This is Love by (Checkmate Duet 2)

Travis threads his fingers through my hair and holds my face in the palm of his hand. “This isn’t the time for logic, princess.”

I allow a small smirk to cross my lips. “Why do you think these panties are still on?”

“You’re playing with fire,” he growls, adjusting himself.

“Well then, I hope I don’t get burned,” I say, trailing kisses down his body, as I inch his pajama pants down.

My eyes widen as I see how hard he is. He’s wearing a shit-eating grin, one that quickly fades when I lick the tip.

“I want to make you feel good,” I whisper, looking up at him. His mouth opens, then closes, and for the first time, I’m pretty sure he has no words. I’m taking control.

“Don’t you dare move a muscle, or I’ll end this,” I warn, really wanting him to take his injuries seriously.

“But a good nurse wouldn’t allow me to suffer.” He smirks.

“What if I said I didn’t want to be a good nurse today?” I place him in my mouth and swirl my tongue on his throbbing cock.

“As long as you’re a really bad nurse, I’m good with that, too.” He closes his eyes, and I focus on my movements while listening to his low groans. I try to take him all in my mouth while increasing my pace. Small moans escape him, and I’m pleased, knowing he’s enjoying this as much as I am. I lick his shaft, not rushing, being the best damn nurse I know how to be. I grab him with my hand and place him in my mouth and move in a rhythmic motion, which causes him to tense beneath me.

“Princess,” he whispers. “I need to feel you.”

I know it’s a bad idea because of his injuries, but I need him as much as he needs me. Instead of protesting, I stand. He smiles as he moves my panties to the side with one finger. I push the chair against the desk and straddle him, allowing him to know what he’s done to me.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he says as I guide him in. The way he feels is indescribable, and I shudder as our ends meet. It’s like lock and key finally together at once, both useless without the other.

We take it slow, not rushing, not wanting to put extra stress on his body. He nips the skin of my neck with his teeth, and I run my fingers through his hair as I take him—all of him—continuously. The chair squeaks out with angry squeals, and I’m afraid it will collapse if we continue, but it doesn’t stop us. His mouth travels to my nipple, and his thumb moves to my clit. As he circles my hard bud, my body begs for relief. It’s easy to lose control with him, especially when I’m on the brink of ecstasy.

Moments later, I’m traveling down a path of no return, losing myself in the sensation. Our lips crash together, and he tastes like strawberry jelly and toothpaste. I pant into his mouth, riding the never-ending wave as our bodies rock together. When I bite his bottom lip, Travis’ body tenses. His fingers dig into my hips while he fights the impending orgasm that’s building, but it’s a losing battle. As he comes, Travis wraps his arms around my body and holds me tight, as if he never wants to let me go. We stay in that position for a while, slowly and passionately kissing one another, our eyes speaking words that our lips can’t translate. We’re frozen in time, and nothing else matters.

“You’re beautiful. And I know what you’re getting for your birthday, my birthday, and for Christmas.”

“What?” I ask as I clean up.

“More lingerie.”

“And I know what you’re getting, too,” I say sweetly.

Travis tilts his head and waits.

“Blow jobs.”

Travis throws his arms in the air, like a referee confirming a touchdown. “I’m in! My birthday is every day of the week. I also like them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. A good girlfriend would agree. And I’ll be a wonderful, loving boyfriend and support it.”

“Girlfriend?” I joke. I put on my clothes and try to smooth my hair back into a ponytail as the electricity of what we did streams through me.

“That’s what you are. So, don’t be a bad one, unless you’re bad like you were a bad nurse.” He winks, not even realizing his words catch me off guard. It’s the first time he’s said I was his girlfriend out loud. I know we agreed to be together, but the title makes it seem official, not a see-where-it-goes kind of thing that I worked up in my mind. Travis King is my boyfriend. It doesn’t seem real.

Once we’re presentable again, I spread my books out on the kitchen table and attempt to study, but I’m finding it hard to concentrate. A text dings on my phone, a notification from the university, saying afternoon classes are cancelled due to a flood warning. I literally do a fist pump.