Page 26 of Tempted By the Handsome Doctor

That's the only coherent thought I can form as I move inside Maya, watching her face contort with pleasure beneath me. I never expected this when I showed up at the fall festival—hoped for it, maybe, in some secret corner of my mind, but never truly believed we'd end up here, in her bed, our bodies joined as intimately as two people can be.

"Don't stop," she gasps, her nails digging half-moons into my shoulders.

As if I could. As if anything short of cardiac arrest could pull me away from her now.

I drive into her again, maintaining the angle that makes her cry out, mesmerized by the sight of her. She's stunning like this—hair splayed across the pillow, skin flushed pink with exertion and arousal, a thin sheen of sweat making her glow in the dim light. A droplet trickles down her forehead, following the curve of her cheek to her neck, and I have the irrational urge to chase it with my tongue.

Her breasts bounce with each thrust, occasionally brushing against my chest, the contact electric even through the sweat slicking our skin. I lower myself to feel more of her, to press my body more fully against hers, and she moans at the increased friction.

"Daniel," she breathes, my name a prayer on her lips. "So good. So—ah!"

Her words dissolve into incoherent sounds as I increase the pace, driven by her responses, by the tight heat of her around me. This feels different than that first night—more honest, moreraw. Then, we were strangers finding comfort in each other's bodies. Now, we're something else, something undefined but undeniably real.

Maya arches beneath me, her body bowing off the bed, thighs clenching around my hips with surprising strength. I feel her inner walls begin to flutter and tighten around me—she's close, so close.

"Come for me," I urge, the words rough against her ear. "Let go, Maya. I've got you."

Her eyes fly open, locking with mine with an intimacy that's almost unbearable. Then she's coming, her body shuddering around me, a cry torn from her throat that might be my name. The sight of her undoing is beautiful—her face open and vulnerable, completely lost to pleasure.

It's too much. The visual combined with the clenching of her body around mine pushes me to the edge. I grip the sheets beside her head, knuckles white with the effort to hold on just a little longer, to extend her pleasure.

But it's a losing battle. Five more thrusts, each one deeper than the last, and I'm following her over the edge, release crashing through me with an intensity that borders on painful. I bury my face in the curve of her neck, muffling my groan against her skin as I empty myself inside her.

For several moments, we stay like that, connected, breathing hard, hearts racing together. I'm careful not to collapse on her, supporting my weight on trembling arms. When I finally find the strength to move, I ease out of her gently and roll to the side, bringing her with me so we're facing the same direction, her back to my front.

She nestles against me naturally, as if we've been sleeping this way for years instead of minutes. Her curves fit perfectly againstmy angles, her ass nestled against my spent cock, her head tucked under my chin. I drape an arm over her waist, palm splayed across her still-flat stomach. Somewhere beneath my hand, our child is growing—an almost impossible thought after what we just shared.

"That was..." Maya trails off, seemingly at a loss for words.

"Yeah," I agree, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "It was."

She's quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing patterns on the arm I have wrapped around her.

"Do you think we'll be good parents?" she asks suddenly, her voice small in the darkness.

The question catches me off guard, though perhaps it shouldn't. We've just been as physically intimate as two people can be, and now she's seeking a different kind of intimacy—honesty about the future we're facing together.

"I have no idea," I admit, tightening my hold on her slightly. "I don't have the best role model for fatherhood. But I know we'll both give everything we have so our kid can have the best life possible."

I feel her relax against me, her hand coming to rest over mine on her stomach. "That's all we can do, isn't it? Our best."

"And we'll figure it out together," I add, surprising myself with how right the words feel. "Day by day."

"Together," she echoes, a note of wonder in her voice, as if the concept is both foreign and fascinating to her.

We fall silent, our breathing synchronizing as we drift toward sleep. The last thing I'm aware of before succumbing is the gentle rise and fall of Maya's ribs beneath my arm, the soft scent of her hair, and a profound sense of rightness I've never felt before.

Following evening

I pull up in front of the small white house with blue shutters where I spent most of my childhood. The porch light is on, casting a warm glow over the worn welcome mat and the ancient rocking chair where Grandpa Lou sits most evenings, watching the world go by.

He's there now, a plaid blanket across his knees despite the mild evening, a mug of something steaming in his gnarled hands. He squints as my headlights sweep across the porch, then lifts a hand in greeting when he recognizes my car.

My stomach churns with nerves as I cut the engine. I texted him earlier, asking if I could stop by, saying I had news. He responded with typical Lou brevity: *Door's open. Bring beer.*

I grab the six-pack from the passenger seat—his favorite local IPA—and make my way up the walkway. Each step feels leaden, weighted with the enormity of what I'm about to tell him.

"About time you showed your face around here," Lou calls as I approach. His voice is gruff but affectionate. "Beginning to think you'd forgotten where I live."

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