Pinning It Down

by Lexxie Couper

  And here you are again, thinking about her in a nonsexual way.

  “Jaysus!” He threw himself from the sofa, almost ran into his bedroom and hit the shower.

  One long, cold shower, followed by one long night of tossing and turning, before finally falling into a dreamless sleep thirty minutes before his alarm went off.

  Great. He was all over this getting-over-Bebe thing. All over it.

  “Shite.”

  Walking into the hospital he kept his focus on the space just in front of him. He did not let himself glance at every woman walking near him with long dark hair, just in case it was Bebe. He did not walk through Paediatrics on the off chance she was there. He did not wander through the cafeteria hoping to see her.

  He just so happened to find himself in those places, and he just so happened to find his attention caught—for some reason—by glimpses of dark hair from the corner of his eye.

  Yer screwed, Murphy. So fecking screwed.

  The fact she was on the night shift for the current rotation didn’t stop him looking though, and hoping.

  By four p.m., he was a frazzled mess. Distracted, jumpy, agitated.

  Fuck it, he was going home. He had no patients to see, and he’d destroyed his paperwork last night.

  So what’s the distraction du jour tonight, huh? Rowing on the river? Surfing? Regressing to your Irish roots by picking a fight in a pub?

  He had no answer. The fight sounded enticing, though. At least he’d forget about Bebe for a while.

  “Jaysus,” he muttered, heading for his car.

  Via Paediatrics.

  Idiot.

  A familiar voice brought him to a halt. Changed his direction.

  Walking into a room to his left, he found the same nurse who’d been in the cafeteria with Bebe two nights ago. Glen. Standing beside the bed of—

  “Heya, Doc.” Pedro, teenage love guru and king of adolescent snark, smirked at him. “Bought that Lamborghini yet?”

  Grinning, Erik crossed to Pedro’s bed. Glen stood on the other side, staring at him. “No. But I was thinking of calling the dealership today.”

  Pedro laughed. Glen arched an eyebrow.

  Smiling, he nodded at the nurse.

  She smiled back.

  “The doc here crashed and burned yesterday trying to hit on a nurse,” Pedro said, eyes twinkling.

  Bloody teenagers.

  “Did he now?” Glen raised both eyebrows. “Who?”

  “No one,” Erik said.

  “Bebe,” Pedro said at the same time.

  Glen’s smile stretched wider.

  “How’s the knee?” Erik asked Pedro. Goddamn it, where was a pub and a brawl when he needed one?

  “Good.” Pedro looked at the bandaged lump in the middle of his leg. “I think.” He shrugged. “Probably never going to dance again, though.”

  Erik frowned. “You dance?”

  Pedro grinned again. “Nope.”

  Glen chuckled.

  Oh, for feck’s sake, just ask what you wanted to ask.

  Pulling in a slow breath, Erik looked straight at Glen. “Is Nurse Wells on duty today?”

  The corner of Glen’s lip twitched. A little. “Not until tonight. She starts at ten.”

  Shite.

  No. Wait. That was good. Right?

  Feck.

  “Okay.”

  Pedro laughed.

  “Shall I tell her you’re looking for her?” Glen asked, tone the very definition of off-handed. “Again?”

  “No. No.” Shaking his head, he tapped the side of Pedro’s bed. “Gotta go. Take care, boyo.”

  Pedro smirked. “Don’t forget to call that Lambo dealership.”

  Erik hurried from the room. From the hospital.

  He broke the speed limit driving home. He did not drive past the Lamborghini dealership.

  He did drive past the Ferrari dealership, though. Maybe Bebe liked—

  “Oh, for feck’s fecking sake!”

  An hour later, showered and more agitated than ever, he opened his laptop. Maybe it was time to move back to Ireland?

  His doorbell chimed.

  Who the hell is that?

  He lived over fifty kilometres from Perth, his home located amongst an untouched tract of land on the base of the hills to the north of the city. Not the kind of place a door-to-door salesman or survey-taker would come to, that’s for sure, which was just the way he liked it. Its isolation was perfect for the way he preferred to live.

