Page 94 of Doctorshipped
She wants this—wants me.
And I burn with want for her, but I’m not rushing us, even now. I’ve waited this long. I want to savor what I think is coming next.
I smooth my thumb across the apple of her cheek where it has pinkened with excitement and anticipation. Jayme’s full brown eyes blink up at me in wonder.
I lift my other hand and rake it through her mop of curls. Her hair is softer than I’d imagined it would be. A smile breaks across my face as we stare at one another, both certain of what we’re about to do.
My body feels like a racehorse, caged in a silver starting stall, pawing and eager to be released.
Jayme reaches up and cups my cheek. Her hand strokes down my jawline and then she takes her thumb and drags it slowly across my lower lip. That simple movement threatens to unravel me. I should have known she’d be like this—playful, daring, bold, yet still somehow wide-eyed and innocent. I shudder and my smile widens. Neither of us speaks, but so much is being said.
I wonder if Jayme has half a clue how insanely sexy she is right now—all wild curls, dilated pupils, and plump, ready lips begging me to devour them. Her soft curves taunt me, even from this seated position.
I’m sure she doesn’t have an inkling of what she’s doing to me right now. She seems to regard herself as a creative soul and a loyal friend. She’s definitely both those things, but so much more.
Jayme’s femininity, and everything that’s so uniquely her, overpowers me with sheer want. She doesn’t see what I see—a woman, capable of making a man long for her in very distracting ways, ways that demolish my focus and cause my mind to short-circuit and my body to follow suit.
“I’m going to kiss you,” I tell her.
“Not if I kiss you first,” she teases back.
I chuckle and feel a rush of joy, deep and pure, flood me. Only Fee can draw out this kind of unfettered abandon from me—Fee, and now Jayme.
The tone between us grows serious, crackling with Jayme’s assent and my need. I tug her toward me and she willingly bends in. My hand in her hair gently fists a lock, and my palm on her cheek positions her face so we align. Her hand drops from my jaw to my shoulder. Her other hand grips the back of my neck like she’s trying to keep me from changing my mind or running away.
The entire town could rush us with water balloons and I'd sit here taking the pummeling. I’m not going anywhere.
I move in, closing the remaining space between us and sweet relief courses through me as our lips join. Jayme lets out the softest sound, and I grumble in response. We kiss, and her hands move into my hair, raking and tugging. She scoots even closer and I span my hand across her lower back keeping her near. Our torsos collide and my senses go into overdrive.
Our mouths move together, first soft and careful, but the fire that’s been smoldering between us since we met quickly escalates into something incendiary. I can’t get enough of her. We’re being consumed by this kiss. It’s burning down everything that wasn’t us, and leaving only the embers of our connection, glowing and full of heat.
Jayme places a palm on my chest. Her fingers slow to a caress in my hair. She softly combs her hand along my scalp, eliciting goosebumps up my arms. She places a soft, tender kiss to my lips, lingering for a moment, and then pulls back, peppering kisses on my mouth, and then my jaw. She briefly kisses the tip of my nose and then rests her forehead against mine like a runner finishing a marathon, gathering their strength and reveling in the thrill of the race.
I expect some snarky remark—from either one or both of us. It’s our familiar dance. But, nothing comes. Instead, the space between us is filled with sated smiles, a lingering gaze into one another’s eyes, and a soft sigh from Jayme’s lips accompanied by a deep hum of appreciation from me.
We’re still huddled together, unwilling to release one another, holding onto the awe of what just transpired between us. I want to build a fortress around this moment, to encase and protect it and everything it represents.
“Well, that was a surprise,” Jayme says in a quiet, breathy voice.
“A good surprise?” I ask.
“There’s no such thing as a bad surprise.”
I tilt my face up and kiss her forehead.
She’s wrong, of course, but I don’t even have the slightest urge to drag her into reality right now. Not when we’re sharing this pink cloud she usually inhabits alone.
Jayme links our hands and looks up at me, then she rests her head on my shoulder and I loop my arm around her back, securing her to me. We sit in a contented silence like I’ve never known before, looking across the ballfield toward the townspeople gathered for a Saturday afternoon. They’re immersed in laughter and conversations, totally oblivious to Jayme and me and the kiss we just shared.
I chuckle softly at the ironic memory of the last time Jayme rested her head on my shoulder. Never in a million years could I have imagined that the flustered woman who drooled on my shoulder would come to own my heart.
31
JAYME
Grant’s thumb caresses my shoulder in a soothing rhythm and I snuggle into him a little more. I don’t even know if he realizes he’s softly stroking me.
My body probably looks half-drugged, but my mind races with what just happened.
