Page 9 of Challenge
“So assuming.” She adjusts her cheetah-print glasses and furrows her brow. “You just assume that I’d be willing to drop to my knees and suck you off right now, don’t you? Gosh, the cheek of you!”
All air is sucked from my lungs and my brows shoot through the ceiling. She stated that phrase like she was reading a fact from a textbook, not saying a sexual comment that’s turning my semi into a fully.
I let out a throaty laugh, and her fiery gaze doesn’t seem nearly as amused as she continues to pierce me with a blatant challenge. She’s waiting for an answer. More importantly, she’s surprising the fuck out of me. I’ve always loved surprises.
“Hoped is more like it,” I reply, noting her rigid posture. “Especially now after hearing those dirty words tumble out of those pretty lips. But it’s not all about me. What about your needs, baby? I’m dying to know.” I pull on my jock briefs that are about to cut off circulation.
Her eyes follow my hand and flare anxiously. “This is not the time nor the place for this kind of talk.” Her voice is flustered and high-pitched, but I see a struggle in the deep depths of her eyes. “Mr. Harris, I’m your doctor.”
“That sounds like an excuse, not a rejection.” My adrenaline spikes with an aching need. “Name it, Dr. Porter,” I add quickly, hoping to not lose momentum.
Heat flushes her cheeks again. “Name what?”
“The time and place. I’m all fucking ears, baby.”
“Baby? Seriously?” She rolls her eyes and grips the stethoscope around her neck, clearly affected by the excitement vibrating in the air around us. “You can’t come up with anything more original? The dictionary has lots of choices. It’s even sorted alphabetically for your convenience.”
“Give it time. We’ve just met. And you still haven’t told me your first name so I’m improvising.” My eyes drift up to her hair barely contained on top of her head. I’d kill to see it down around her shoulders. Or better yet, spread across my pillow as I take her from behind. I bet she has the pinkest fucking nipples—
“You do realise you have a serious injury, don’t you?” She shakes her head and begins typing something into the iPad chart alongside the monitor.
I’m completely flabbergasted. Upon first glance, this Dr. Porter looks meek and unassuming, nerdy and maybe even passive. She looks like the kind of bird that when she gets the wrong meal delivered to her at a restaurant, she doesn’t have the courage to tell the waiter. So she sits there and eats whatever they’ve dropped in front of her. Typically, my eyes would roll right past someone like her in a club. You can usually pick them out of a crowd because of how they carry themselves and how they’re dressed. The types that dress for attention are generally a sure thing. But there’s something about this one that makes me need to know more. She might even be a rarity. And, well, she did say “cock” after all.
She chooses that second to lean over top of me and stuff the blood pressure cuff into a metal basket above my bed. She loses her footing slightly and, well, never one to waste an opportunity, my hands reach up to grip her lower back and pull her down on top of me. Her chest hits mine, and I’m assaulted with an orgasmic scent that must be distinctly of the Dr. Porter variety.
I’m not sure what I had planned. Truth be told, I didn’t completely think it through. Most likely I was just going to say something smart and see what else I could get to come out of her gorgeous mouth. But a flurry of excitement rips through me when her eyes flash to my lips and, in that instant, I know what I have to do.
I have to taste her.
Without hesitating, I sample her lips, giving her what her eyes were so quietly begging for. She lets out an audible groan, but it’s not a frightened groan. It’s a “you cheeky sod, I like this” sort of groan. It’s the kind of groan you make when you’re young and trying to fight off an orgasm that comes much too soon because you’re so inexperienced. It’s the kind of groan that makes all the pain in my knee completely dissipate. It’s the kind of groan that gives me the slightest glimpse of how hot she would be in the sack.
I forget all about the fact that I’m kissing my doctor. Right now, she’s simply an incredibly sexy woman who has managed to consume ninety percent of my thoughts since I arrived here over an hour ago. And denial is a dish best served hot and luscious, so I’m eating while I have the chance.
As soon as her soft, luscious lips part, my tongue is in, pulsing against the inside of her mouth like it’s seeking refuge. Like it’s seeking a way to comfort both of us from this burning, almost painful desire coursing between us. God, if I could live in this woman’s mouth, I would. It tastes like lemons, and her body has a fresh dew smell that I could lick off of her.
Furthermore, her lips deserve a medal. They deserve a plaque in the castle. They deserve to be honoured and revered and written about in pornographic novels for years to come. They are like heaven and hell combined forces and created the most intense party of all time.
She shocks the fuck out of me when one of her hands that was previously clinging to my bicep starts to skirt under my damp jersey. I release a warm groan against her lips when she drags her nails harshly down the curves of my abs. It feels like she’s testing the firmness of them.Everything is hard for you, baby.
I break our kiss and moan out in pain when her fingers bite harshly into my flesh at the hem of my shorts. But it’s not knee pain I’m moaning about. It’s pleasure pain. It makes me want to rip the scrubs off her body and bite one of her nipples as payback.
My moan was evidently a bucket of ice water dumped on her head. She wrenches away from me and stares down wide-eyed.
“You just kissed me,” she pants, her large lips blotchy from my assault.
“You let me,” I huff back defensively, feeling so incredibly empty at the loss of her weight on me. I can’t take my eyes off her mouth, nor stop silently wishing we were still kissing. If she thinks I was in that kiss alone, she’s dead wrong. I probably have the nail marks on my abs to prove it.
Her eyes dance around the room nervously. “Crap. I did! Oh my God, what did I just do? I’m your doctor. That was a horrible line we just crossed. Horrible. I’ve gone completely mental!” She swallows hard. “Come on. We need to get you out of these clothes.”
“It’ll be hard to do with a buggered knee, but I’m sure I can manage if you climb on top.” I quickly pull my jersey off over my head and toss it on the floor while adding, “It won’t be my best performance, but I’ll make it memorable. I promise.”
“What?” she shrieks at my dumbfounded expression. Then her eyes feast down on my bare chest and stomach. “Your MRI, Camden. I mean! Mr. Harris! Crap. I meant that we need to get you undressed for your MRI. Oh my word. I’m sending in an intern.” She rushes up to me, and just when I think I see a spark in her eyes that makes me hopeful she’s coming back for more, she snatches up her stethoscope that must have slipped off during our tryst. “Crap, crap, crap,” she murmurs as she scrambles away from me and leaves me with a raging fucking boner.
Just then, Dr. Prichard, the man who received me when I came in, pulls the curtain back and walks in with a wake of Harrises staring daggers through the glass behind him. The entire fishbowl imagery is as effective as a cold shower. My cock slumps back down into depressed submission.
IDRUM MY FINGERS ALONGmy lower lip as I stand at the radiology counter awaiting Camden Harris’ MRI report. Prichard said he was eager for the results so he wanted to send someone over here to hurry the tech along.
Now, here I am. Alone with my thoughts. Nowhere to escape. No one to talk to. And still tasting Cam’s—