  “It’s Brogan Whittaker,” he grumbled, standing. “Or worse, Gretchen.” A cold finger traced up his spine at that unnerving thought as he opened the door.

  Bebe gazed at him from the other side.

  Bebe. Standing there in a soft dress that hugged her beautiful curves and floated around her thighs.

  Oh Christ.

  She caught her bottom lip with her teeth, and then let out a soft hitching sigh. “I’m sorry for coming here, Dr. Murphy. I really am. But…I was hoping you’d like to… I mean, I really need you to kiss me a—”

  There was no hesitation. No second-guessing. No doubt or fear. He’d deal with those later.

  The second he heard need you to kiss me, he fisted his hand in the hair at the back of her head, grabbed her around the waist, slammed her body to his and kissed the hell out of her.

  Chapter 4

  She’d fought with herself for the last twenty-four hours about coming here, to his house. Yesterday, she’d jumped at the offer of the second shift, not because she needed the money—she did—but to keep her arse away from Erik. Which, of course, hadn’t worked at all, had it?

  Despite the fact it was unprofessional, she’d found out where he lived thanks to one of the interns when she’d finally finished that second shift.

  And then recovered enough sanity in the nick of time to go home and go surfing. Being out in the water forced her to focus on riding the waves…and not how much she wanted to ride Erik.

  She’d spent the rest of the day on her board.

  As the sun had sank below the horizon, however, she’d stomped up the beach, board under her arm, body a churning mess. Surfing hadn’t helped at all. Damn it.

  She’d driven home, lecturing herself the whole way. Showered, lecturing herself some more. Cooked dinner, making promises to herself that she was done with being foolish. Done. With. It. Moved her steak and eggs around the plate without eating a bite, her mind wandering. Tried not to think about what Erik might have been eating.

  For the next hour, she’d surfed the net, researching dog breeds. She loved dogs, wanted one desperately. Plus, it was a good way to keep her mind off Erik. Until she’d found herself fantasizing about being the joint owner of a Great Dane, taking the dog—who, in her fantasy, she’d named Groot—to the beach, the dog park, camping…

  Nipping that dangerous delusion in the bud, she’d turned on Netflix, settled on a really bad sci-fi movie—one of her favourite genres—and proceeded to sit on the couch staring blankly at the screen as she’d replayed over and over every second she’d spent with Erik so far.

  She’d woken late the next morning on the couch, craving more. More touches, more kisses, more everything.

  A brutal jog hadn’t abated that craving. Nor had the cupcake she’d stuffed into her face after the jog. The shower—and its handy jet function—had only fed the want in her body. A self-administered orgasm, it seemed, just didn’t compare to the possibility of an Erik-induced one.

  Naked, she’d marched out of the bathroom and looked around her bedroom, with its sedate double bed and even more sedate furnishings, and decided to hell with being responsible.

  Responsible was boring.

  She’d made herself look as sexy as she could, and drove to Erik’s house.

  And now he was kissing her. Seriously kissing her.

  Holy crap.

  Pleasure rushed through Bebe, intense and scorching and so damn consuming, she was on the verge of coming. Just from a freaking kiss.

&n
bsp; Although, it was a very extreme definition of kissing. His tongue slid over his, damn near drawing it into his mouth. He sucked on it with an animalistic growl, and then—as she gasped with a hot delight she’d never experienced before—he bit her bottom lip. And all the while, his fist in her hair grew tighter, and his arm around her waist did the same, even as his hand moved to her arse and grabbed it.

  Oh baby.

  He wasn’t gentle. Which was good. Right then, Bebe didn’t want gentle. Hated gentle. Craved anything but gentle from him.

  Her arguments against coming here had hinged on job safety and her career, but they were crap arguments. Her job and its security had nothing to do with why she shouldn’t be at Erik Murphy’s house.

  She shouldn’t be at Dr. Murphy’s house because she wouldn’t survive him.

