“I need you to let me come,” I whine. I would pay good money for this right now. Maybe even my whole paycheck for this month.
“Let’s come together,” he rumbles. He is pumping himself, jerking off while eating me, and I feel his muscled shoulder bumping into my hamstring every time his hand moves along his shaft. I bite my lips to the point of blood trying not to come, my fingers choking the surface underneath me, and I scream. God, the moment this is over, I have a lot of shit to deal with, mainly in the form of Stacey.
“I’m about to fucking explode, sweetheart. Now you can come.”
We come together, and when I climax, he shoves his tongue into me again to absorb every drop of me. We both pant—the noise that we make together suggests we have just finished a marathon—we open our eyes at the same time, mischievous grins on our faces.
“I think I came two times,” I admit.
“I think I came just looking at you.” He looks down at the floor for the first time since we’ve met, too shy to look at me. His sudden vulnerability breaks my heart in a way I didn’t even know was possible.
“But I didn’t faint,” I wiggle my brows.
“Wait until tonight,” he winks.
“Miss Martin,” I hear a female’s voice, and it’s so close I know she is standing at the door. It’s cold, composed and detached. Exactly what I’ve learned to expect from her. “Grab your belongings and leave my clinic before I call security.”
CHAPTER 7
Stick Around for the Long Haul
“She is staying.”
“Listen to me, Rhys.” For the first time in…well, ever, Dr. Lerer’s voice is frantic. It pitches high enough to break the windows. I’m trying to come down from the high of the multiple orgasms I have just experienced, but it is hard when my hair looks like every bird in America has lived in it at some point, and my clothes are wrinkled well beyond the ability to shake them out or smooth them down. I don’t even want to check the time and see if my forty-five minute lunch break is over. I know it is. The only person feasting this afternoon was Dr. Matthews, and he sure took his sweet-ass time to eat his meal, savoring every last drop.
“I’d like for this ordeal to end in a timely manner and civilized fashion,” Stacey is circling his desk in her sharp, red-hot suit. She doesn’t dress like a pediatrician. She dresses like the devil’s secretary. I’m not even sure why she’s in this line of work. I’ve watched both of them closely as they’ve interacted with their patients ever since I came here. While I can wholeheartedly say that Dr. Matthews hates people but loves kids, Dr. Lerer is exclusively in the hating business. I’m struggling to recall even one time she may have smiled at a young patient of hers.
“Nothing will be civilized, and if it’s between you and her, you know which one of you is going to get the boot and get thrown out of this clinic,” Rhys is calm and indifferent as he tucks his massive cock back into his briefs and zips up his pants. He ambles toward a stainless-steel sink by his desk and washes his hands before tearing a few paper towels and patting them dry. He whistles all throughout. Fearless.
“I’m a partner in this practice,” Stacey grits from the threshold, her white knuckles straining against the doorframe she is clutching like a loaded gun. I’m the idiot who still sits on the exam table instead of running for my life, in case you’re wondering. I would slip away and let them tear each other’s limbs apart, but I want to know how it plays out. After all, I now have a dog in this fight. Or at least, that’s what I’d like to believe. “You can’t just throw me away,” she flings her arms in the air for emphasis.
“I beg to differ,” he tugs at his tie, tightening it. “I can do whatever the hell I want. I have better lawyers, a better case against you, and I’m treating eighty percent of the patients here. Don’t test me…and leave Savvy alone.”
“Savvy?!” she exclaims, and there is no denying that she is losing it. She’s sporting those Nicolas Cage eyes. Not a good look on her (or anyone else, for that matter). “Do you even hear yourself? Fucking the barely-legal receptionist with the door open in our clinic? Is this about trying to make me jealous?”
“No,” he says serenely, grabbing his phone and keys and tucking them in his back pocket. “It was actually about making her come harder. The thrill of getting caught will do that to you. More adrenaline. You should know that. You may have failed the first year of med school twice, but you got your MD. Eventually,” he shrugs.
Dear God, I would not want to be on the receiving end of a verbal confrontation with Dr. Matthews. The air is loaded with their hate toward each other before Dr. Lerer spins around and stalks down the hallway. A few seconds later, we hear the front door to the clinic slam shut. I release the breath I’ve been holding in my lungs since what seems like last year, and shake my head. I’m sweating, and flustered, and completely out of my element. If you told me two months ago about this kind of situation happening, I’d tell you the girl who’d agreed to have sex with her married boss is an idiot. Fast forward to today, and I am that idiot.
