The Doctor (Nashville Neighborhood 1)

He’d seen me naked before, but it didn’t matter. It was all still new. A different kind of first.

The dresser creaked as I put more weight on it and lifted the skirt to show him the black satin panties. His eyes heated a thousand degrees, and I melted beneath them.

“Show me.” His command was rushed and uneven. “Show me what you do when you’re thinking about me.”

My mouth fell open, and I clenched my fists on the fabric, tightening them into hard balls. What was he asking? He wanted to watch me?

“Put your hand between your legs.”

I straightened, and embarrassment drove my gaze away from him. No one had seen me do that, and I couldn’t with an audience. My skirt fell with a swish to brush my toes and cover my legs. “Uh . . .”

Greg stood, went to the nightstand, and dropped off his half-full glass of wine. As he moved back to his spot on the edge of the bed, he popped the button on his jeans and dropped his zipper. “This is what I did last time you had that dress on.”

Oh my God.

I began to sweat as I watched him dig a hand in the front of his undone pants and begin to stroke himself.

“It’s what I do any time I’m thinking about you, Cassidy.”

He worked the jeans to sit low across his hips and pulled down the waistband of his boxer briefs. The slow, deliberate slide of his hard cock through his closed fist was sexy and hypnotic. I couldn’t stop watching.

“Show me,” he commanded again. “You put on that dress, so I’m not the only one with bad thoughts.”

The wickedness of his order had me trembling against the dresser, and the brass pulls on the drawers rattled quietly. I stared at the glide of his hand over himself, each pass making him harder and bigger. A dull ache inside me burned, and I grew hot and slick between my legs.

The dress was supposed to make me feel powerful, yet I was powerless to stop the sigh from seeping from my lips, or the way my hands clawed at my skirt, hitching it upward.

Greg’s face dripped with lust. His shoulders lifted in a deep breath as I buried my hand beneath my panties and stroked my sensitive skin. When I was alone, touching myself felt good, but it wasn’t close to the same when he watched me do it. Didn’t remotely compare. The sensation now was heightened and acute.

His lips moved, mouthing some sort of profanity, but the word wasn’t audible. Or maybe I couldn’t hear it over my own ragged breaths. The top edge of the dresser dug into my back. The beads scattered over my skirt bit into my palm where I held the gathered fabric up, out of the way so he could watch my fingers moving behind my satin underwear.

“Look at you.” His voice was like velvet. “Teasing me like this. You’re so bad.” His fist stroked faster, pumping on his cock. “You know it, don’t you?”

The answer didn’t require thought. “Yes.”

“You’re a bad girl.”

“Yes,” I gasped. I was.

And I was eager to show him. I propelled myself forward, moving so fast, Greg didn’t have time to react. I dropped to my knees in front of him, putting my hands on his thighs, and smoothed my palms up to join his hand pumping on himself.

There was a quick inhale of breath from him as I licked my lips and made it clear what I planned to do. I wasn’t that experienced with sex, but I was familiar with giving a blow job. The action was easier to understand, and Lilith and I had talked about it recently. We were pretty sure you couldn’t give a bad BJ unless you were trying to.

Greg moved his hand out of my way and slipped it gently onto the back of my neck. He didn’t force me forward or down. It rested in the hair at the nape of my neck, and his warm fingers felt good. I closed my eyes, parted my lips, and lowered my mouth down over him.

“Fuck.”

That word was definitely audible. It resonated through my body.

He was soft, yet strong against my tongue. I moved cautiously, trying to take him deeper, but he was large and thick. So impossibly thick, and the warmth between my legs flared hotter. I’d wanted to go down on him, but as soon as I started, I longed for him to be moving inside me.

He wound his hand around my ponytail, subtly encouraging me to pick up the pace. His knees spread wider, but since his pants weren’t down, his undone zipper scraped over my chin, and I pulled back.

Good lord, his eyes. They were dark and gorgeous.

FOURTEEN

GREG’S EXPRESSION WAS DETERMINED, but as he peered down at me, his face softened. He reached out with his other hand, grazing his fingertips over the line of my jaw. His thumb brushed over my kiss-swollen lips.