  She’d known, as she’d cleaned her teeth and brushed her hair, that if they talked as easily as they had while he’d joined her on her rounds, she’d never be able to think of him as anything but her perfect happily ever after. Groot-the-dog fantasy had hinted at that already. And that would be nothing but deluded with a capital D.

  She’d known, as she’d dressed in her sexiest bra and knickers—black lace ones so delicate, they barely covered anything—that if he picked up where they’d left off in his office, she was never going to recover. That if his lips ever touched hers again, she’d be freaking lost forever.

  And holy fuzzbucket, was she right.

  As he kissed her now, as he squeezed her arse and kept her hair in a punishing grip, every apprehensive concern she’d had was obliterated by raw, greedy pleasure.

  Screw you, responsibility.

  She belonged to Erik Murphy now. Completely and utterly.

  He growled into her mouth and ground his hard, trapped erection against her belly. It felt so good. Better than good. At her whimper, he tore his mouth from hers and stared down into her eyes.

  “You have two options right now, Bebe.” Liquid lust pooled in her pussy at the way he said her name. “You can turn around and go, before there’s no turning back.”

  He stopped. Was he expecting her to take that option straight away? Huh, yeah, not happening, no matter how dangerous and insane it all was.

  “And the second option?” she asked. Or maybe she just breathed the words?

  His nostrils flared. “Or you can stay.”

  Her pussy filled with fresh heat. There was a world of meaning in the word stay. So much unspoken significance.

  “Why would I go?”

  Something hungry flickered in his eyes at her answer. Something scary.

  Something exciting.

  “Because I won’t be able to control myself with you. Because I’ll be possessive over you. Because once my cock sinks into your sweet body, once my mouth sucks on your exquisite breasts, once you scream out my name in pleasure as I make you come over and over, the very thought of not tasting you every day, of not touching you every day…”

  His nostrils flared again. And once again, Bebe almost came at his confession.

  But at the same time, fear licked through her. Not of him, but of what was happening between them, of how powerful it was. And how unexpected.

  She sure as hell hadn’t thought this was where things would end up when Dr. Whittaker sent her looking for Dr. Bailey in the specialists’ private lounge.

  She’d thought she’d tell Dr. Bailey he was wanted in Whittaker’s office, and then go about being a rookie nurse who rarely spoke to anyone or drew attention to herself. Not have her whole world turned upside down.

  And yet the insanity of it all was part of the rush.

  That’s the old Bebe talking.

  It was. And she didn’t give a crap. Not when Erik was looking at her with such open need.

  He feathered his fingertips down the side of her face, down the side of her neck, to the base of her throat, his eyes blazing with that dark fire, his jaw bunching. “Because I will want to fuck you every minute of every day,” he continued, his voice a low growl. “And I can’t promise I won’t.”

  A soft hitching moan caught in her throat. That was the horniest thing she’d ever heard. Should it be though? If not, she was even more screwed, because damn, every word, every declaration Erik just uttered…

  She licked her lips. Her mouth—if not her pussy—was suddenly dry.

  His pupils dilated as he tracked the path of her tongue with his eyes. His hand at the base of her throat paused, even as his fingers on her butt cheeks inched closer to the junction of her thighs. The flimsy fabric of the short, flowy dress she’d worn offered no protection, nor did the lace of her panties. If he got any closer to her sex, he’d feel how wet she was. How wet he’d made her.

  “Perhaps you should rethink what’s about to happen, Bebe,” he murmured, his cock pressing harder to her stomach, “because if it does happen, if we happen, anytime I see another man look at you from this point onward, I’ll want to slam you to the nearest wall and fuck you there and then to show him who you belong to.”

  Oh God, she was getting even wetter! If he was trying to scare her off, he’d failed. She’d never been so horny.

  “The very idea of someone else desiring you makes me want to tie you to my bed and fuck you over and over until my scent is imbued into your skin, and no other male could ever mistake that you’re taken. Owned. By me.”

