by Katy Connor
Everything below my belly button clenches.
He wants to… He’s going to…go down on me.
Not taking his gaze from the diamond-hard tips of my nipples, his hands slide up the sides of my legs and my skin tingles in their wake. He’s going slowly. I know I can stop him at any moment. I know he will stop if I ask. All I have to do is open my mouth and tell him no.
Such a simple two-letter word. So easy to say.
But my heart is thundering and my throat is dry and I’m so drenched between my legs with wanting I can smell it. He can too, the flare of his nostrils tells me so. And I want this. For him to put his mouth to me. To eat me.
I’ve never achieved orgasm the two other times a guy has gone down on me. Never. But I liked it. I liked it a lot. And everything is hot and tight and tingling, and I’m so primed for another climax that Danny will probably only need to breathe on me down there and I’ll come all over his face.
The thought is shocking. And so damn titillating.
For a moment, I wonder if Danny planned this whole thing somehow and he’s rigged some kind of aerosolized drug or aphrodisiac to slowly diffuse into the ventilation system of the elevator. Because this isn’t like me. I don’t do stuff like this.
Until today. Today, suddenly, I crave it.
I push the thought aside. This is Danny. He’s not the grand master plan kinda guy. Too elaborate for Mr. Laid Back. And why conjure up a blizzard and trap women in elevators when he can just crook his finger? When he can look at me and tell me he can get me off with just one hand and I let him?
Why extend himself?
His fingers reach my waist band, and his gaze seeks mine. “Whaddya reckon, Doc? Care to help a starving man out?”
The air almost sizzles as my breath huffs out. I don’t say yes, exactly, because I’m too enthralled to form coherent words, but when he hooks his thumbs under my waistband I don’t object. I just stare at him, my lips parted, my breathing a series of soft, ragged pants.
His eyes stay locked on mine as he peels three layers of clothing—sweatpants, long johns, underwear—down in one smooth movement. All the way down. His gaze never leaves mine, even as his hands urge me to step out of the confines altogether, including my socks, and he tosses them over his shoulder.
Only when I’m fully naked does he break eye contact, his gaze meandering down, down, down until he reaches the juncture of my thighs and his breath hisses from his lungs in an audible stream.
“Oh yes,” he whispers.
He stares for a long time, his nostrils flaring, his mouth slightly parted, and my heart beats and my mouth waters and the slickness builds between my legs. My rectus abdominis muscles behind my belly button pull tauter and tauter. I swear I hear them creak under the tension.
He leans forward and brushes his mouth against my inner upper thigh and a low moan gurgles in the back of my throat. It’s loud, though, in the cloistered air of the elevator, louder again as he repeats the caress on the other side. His breath is hot on my leg, his beard an erotic caress as he nuzzles closer and closer to where I need him most.
A hand slides onto my right ankle, and I startle at the unexpectedness. My pulse spikes, but he just urges my leg up and over his shoulder, baring me fully to his view. And he looks fully. I’m the most exposed I’ve ever been to a man’s gaze, and I’m so turned on I can barely breathe.
He flicks his gaze up. “I usually like to take my time when I eat, but I’m in the mood for some fast food right now.” He brings those sexy, wicked lips so close to my own slick, swollen ones, I swear they quiver beneath the fan of his breath. Our gazes mesh. “You might want to hold onto that railing, Doc.”
He’s on me then, his mouth opening over me, and I gasp and writhe as his tongue immediately hits the target as relentless as his fingers had been. My supporting leg threatens to buckle, and I grab for the railing at the same time his hand grips the thigh to shore me up.
I twist my other hand in his hair. Our gazes lock tight, and he watches my face as his tongue flays me relentlessly. He watches the way I gasp and pant and the way my breasts sway and bounce and the way my face moves. The way it twists and contorts with the pleasure ripping right through my middle.
