”

His hands ventured once more, creeping closer to the new spot for us. He watched me intently, looking ready to retreat the moment a word came from me. But I pressed my lips together, curious. The fingers of his right hand trailed through my pussy, gathering up my arousal, and slowly spread it backward into my crevice.

My breath came out stuttered. His featherlight touch was unfamiliar. Naughty and corrupt.

But I . . . kind of liked it.

His left hand abandoned me so he could palm his straining cock through his pants for a moment, and then he scooped up the item he’d set on the nightstand. It was a small, clear bottle with a blue top. Fire blasted up my legs as I realized what it was.

The cap on the lube was flipped open. He tipped the bottle over and poured a small amount into his palm, then closed the cap with a sharp click, and dropped the bottle onto the bed beside me. He moved methodically, rubbing his hands together until his fingers glistened. All the while, the intense connection of our gaze never wavered.

The way he looked at me—it was consuming. He was powerfully sexual and commanding. I licked my dry lips and drew in a deep breath to steady myself.

Greg didn’t waste any time. His fingertips started at the small of my back and inched down. His left palm cupped my ass cheek and peeled me open while the coated fingers of his right hand slid down, spreading the lube around. The sensation was unexpected.