The Doctor (Nashville Neighborhood 1)

The scenes that had played out in my mind over the last nine days were dirty and wrong. More fantasies, ones that had me putting a hand down my pajama pants late at night just to relieve the ache.

“We have to stop,” he said. But he made no effort to release me.

“I know.”

“We can’t do this.” His words were as hollow as my agreement had been.

Dr. Lowe smelled like the fresh, clean dish soap he’d been using, but underneath, I caught the hint of leather. The scent caused the memory to flash white-hot in my mind, reminding me of his hands on my breasts, and I shuddered.

The struggle in his eyes made it clear he was losing whatever fight the sensible side of him was waging.

“Shit.” He yanked the towel off his shoulder and tossed it down on the island countertop. “I don’t know which is worse. How wrong this is, or the fact I can’t stop.” His voice dipped so low, it was barely audible. “I shouldn’t, but—fuck, I want you.”

My knees threatened to give out.

I was vaguely aware I was a mess. Hurt and angry at Preston, but I needed Dr. Lowe’s mouth on mine again, and like him, I didn’t care that it was wrong. I didn’t give a fuck how Preston was only one floor below us and could come upstairs at any time.

I pressed into him, like I could burrow deep into his chest. “Dr. Lowe.”

His embrace hardened, locking me tightly with bars made of muscle and bone. “Greg.” The word was a plea and an order. “Say it.”

I tipped my chin up and peered into his eyes. Saying his name would be permission. It’d break the feeble lock we’d put on our restraint, unleashing everything. Uttering it would be a promise of more.

I swallowed a breath and found my voice. “Greg.”

SIX

GREG LOWERED HIS MOUTH TO MINE, and the moment our lips touched, every inch of me exploded with longing. This kiss started tentative. Controlled and aware. But I was engulfed by it, consumed by it, and the sensation drove me crazy.

A single breath was all it took for us to find our rhythm. His lips were pliant against mine as I matched him and charged forward, slipping my tongue into his greedy mouth. This kiss was passionate and dangerous. It built, layer upon layer, until we were both breathless and urgent.

He seized my hips in his sure hands and steered me around, pressing me back against the kitchen island, where the edge of the cold granite bit into the small of my back through the thin cotton tank top I was wearing. Neither of us let up, though. I was wild and out of control, too wrapped up in this thrilling kiss to care.

It was almost brutal, the way he attacked my mouth. I moaned and clutched fistfuls of his t-shirt, wanting it gone between us. Our kiss was even more reckless, but beautiful too. The need between us was so powerful.

He let out the softest sigh when I gave up on tugging at his shirt and slipped a hand under the hem, resting my fingers on the warm, hard ripple of muscles across his stomach. The sound of his affected breath shot straight through me. It was a live wire. A jolt of electricity, spurring him on. His hands on my hips slid forward, focusing on the snap and zipper of my shorts.

“I’m going to put my hand down your pants unless you stop me,” he uttered in my ear.

I wasn’t aware of anything but Greg.

Subconsciously, I knew Preston and his friends were downstairs, and how terrible this would be if we were caught. There were consequences, and Greg’s were much worse than my own. But it wasn’t revenge that allowed him to undo the metal snap of my shorts with a silent click, or drop my zipper, one slow tooth at a time. I didn’t care about my ex-boyfriend. Every nerve ending in my body clamored for the man before me. I clung to Greg, not saying a word, but urged him onward with my eyes and the arch of my back.

Also, the fourth step from the top had a terrible creak in it, so we’d hear anyone coming, and he’d positioned his broad back to block me from view.

Once he had my shorts undone, he left them sitting there open and hanging low on my hips. I had on black silk panties trimmed with white lace, and his fingertips traced over the sensitive skin at the top edge while his mouth latched onto the side of my neck.

I shuddered.

How could I not? Greg’s delicate strokes at the lace over my belly promised pleasure, and I was fucking eager for it. I craved release. All the tension between us had been winding the last nine days until I was so tight, I was going to break wide open. I was grateful for the counter at my back so I could use it for support.