Page 38 of Dr. Attending

“No?” He laughs, unphased by my half-assed attempts to squirm out of his arms. “So then, why are your nipples hard as a rock, begging for my mouth? Hmm?”

I swallow as his grip on my head loosens, knowing exactly where he’s headed, but not wanting to stop him. I feel him tug at my bikini top, pulling on the bow around my neck before he traces the length of my spine and frees the bottom strings.

My swimsuit falls into the water and exposes my chest to him. I don’t dare meet Weston’s gaze, not wanting to see the smug expression on his face as I arch into him. But instead of taunting me like I’m expecting, I hear him inhale sharply.

“I knew it,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “The most perfect tits. God, I fucking knew it.”

My breath catches because I’m genuinely surprised that he’s thought about my body when he’s probably been with plenty of other women who have surgically perfect breasts. Mine aren’t anything to write home about, especially because my left is larger than my right.

I look down, almost in disbelief, as his gaze meets mine, silently asking for permission. I surprise myself by noddingbecause I don’t just want him to continue—I need him to continue.

His eyes simmer with desire as they drop to my chest. His hand slips around my back so he can push my tits together while his lips circle my nipple. He sucks it into his mouth, warming the hardened bud before gently flicking his tongue over it.

I melt into him, not thinking about the fact that someone could see us. Or that we shouldn’t be doing this. Or the million other thoughts that normally go through my mind at any moment. I simply lose myself in his touch.

He wraps his teeth around my nipple, pulling back with a delicious pinch.

I let out a moan of approval as he moves to the other breast, unable to help myself because I can feel my body climbing.

“Pinch the other one,” I whimper, desperate for more.

Weston’s hazel eyes flick up to mine, and I can’t tell if he’s proud or surprised by my command. I’m not sure either because this is the first time I’ve taken control in a situation like this before.

He pulls back, holding my gaze as his pointer finger and thumb knead my exposed nipple. “Like this?”

I roll my hips, pressing into him. “Harder.”

He plucks the sensitive tip more firmly, watching me for feedback.

I wince, but it feels so good, the sting shooting pleasure directly through my core. “Yes, fuck. Keep going.”

His expert mouth returns to my breast while he continues to torment my nipple. I take advantage of his distraction and start grinding my hips against his hard cock, feeling it jump beneath me as I increase my pace.

I’m not sure if wet humping is even a thing. But if it is, that’s what we’re doing right now.

I lose myself in the sensation and close my eyes, hearing the water slosh around us as Weston meets each one of my movements. He thrusts his length against me at the same pace, and the friction of his cock teasing my clit, combined with his torment of my nipples, is almost enough to push me over the edge.

We groan at the same time, like we’re both realizing that we both need more. But right as I’m about to give up, to beg for more, Weston pulls back. He releases my wrists and slides his hands to my hips to hold me in place.

“I’m not trying to be dramatic.” He winces, his breath heavy as his firm chest heaves beneath me. “But if you keep doing that, I’m going to come in my pants. And I’d really prefer not to embarrass myself in front of you.”

I smirk, suddenly feeling powerful as I drape my arms over his broad shoulders. “Sounds like you need to beg, then.”

Chapter 14

Weston

Iblink up at the ridiculously sexy woman straddling my lap, trying to work out how the hell I got myself into this situation.

Sure, there was a surprising amount of sexual tension between me and Caroline yesterday. Tension that nearly knocked me on my ass when I was forced into the same bed as her. Tension that, if I’m being honest with myself, has probablyalwaysbeen present between us, whether we wanted to acknowledge it or not.

But I would have never made a real move on her. What happened years ago—our kiss—was an immature stunt that I played off as a joke. And while I don’t regret it, I never intended for it to mean anything more because she’s Parker’s little sister. She’s off limits.

Plus, until about thirty minutes ago, I genuinely assumed she wasn’t interested in me. She’s spent years acting like I’m the bane of her existence, brushing me off with biting sarcasm and careful indifference. And I was comfortable with that dynamicbecause it was safer. Easier to stay within those walls than to admit that she was—she is—the woman of my dreams.

Now, I’m questioning everything because her pillowy lips are tilted into a Cheshire cat grin, waiting for my response. Waiting for me to do something I’ve never done before—beg.

Every single neuron in my brain is firing at rapid speed, telling me that I need to remove my hands from her hips before this goes any further. That we shouldn’t do this. That I’m not a man who begs for a woman.

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