Her green eyes narrow warily, but she follows in my wake up the stairs to the second floor of the townhouse. When I open the door and walk inside, I turn, so I can watch her reaction. Desperate to see any form of pleasure on her face.
She stops just inside the door, her attention landing on the stacks of files.
“What are those?” she asks, breathlessly, inching closer.
“Those are my personal records. I keep notes on all of my procedures, separate from the hospital. Sort of my own long-hand observations.”
“Oh…” I wonder if she’s aware that she’s dropped her bag of cleaning supplies. “Whoa.”
I don’t quite manage to subdue my smile. Or the racing of my heart. Lord, this girl is so goddamn special. Why won’t she just let me give her a boost? Doesn’t she realize it would be an honor? “I’d like them catalogued in alphabetical order, according to the type of procedure. You do know the proper medical terms for every form of surgery, do you not?”
“Yes, sir,” she whispers, blissfully unaware that she just turned my cock to steel.
Sir.
I like that word out of her mouth far too much.
I’m going to hear it again tonight, in the form of a strangled feminine moan, if I have to move heaven and earth for the pleasure. Apparently we’re starting with filing, however.
I drag a hand down my face.
“One hour, Charlotte.” I close the distance between us to stand in front of her, taking her chin in my hand and tipping it up. “One hour of cleaning. That’s all I’ll be able to stand.”
Her eyelids flutter, pupils dilating amongst the vivid green of her irises. “And then what?”
“And then…” I drop my mouth down on top of hers. But I don’t kiss her, no matter how badly I burn for a taste. No matter how many hours I’ve dreamed of stroking her tongue with mine. Impressing my will on her isn’t going to work until I manage to break through her defenses. Then, I have an intuition she’ll welcome my will. Something about the way she sways on her feet, her pulse flying off the handle, simply from me tipping up her chin. Like a father figure. Like a man in charge. Does she need that? “And then, I figure out your truth.”
That pulse of hers travels faster. “If you’re getting my truth, what do I get from you?”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know,” she whispers.
“I think you do know.” Again, I slide our wet lips together, listening to the resulting whimper in the back of her throat. “But I’m starting to see that anything physical between us will need to be on your terms. At least to start. So while I’m gathering your truth, Charlotte, why don’t you dare me?” I trail a finger down the buttons of her blouse, stopping at her belly button to tease the indentation with a knuckle. “Dare me to do anything you want to this naughty little turn-on of a body, hmm? That way we’re clear on the fact that there’s no coercion. You are doing the asking.”
“So…” She tilts her beautiful face, going up on her toes to press closer to my mouth—and with that move, refraining from kissing her becomes complete torture. “So you’re going to let me snoop through your medical files. And then we’re going to play truth or dare?”
Our mouths are right on top of each other now. So close that my words are muffled when I say, “It’s the best sleepover you’ve ever been to.”
“I never said I was sleeping over,” comes her muted reply. “Anyway, aren’t you on call? Or at least need to be at the hospital early in the morning?”
With an effort, I pull back to look Charlotte in the eye, dragging my thumb across the seam of her mouth. “If getting to the bottom of you means I’m late, so be it. And figuring you out is exactly what I intend to do.” I slide my thumb into her mouth, pumping it in and out, watching a glaze steal over her eyes as I mimic intercourse with my thickest digit. “One hour, darling.” I push my thumb as deep as it can go, her sob vibrating up my arm. “Say, yes sir.”
My thumb pops out of her sensual mouth, continuing to spread moisture left to right. “Yes, sir,” she whispers, pink appearing on her cheeks. “One hour.”
Harnessing every ounce of my willpower, I remove my hand and back toward the door. “Transplants are in the left stack.”
She’s already dropping into a kneel, reaching for the file on top. “Thank you.”
The hour passes by slowly. To say the least.
I drink coffee in the kitchen. Put dinner on plates for later and stow them in the fridge, covered in plastic. Switch the music from Chopin to Beethoven.