  Her sex contracted. Throbbed and pulsed. Holy crap, she was about a second away from having an orgasm. “In that case…” she whispered, extracting herself from his arms.

  His chest heaved—but it was the torment, the harrowed loss in his eyes as she took a step backward, away from him, that pushed her over the edge.

  That made her realize every word he’d just uttered was one-hundred percent true.

  He stood motionless. If he wanted to, he could grab her, and she could do nothing to stop him. His home was so isolated. No one would hear. But he stayed motionless, just on the other side of the doorway, watching her.

  She wasn’t scared.

  Ha. Not even close. Halfway in love with him, maybe, but scared? No.

  God help her.

  Stomach twisting, chest tight, she lifted her hands and released the little pearl button situated at the top of the deep-V neckline of her dress.

  Erik’s nostrils flared as his stare locked on her newly exposed hint of cleavage. “Christ, Bebe,” he groaned.

  Trembling already at what was about to happen, she released the next button, revealing even more cleavage.

  He sucked in a shaky breath, but still didn’t move.

  Waited. Keeping his lust leashed until she gave him the word.

  Halfway in love? Ha. Maybe all the way?

  He wasn’t just a hot guy, but a nice one. A real one. She knew that now.

  Every fibre in her being reacted. Two kisses and an hour-long conversation in the company of kids and other Central Perth staff and she’s thinking the L word?

  You’re an idiot.

  Again. She didn’t care.

  Releasing the third button, she let the front of her dress fall completely open, revealing the heavy swells of her breasts barely contained by her skimpy black-lace bra. Cool air kissed her skin and her nipples puckered into hard tips. Or maybe it was the raw hunger in Erik’s eyes. Eyes that devoured what she’d exposed to him, even as he still remained motionless.

  “I’m yours, Erik,” she said. “If you want me.”

  He destroyed the small distance between them and tugged the front of her dress completely open.

  A distant part of her mind wondered if any of the buttons had survived, but the rest of it swam in excited fear at the sheer lust in Erik’s eyes as he took in her body.

  It seemed he did, in fact, want her.

  “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he growled, a split second before he yanked her bra cups down over her breasts.

  She gasped, and then moaned in protest when he stepped backward. Oh God, she wanted him to suck on her nipp
les so much, it hurt.

  Instead, he ran his gaze over her. Looked at her with such thorough intensity and open hunger, she whimpered. Her nipples grew harder. Her clit throbbed some more. Could he tell she was already wet for him? That the tops of her thighs were damp?

  Slowly, he drew closer once again. She didn’t move. Just stood there, eager for what he was going to do to her.

  He hooked his fingers into the sides of her underpants and inched them down over her hips, lowering himself to his knees before her as he did. He slid them all the way to her feet. His breath fanned her stomach as he lifted her right foot, then her left, removing her underpants completely.

  His face was so close to her body. Could he smell how much he’d turned her on? How much she wanted him?

  He trailed his fingers up the insides of her thighs. Higher. Higher. Higher. Until he was almost at their junction. “Spread your legs for me, Bebe.”

  Oh God. Oh God, this was really happening. This was really happening. She widened her stance a little. Cool air flowed over her wet pussy lips and she bit back another gasp.

  “I’m going to eat you out now.” His low statement made her head swim. “I’m going to make you come on my face.”

  “On your front porch?”

  He chuckled, his gaze on her pussy as he slowly traced one finger over the tiny hood above her clit. “I warned you. You’re mine—and I will take you, have you, fuck you, anywhere I want. Anytime I want.”

  “Fair enough,” she groaned. Fresh warmth flowed from her. She’d never been this wet, this ready to be invaded.

  “Put your right foot on my shoulder, beautiful,” he ordered gently, countering the raw starkness of his warning.

  Struggling to breathe, she slipped her foot out of her flip-flop and gently placed it on his shoulder.

  Instantly, he gripped her ankle with one firm hand even as the other smoothed up the inside of her left thigh. All the way up. Until he was rolling his thumb over her clit.