“This is insane. I should probably resign…” I put my ankle boots on and hop off of the patient’s exam table.
“Go take your lunch break, Sav,” he says tiredly, naked of his arrogant armor that he carries everywhere. He is himself now. “I’ll pick you up for dinner at eight.”
I wonder what would be worse—me trying to explain to my parents why this badass doctor is picking me up in a car that costs twice the amount they paid for their house, or me trying to explain to him that I still live with my folks. I have a lot of people to answer to. I tackle the latter.
“I’m kind of in between properties,” I rub the back of my neck.
“Meaning you still live with your parents? That doesn’t surprise me. But you don’t have a curfew anymore, right?” He winks and gives me a half-sad, half-mischievous smirk.
“If I do, I’ve been breaking it consistently for the past six years.”
“Then eight, it is.”
I wobble toward the door, stopping for a second to look back at him.
He is already filling out forms and answering emails. Looking every inch the serious professional that he usually is.
“You’re excused,” he says. And as always, I go.
* * *
My mom is staring at me like I had just informed her that I am going to go chase wild crocodiles in nature—and not like I’m going on a date. Maybe it’s because I’m wearing a tight black dress that’s the size of a napkin. Maybe it’s my Firestarter red lipstick and feline eyeliner. Maybe it’s my Marilyn Monroe do. Whatever it is, Helena Martin is afraid her daughter will be standing on a street corner offering some illicit services tonight. It’s evident in her eyes.
“How old is he again?” I do not actually know, Mother. I haven’t bothered to ask, between letting him finger me up against his office door to visiting his house and beautiful gardens to eating me alive on his exam table…age was never mentioned during those encounters.
“Thirty…ish,” I pluck at invisible lint from my black little dress. Dad is behind me, in the living room, solving Sudoku. He’s been working for the city council for thirty years now, and has never missed a day of work. If it were possible, my parents would both be living in a Jane Austen book. “Helena, Jeopardy is on,” he mumbles, but my mom’s emerald eyes—a shade lighter than mine—zero in on me.
“Where did you meet this man?”
“Work.”
“I thought the clinic consists of two married doctors and the nurses.” It does.
“Mom, I can’t talk about this right now. I need to go.” Yes. To hell. For talking to my mom this way.
“Wait.” She grabs my wrist, holding me in place. My eyes skim over the place where our skin is touching and she releases me slowly.
“Stay safe,” she tells me. I nod.
“I will, Mom. He is a good guy, he won’t do anything to me.” That I don’t want, which doesn’t narrow it down at all, because I’m down with whatev
er he wants to do to me.
“Yes, I don’t mean physically. I mean…” she places her palm over my heart and I shiver. I lean over and kiss her cheek. “Bye. Tell Dad to push the couch back, the TV screen is killing his eyes.”
With that, I hurry outside, knowing that I’m a few minutes late. Lucky for me, Rhys is not the type to honk his horn.
In the car (I will never get used to the fact that the doors open upwards and not to the side like in normal vehicles), Rhys kisses me hard. No tongue, but his lips are angry, and I love the way they demand my attention, which I gladly give them.
“Fucking missed you.”
“You use the F-word way too much for a pediatrician,” I remark, buckling my seatbelt. The summer air all around us is gone. This car is chilly with one of the best air conditioners I’ve ever had the pleasure of feeling on my skin.
“That’s because I have to bite my tongue throughout the day at work. I empty my arsenal of profanities on you.”
“And your ex,” I quirk an eyebrow.
“Don’t ruin tonight by mentioning her. I’m taking you someplace nice.”
“Like a restaurant?”
“Like a book.” Freaking swoon.
The drive is silent but loaded. Our fingers are entwined, and I’m wracking my brain trying to figure out how I got here. Things are getting more serious, more real between us, and we still haven’t discussed any of the issues lingering in the air. Like the fact that he has a son. Or that I don’t know what I want to do with my life. Or his messy divorce and oh, right, how he still hasn’t told me his age.
“How old are you?” I ask as an afterthought as we round a corner of a preppy, downtown street.
“Thirty-four.”
“I see.”
“There’s nothing to see. It’s just an age.”
“We have quite the age gap.”
