Page 132 of Zorro

“Oh, how’s that? I’m sure you have a dissertation on it.”

“You know, you’re a doctor.”

I’m not a sex doctor. I’m a surgeon and believe me, you don’t want me to operate on Frank and the boys.”

He chuckled and growled, low and needy, his hips thrusting. “Oh, yes I do. Over and over again.” Her breathing went as ragged as his, but she was teasing him with this resistance, and he loved it. “Erections are good for me, like vitamins, telling me that my testosterone levels are optimum.”

“You’re making that up.”

“Nope. God’s truth. Sex is therapeutic.”

“Zorro…grab my phone and pull up the medical journal.”

“Oh, no, I’m not falling for that, chica. I have it memorized.” He tapped his temple as she gave him a feral grin. “Better blood pressure, less stress, better sleep, heart health, boosts my immune system and…” He gave her the grin he knew would melt her bones. “Increases happiness. Let’s get happy, mi vida.”

She laughed, then her voice caught again as he’d been slowly working her top off, keeping her distracted with his dick and his ridiculous dirty talk. He captured her nipple, and she cried out. He sucked hard, his erection swelling and thickening. “Are you wet for me, babe?”

“Why don’t you find out,” she whispered.

This time his breath caught. “Fuck…babe…” He slid his hand between her shorts and underwear to the…slick, hot wonder of the sweet part that made her so achingly female. He ripped her shorts off, shoved her legs open, and took her in.

His gaze tracked over Everly, and it hit him all over again how devastating she was. Not just beautiful. Formidable. Those piercing blue eyes didn’t just look at people, they measured them. Her cheekbones were cut like conviction, her mouth full and expressive, capable of both precision and fire.

She was tall, strong, her body sculpted by years of trauma rotations and deployment zones, forged in blood and sweat and unrelenting motion. That blonde hair, usually twisted up, pinned tight, had come loose, falling around her shoulders in waves that made his breath catch.

She wasn’t just tough. She was surgeon-tough. Battlefield-tough. The kind of woman who didn’t flinch when the world tilted sideways. She’d worked beside SEALs, Marines, combat medics, and never once backed down.

She didn’t need to keep up. She led. In war zones, in ORs, in moments that would bring most people to their knees. She made it look effortless. No complaints. No weakness. Just fire, focus, and the relentless will to save.

God help him. He was wrecked for her for the rest of his damn natural life.

His gaze dragged over her, splayed out beneath him, bare, golden, his. God, she was devastating. Not just beautiful, undeniable. Those blue eyes, glassy with need, tracked him like a hunter, even now. Her cheekbones caught the low light like sculpted bone and war paint. Her mouth, full, kiss-bruised, flushed from his name, was parted on a breath that sounded like surrender.

She was wet and aching for him, her thighs parted, her hips tilted toward his body like her soul was already reaching for his. Strong, sleek, and so goddamn real. Every inch of her was earned, from the curve of her waist to the flex of muscle beneath soft skin, from the scars she tried to hide to the heat that bled off her like a heartbeat.

This wasn’t the woman who stood over operating tables, commanding the room with surgical fire. This was his woman, undone, open, perfect in her need.

Still, even like this, she felt powerful.

She didn’t beg. She didn’t plead. She just was—a force, fierce and unflinching, letting him see everything and hold nothing back.

He didn’t just want her. He would worship her.

But before he could do a thing, she surged up and pushed him back. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to confess for a long time,” she murmured.

Her voice was low, almost hoarse, the kind of sound a confession makes when it’s too heavy to carry any longer. She pushed him gently back onto the bed, her body aligning with his, skin on skin, heat to heat. Her hand slid down, slow and sure, until her palm cupped him fully. The sound he made, deep, guttural, was almost too much to bear.

She rubbed the crown of him in slow, tight circles, her thumb teasing, her grip firm. His hips lifted instinctively, his breath catching like her name was trapped inside it.

Then she slid down his body, breath warm against his ribs.

“I was in the Philippines,” she whispered, lips brushing his chest, her breath a ghost across his skin. “I overheard you…talking to your mother.”

He stilled.

Her tongue found his nipple and circled once before she sucked him gently, then bit down, a sharp sting that made his hips jerk and a moan crack loose from his throat.

“You were so sweet,” she said softly, licking the spot she’d bitten. “So tender. Trying to soothe her. You were grieving, aching, over what happened to Buck. Just being so you.”

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