The Doctor (Nashville Neighborhood 1)

In fact, it was stunning how good it felt.

He swirled over the taboo spot, each circle he drew was tighter than the last until the tip of his index finger was there, pushing gently to gain entrance. That . . . did not feel as good. It just felt weird, and I hesitated, tensing my shoulders.

His eyes were a deep brown ink, and his voice fell to a hush. “There are a lot of nerve endings here.” His fingers resumed their swirling, proving his point. “Which means there can be a lot of pleasure. Trust me, Cassidy. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to, and I promise I’m not going to hurt you.”

I believed him, but a voice in the back of my mind said it was a promise he couldn’t make. Not emotionally. I already thought about him too often. I cared about him too much. What was going to happen when the summer was over? If we kept this thing between us going, how would we ever explain it to Preston?

I pushed the thought away. I didn’t want anyone else in the bedroom, even in my mind. It needed to be only Greg and me. “I trust you.”

He didn’t smile with his mouth, but warmth lit up in his eyes, and my shoulders relaxed, giving him a signal to try again.

This time, I held still as his finger prodded, moving over my slippery skin until it was right, fucking, there. I fisted the sheet beneath me as he pressed against the ring of muscles and slowly pushed past them.

I gasped at the sensation and clenched my jaw. It wasn’t exactly comfortable. He’d said there’d be pleasure, but I wasn’t feeling it yet. He hadn’t gone far with the intrusion, but it was enough to stretch me and make me question if we should keep going.

“Try to relax,” he whispered.

That was easy for him to say, but it only made me focus harder on what he was doing, and it was rapidly approaching unpleasant territory.

“Squeeze down on me.”

My eyes went wide. “What?”

“As tight as you can go,” he said. “Then, relax.”

All the blood rushed to my face and I swallowed a lump in my throat but tried to do as told. I clenched, and when I released my muscles, he eased his finger deeper.

“There.” He sounded pleased. “That’s the feeling you want.” His left hand curled down my ass cheek and dipped toward my pussy, teasing me while his sinful finger gained more ground.

I collapsed face first onto the bed and groaned it into the pillow. “Oh my God.”

Because it felt wrong, but also oddly good. The filthy, nasty way he touched me turned me on, and—shit—his fingers playing with my clit made my vision blur. I tried to find the same sensation from before, pressing back against his finger, but as both of his hands began to move faster, control slipped from my grasp.

He was in charge. Playing me. Using me exactly how he wanted. Fucking me with a finger in my ass and a hand cupping my pussy, working me over into a frenzy. I was practically humping the bed, rocking my hips back and forth to get the contact I desired. It was so incredibly erotic. I moaned as he pushed deeper, sliding a little further with each pass.

“How does that feel?” he asked.

Strange.

Good.

Different.

Words jumbled in my brain. I grunted an unintelligible sentence that thankfully was muffled by the pillow. I squirmed under his control. I clawed at the sheets, gripping and releasing, struggling to find something else, but it was mindless.

I’d been right, Greg could make me like it. I was so close to orgasm, I needed to come and was frantic to get there. But he slowed me down considerably when a second finger worked to join the first. It took my body time to grow used to it, and then I was right back on the edge.

“I’m going to—” I warned.

This time when he withdrew, I lifted my head and groaned my frustration loudly, more than a little annoyed. He’d denied me so many times already. Was that on purpose? Was he trying to bring out the selfish side of me?

“Where are you going?” I demanded.

He left me on the bed and stormed into the bathroom, not answering me. I heard the faucet run, followed by the sound of soap pumped from a dispenser. “Take off your shirt,” he said, raising his voice over the running water.

He reappeared in the doorway moments later, a towel in his hands, and as soon as he was done using it to dry his hands, he dropped it to floor, forgotten. He stalked back to the side of the bed. His demanding posture and urgent movement told me he wasn’t playing around anymore. I pulled one side of the shirt off and then the other, while he picked up the strip of condoms and tore one package open.