The Doctor (Nashville Neighborhood 1)

The ghost of a smirk played over Greg’s lips. “I could. You feel how hard I am?”

I bit my bottom lip and nodded. He jerked inside me, and my body answered back, clenching on him.

“Yes.” He brought his lips toward mine, lingering only a breath away. “Just like that.” When I tried to close the gap between us, he turned his head away. “Could you come like this, without even moving? When I’m so deep inside you?”

The whine that escaped my lips sounded dire. As hot as the idea was, I didn’t want that. I craved passionate, exhausting fucking, the kind where our sweaty skin stuck together and I had to hold back screams.

But Greg just sat there, his hands tucked beneath him, gazing at me expectantly. Waiting for me to take the lead. Another cry burst from my lips, a wordless plea.

“No?” he asked. “Then, fuck me. Touch yourself how you’d want me to do it.”

I leaned forward, pushing my heels into the rug, lifted off him, then drove my body down. One powerful thrust, and I was addicted. I repeated the action, again and again, ramming myself down on him. My thighs burned with the exertion. My hands ached from their clench on the chair back. Sweat dampened the temples of my hair as I rode him, my breasts bouncing with the force of it.

“That’s right.” His voice dripped with encouragement. “That’s it. Use my cock to get yourself off.”

It was like I was on auto-pilot. Or maybe Greg was in the captain’s seat, driving me toward the finish line. I took one hand off the chair and wrapped it around my breast, squeezing like I wished he’d do if he were touching me. I smoothed it down, panting and gasping, moans rolling from my throat as my palm coursed down my ribcage, diving toward the spot where our bodies were joined.

I was lightheaded from how hard I was breathing and the effort to maintain my punishing rhythm. The outsides of my vision went blurry, so there was only him. Only this man who saw me, dirty fantasies and all, and was more than happy to give me what I wanted.

His gaze followed the descent of my hand, and he muttered a soundless word that looked like fuck as I pressed two fingers to my clit. They were my fingertips, but I pretended they were his. I moved them, drawing a slow circle around the bundle of nerves that made me flinch with acute pleasure.

“Faster,” he demanded.

I wasn’t sure if he meant the tempo I was riding him at, or the way I moved my hand to touch myself, but instead of asking, I just increased both. My hand on the back of the chair slipped. It came down to clench a fistful of his suit lapel. His expression was . . . intense. There was no other way to describe it. Determination twisted on his face and burned in his eyes.

Gravity sucked me down into him. Each pump of my body on his ratcheted me deeper, like a slingshot being pulled back, primed for release. The warning sirens of an orgasm triggered in my system. I was close. So fucking close, all it would take was one stroke of his fingers anywhere on my skin.

My moans and whimpers swelled as the heat inside my core surged. I writhed on him, casting my head back as I jerked his face into me, yanking on his suitcoat. I crushed his head to my heaving chest, undulating like a girl possessed, and shivered as his mouth locked around one of my nipples.

“Oh, God, yes,” I cried.

The stream of words came from him rapid-fire. “That’s it, fuck me.”

His hands suddenly moved. One gripped my thigh, and the other slid onto the small of my back. His palm and fingers pressed into me so hard, my bare skin dented around it. He pushed and pulled, urging me to ride him faster.

“Come on me.” His words were law—no alternative. And as the orgasm dug its hooks in, pulling me upward, he sensed it. “Fucking yes.”

I gasped for air but couldn’t find any. My hand stilled, pressing down on my clit, futilely trying to restrict the ecstasy that ripped through my body. It was a tornado. Uncontrollable and unpredictable. I convulsed as it spiraled outward, and Greg’s hands flew to my waist, holding me from bucking off him.

It lasted forever. The sensation washed from head to toe and back again, finally diminishing until I regained control of myself. I was shaky all over. At some point I’d lunged for him, and now I was a quivering mess in Greg’s arms, my forehead pressed into the crook of his neck.

His hands caressed my back, tracing each bump of my spine. I closed my eyes, nestled into him, and savored the moment. It was quiet, other than his rapid breathing.