Page 18 of One Night Only

Both of Dr. Cross’s hands are on my knees as he looks up. Something dances in his eyes, but I can’t fathom what it is. “Then you got the call from Arthur, so you rushed to the hospital?”

Not sure why we’re going over the events that got me here. All I can feel are the tips of his long fingers digging into the flesh above my knees. If he moves up by three inches, he can reach my…

“I’m sorry you had such a shitty evening,” he says, expression grave.

“This is making it better,” I say, leaning forward and catching his lips with mine.

They are cool and soft. Groaning, I tilt and rub for a better fit, lick at the seam until he lets me in. The taste of him is decadent, even better than the first time.

My pulse hammers loudly in my ears, but I hear his surprised grunt. Those elegant fingers stroke my jaw gently. “Annika,” he whispers, shifting the tenor of the kiss.

My name, my identity, my entire being feels different seen through him.

I feel reborn. Less of this woman who ruins everything she touches, who can’t do anything right, who disappoints everyone.

In Dr. Cross’s capable hands, at the mercy of his soft lips, I don’t have to deserve it, or earn it, to have it.

I could simply be this glorious creature that exists on pleasure. Throwing my head back, I cling to him as his mouth trails down my jaw.

His grip firms around my neck, and yet he gentles me enough that I give over the rope into his hands. “Good girl,” he whispers before coming for me again.

The kiss turns slow and sensual. My fingers sink into his hair, and I’m suspended between the armchair and him. Suspended between reality and this dream-like fantasy.

“Slow, Ani,” he says, and I moan in protest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Easy for him to say, but how many life-changing kisses can I pack into one night? How many times will this perfect man walk into my life and ask to spend the night with me?

Urgency throbs through me, making me dig my hands into his shoulders. The tensile strength of his muscles is a treat. If I could, I would burrow under his skin and build myself a house there. A house filled with gentle kisses and lingering glances and unspoken promises.

He sips at my lips and kisses me slowly, even as I’m spiraling with need. As if I should be savored.

It’s the kind of kiss that melts you from the inside, that comes once in a lifetime, that sneaks into your soul.

I pull at his hair and nip at his lips. I want rough possession that will shut down all these forbidden feelings. His chuckle reverberates through me.

This isn’t the fierce, hungry lover of earlier, but the older man who knows the value of each kiss. And I want a hundred more, a million more with him.

The thought is jarring enough that it pulls me out of the moment. I jerk my head back. For a second, it feels like I can’tbreathe, like he’s stolen all the air from my lungs. Like I might fracture into a million fragments outside of his gravity, outside of this universe he’s lured me into.

Chest rising and falling, Dr. Cross frowns. His thick hair stands every which way, thanks to my fingers. “Annika? Is something wrong?”

I shake my head, not trusting myself.

He considers me for a moment, then stands and groans. My breath races at the outline of his thick erection pushing against his trousers.

At least he’s as out of control as I feel.

I can hear the rough rustle of his breaths as he grabs the neck of the champagne bottle and takes a long swig. It slips out of the corner of his mouth and drips down his neck.

I want to lick it up so badly that I bite my tongue.

Dr. Cross swipes at his mouth, then sucks off the dripping champagne from the side of his hand with a sound that has me squeezing my thighs together.

Gray eyes turn dark as they zoom in on me, and he grins. The crooked slant of his mouth tells me he knows exactly how I feel.

“Something a little lighter?” He comes back to the coffee table, turns the four small plastic bags the cards came in around, and empties one. “Interests, perfect!”

I stretch my legs and let out a groan. My banged knee twitches in pain. But it’s nothing compared to how my body’s throbbing to be used. To be ruined. To be owned.

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