My hips start to rock of their own accord, and my hand flattens against the back of his head, holding him there, right there where his tongue is hitting just the right spot. His hand finds my ass, clamping tight so he can keep hitting the spot and all the time we stare into each other’s eyes and the look in his steals my breath.
He’s loving it. He’s loving every second.
Maybe it’s that look. Maybe it’s his technique. Or maybe it’s because I’ve already come once and my body knows the way. Most likely it’s because a guy I barely know except to yell at and hate on is going down on me in a broken-down elevator in the middle of a blizzard.
Whatever it is, it’s working. I’m his burger and fries to go. And I’m ready to go.
I break, crying out loud. A powerful contraction slams into me and the blizzard is back. It roars through my pelvis like an electrical current and I cry out. His hand clamps harder, his tongue works faster, his beard burns hotter against the flesh of my inner thighs. Another contraction follows and another until they’re ripping through my body as hot and hard and heavy as the breath sawing in and out of my lungs.
The desire to throw back my head, to arch my back, rides my spine like a demon but I can’t tear my gaze from his. I don’t want to look away from him. Look away from him watching me. Look away from him watching me from between my legs as the orgasm he’s giving me, owns my ass.
So I don’t. I ignore the urge to shut my eyes and stay with him until the very end. Stay with him until the orgasm has faded and his tongue is swiping long and slow against my quivering flesh and my legs really do give out and he chuckles softly against my thighs and eases me down beside him.
4
DANNY
She doesn’t go straight to sleep this time, and neither do I. My heart is practically punching out of my chest as we lie on the floor and recoup. I may have been giving, not receiving, but tonguing Holly to orgasm and holding her through it was intense. And the expression on her face as she came—full of the wonder of it—makes me feel like king of the fucking world.
I want to savor it.
The way I’m savoring the sweet musky taste of her on my lips and the aroma of her arousal still thick and intoxicating in my nostrils. This woman is like no woman I’ve ever met. She’s barely been civil to me for two months, despite the lust that lurks in her eyes every time we talk, and now here she is, naked and sated beside me.
She let me in, she gave herself over to me.
My cock is hard and my balls ache from sexual denial, but my heart is full and I’ve never felt so satisfied. I feel like I’ve been given a gift. I feel like I could deny myself forever if it means I can pleasure Holly Vincent for the rest of my life. I don’t even have to think about it to know it’d be worth the agony.
Already I want to touch her again. Go again.
But I can tell from the tension vibrating off her she’s not laying there enjoying the buzz. I can practically hear her thinking. I smile at the ceiling. “Breathe, Doc. Everything’s fine.”
Everything is more than fine as far as I’m concerned. It’s fucking awesome.
“I’m breathing.”
I laugh at her choked reply. If someone came into her ER in her respiratory state, she’d probably put oxygen on them. I roll my head to the side to inspect her profile. Her gaze is fixed on the ceiling.
“Now you’re freaking out, right?”
Her mouth purses and she doesn’t say anything for a beat or two as she slowly fills her lungs and blows the air out in a slow, steady stream.
“Why on earth would I be freaking out,” she says, her breathing obviously not bad enough to inhibit sarcasm. “I’ve only let a guy I’ve spoken less than a hundred words to in two months put his hands down my pants to get me off and the
n let him go down on me.”
I chuckle as her voice goes all high and breathy again. I plan to do a lot more to her than that, but I wisely keep that to myself for the moment. “I take it this is outside your usual behavior.”
She rolls her head to fix me with a look, and I like how close our mouths are and the warmth of her shoulder as it presses into mine. I grin as she pulls out that haughty looking-down-the-nose thing she’s perfected. I wonder if she knows she does it?
“You take it right.”
“It’s okay. Like I say—” My gaze drops to her mouth. A memory of it parted and panting as she came slices straight to my groin. The thought of it wrapped around my cock makes me want to groan out loud. “What happens in the elevator…”
She blushes and rolls her head back to center and trains her eyes on the ceiling again, but I’m encouraged by the fact she hasn’t tried to cover herself yet.
“It’s been fun though, right?”
“That’s hardly a reason to do anything.”
I full out laugh this time. I think fun is the reason to do a lot of things, and I’m hit with the sudden desire to show this woman some fun. She does an important job pretty much to the exclusion of all else from what I can see—I wouldn’t mind being the one she turned to for fun.
“No offense, Doc,” I tease, “but a chick who doesn’t even masturbate doesn’t get to be the fun police.”
The color in her cheeks goes from pink to crimson. “I didn’t say I didn’t.”
“Ahhh. I get it.” I nod and suppress a grin. It’s probably wrong I get off on teasing her. It’s like verbal foreplay and my nerves itch with anticipation. My dick twitches. “It’s okay if you use a mechanical device instead, Doc. No shame in it.”
She rolls her head to glare at me. “I’m not having a conversation with you about…dildos.”
I smile as I roll up on my side and look down at her. She’s glorious all stretched out and naked. In the dim light, her skin glows milky pale, her nipples a light mocha, her dark hair spread out around her head like an ebony halo. “If I was a patient, you would.”
“You’re not.”
“Just say I was?” I persist for no other reason than I like to hear the D word coming from her lips and the way saying it puts color in her cheeks.
“Believe it or not, most patients don’t come into the ER to have a conversation about dildos. It’s much more likely they present with one irretrievably stuck up their ass.”
I blink, shocked by her matter-of-factness considering the pinkness in her face. I laugh. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. We have an ass box at work full of things that people have shoved up their rectums and need medical assistance to retrieve. Plenty of dildos in there. It kind of puts you off owning one.”
“So you don’t own one?”
There was a long pause. “No.”
“Because of the ass box? I hate to break it to you, Doc, but if you stick it in the right hole, you should be pretty safe.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Look, despite present behavior to the contrary, I’m just not that…sexually daring.”
I almost laugh. A dildo is sexually daring? But I don’t want to her to clam up. I want her to keep talking, so I suppress the tickle in my vocal chords.
“And if you think I have even two minutes of my life to spare for sexual recreation, then you’re crazy.”
“Thought you docs were always banging in the on-call rooms?”
She half-laughs, half-snorts. “Are you kidding? Even if I could find the time and the inclination to commit a potential career-ending act at work, there’s no privacy in those places. No locks, either. This is real life. Not television.”
“In which case, you definitely need a dildo in your life.” Or a building super on speed dial…
“I’ll think about it when I’m thirty-five and I might finally have some spare time to utilize it.”
It is depressing as hell that this highly sexual woman, who had blown apart in my arms twice this morning, is living an asexual life. Her acceptance of it is even more so.
“So, Hardrock can thank you for this blizzard,” I say, determined now to fill our time in the elevator with as much sexual recreation as I can cram in.
And fill every other spare moment of her life with it, too, after we get out of here—if I play my cards right.
She frowns. “How do you figure that?”
“Clearly, the universe was trying to get you laid and even it knew drastic measures were required.”
She doesn’t say anything for a second, then her face smooths out and she laughs, her shoulders shaking, her boobs shifting hypnotically with the movement. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her laugh, and it’s so fucking sexy I feel it all the way down to my aching balls.
I kiss her then, I can’t help myself. She’s irresistible and she opens to me on a moan and slowly winds her arms around my neck, presses her tits to my chest, her nipples two hard points, and we’re panting and breathing hard within seconds. My pulse crashes through my head and bounds through the shaft of my cock, increasing the pain tenfold. I want to rip down my jeans and plunge inside her.
“Christ,” I mutter against her mouth and pull away before I do rip them down and fuck her into the floor. My wallet and stash of condoms is in the apartment and besides, I want this to be about her.
I roll onto my back. I know she’s as turned on as I am, I can hear it in the husky rasp of her breathing. I know I could roll her under me and have her. I’ve always known that. But I resist, mentally quelling the revolt in my testicles.
“You don’t want to…?”
Her hesitant question wraps a hand around my heart and squeezes. I like that she’s tentative. A lot of women I’ve been with would just jump on top, a behavior I also fully endorse, but who knew shyness was this arousing?
“No condom.”
She’s quiet for a moment then she sits upright. I enjoy the view as everything shifts nicely before she draws her knees up and covers all the good bits. Her gaze falls on my crotch and my dick bucks against the zipper, practically punching a hole in my jeans. It wants out. The ache in my balls intensifies.
She glances over her shoulder at me. “I may not be the sexual athlete you appear to be—”
“Hey,” I protest on a laugh.
She smiles and carries on. “But even I know there’s more than one way to…” I tense, hoping she doesn’t say skin a cat. My dick is in enough pain. “Get a guy off. I am a doctor, you know.”
I chuckle and stroke my index finger up her spine because I can’t not touch her. She shivers slightly and goose bumps fan out from my touch.
“And it’s the least I can do, after…”
She lowers her gaze slightly but she doesn’t look away. Or blush or squirm. My body throbs with the urge to sink inside her, but I know a little denial won’t kill me.
Christ, I hate denial.
“I don’t expect quid pro quo, Doc.” She cocks an eyebrow and I laugh. “Yeah, I know some Latin.”
She laughs too. “Well, you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
My fingers draw lazy patterns on her back. “You have no idea.”
Her smile fades a little and she looks away, resting her chin on her knees. Her hair falls forward, obscuring her from my view, and if I could kick my own ass I would. I’ve just reminded her how much she doesn’t know about me. Reminded her that what she’s doing inside this broken-down elevator with me is completely out of character. I’ve brought the outside world into our bubble, reminded her there’s a world outside these four walls.
Well done, dickhead.
I scramble to drag her back inside the bubble the only way I know how. She wants some sexual adventure, right?
“Maybe I could go in for a little quid pro quo. If you’re up for a challenge?”
Her head turns slowly until her amber eyes fix on me. They glitter with sexual interest. Her lips part slightly in the kind of pout that betrays her
arousal. “What did you have in mind?”
“Do you think you could get me off with just your hand down my pants? No taking my jeans off, no kissing, no touching other than your hand wrapped around my cock.”
Her nostrils flare when I say cock. I like it. I also like how fully she looks at me now, like she’s decided to throw caution and shyness to the wind.
“I mean it is in pain and—” I smile. “You are a doctor, right?”
She purses her lips as her gaze drops to my crotch before returning to my face, her expression serious. Christ, her doctor face is a turn-on, too. “I’m not sure…tugging on it’s going to help with the pain.”
“Oh it will, Doc, trust me.”
She smiles now. “I could…examine it for you?”
Her banter is like fingernails stroking my balls. “I like the way you think.”
“I’ll be gentle.” My hand slips from her back as she shifts suddenly. “I promise.”
My breath catches as she twists and throws her leg over my lap, straddling my upper thighs. She’s glorious, her tits high and firm, her nipples mocha-lite, her shoulders back, her hair falling over her shoulders like a swathe of dark silk.
Fuck, I’m a dead man.
I slip my hands onto her naked ass. “No need for gentle. It’s kinda robust.”
She slides her hands over mine, which thrusts her tits out perfectly, and I want to curl up and suck each one into my mouth, but she removes my hands from her butt and places them palm-down on the floor beside me.
She smiles like suddenly she’s found her inner dominatrix and says, “How about you let the doctor be the judge of that?”
Her fingers grasp the button above my fly and pop it—efficient and detached. They reach for the zip next, brushing against my cock, which bucks at the stimulus. If it was deliberate, she doesn’t indicate, and the tension in my dick reaches screaming point.
My zip comes down. There’s no tease, no seduction in her movements, it’s methodical, as if I’m just another patient and this is just another examination. But her thighs are straddling me and she’s naked and her tits are swaying and I can hear the roughness of her breathing.