“I like gaps. There’s always something delicious hiding between them,” he licks his bottom lip, still staring at the road. I laugh. Falling in love with this man shouldn’t be so easy. It shouldn’t, but it sure is.
He parks by WaterFire Providence. One of the most romantic places in the whole of the USA. The river below us is twinkling, light from the street lamps and nearby buildings shimmering along the calm waters. The place offers gondola rides, fires along the rivers, soft music and restaurants throughout. We park and walk hand-in-hand along the busy street, full of other lovers, families, and throngs of teenagers enjoying the glorious summer. Everything about the situation holds a promise of something more. Something fairytale-like. And I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like if he and I could walk on this exact same pavement four or five years from now, Theodore, and two toddlers with green-blue eyes and smiles like ours running beside us.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks. Dammit.
Something you’d have an anxiety attack from hearing. Yup, that creepy.
I shrug.
“Just enjoying living in this moment. People should do that more often, don’t you think? Turn off their phones, shut down their social media accounts and just feel their skin on another person’s, the remains of the evening sun on their flesh. The wonders nature and manmade places like this have to offer.”
Rhys spins his head and stares at me with a funny expression plastered on his face. “Jesus, Savvy. You’re such a writer. Go write a book already.”
“I will, at some point.”
“A point when?”
“A point soon.”
“How soon?” He pushes.
We both stop in front of a row of gondolas floating idly on the river, waiting to be taken for a ride. There are a few manual-working men standing beside them, arms crossed, talking to one another in Spanish.
I roll my eyes so I don’t have to face Rhys. “When I get the time. It’s difficult to write and work at the same time.”
“Then don’t work.”
“And who is going to pay for my life? The student-debt fairy?”
“The rich boyfriend, sans the fairy part. Not into role-play, sweetheart.”
My heart does a full cartwheel in my chest, then drops to my panties, before melting into goo. He said boyfriend. I’m sure he did. God, I hope he did.
“Thanks, but no thanks. For the financial offer, the boyfriend part I’m fully accepting.”
“Pretty sure the boyfriend part wasn’t up for negotiation in the first place. Hop on, my hopeless romantic. Ladies first.”
We ride on a gondola. The night is black, the lights are yellow, and it’s when we pass by the new and the old. The corporate buildings and the small-town architectural wonders, that I realize that I’m in love. I’m in love with Dr. Rhys Matthews, despite his contrasts. It took me a short, few weeks to fall in love, but now I can’t take it back. I’m his.
“The feeling is mutual,” he says, staring at the scenery that’s clasping our little boat. The man who sails the gondola doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t look interested in our conversation, either. He just stands above us and appreciates the view, even though he’s probably seen it a million times before.
“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“You’re thinking what I’m thinking.”
“Then tell me, how is that possible?” I ask, and we both turn our heads to each other at the same time. I think my face shows just how horrified I am, because he tilts his head back to take a better look at me.
“Why is it not? It’s a chemistry game, with a dash of biology involved. We match, Savannah Martin. We match so well,” he dips his head down, moving his fingers along my jaw and whispering into my ear: “and I’m about to prove it to you in bed in about an hour.”
After the gondola ride, we have dinner. It’s a picnic in the park, under a tree, the chill of the night caressing our flesh. A platter of cheeses, grapes, wine and breadsticks. I don’t peg Rhys Matthews as the cooking type, but nonetheless, this is great. I constantly push down the hem of my short dress, and in return—it keeps sliding back up over my thighs.
“Why are you fighting it? I’ve seen it all before, and I’m about to again.”
“It’s not about you seeing my legs. It’s about everyone else.”
“Do you really care what people think?” He takes a red grape and pops it into his mouth, smiling. Dr. Matthews’ smile makes me weak in the knees. I give his question some thought.
“To an extent.”
“You should stop, then.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re going to raise a lot of eyebrows. And you need to get used to it. People don’t like to see other people taking risks to be happy. It bothers them, because most don’t muster the courage to do so. We’re going to be happy. We’re going to write your romance book together, and fuck, it is going to be filthy hot.”
And that’s how I lose the very little appetite I’d had in the first place. The drive back to his house is littered with invisible question bubbles hovering over my head. Should I sleep over at his place? Is Theodore there? How will I get to work? How would I explain my absence to my parents?
“Stop thinking,” he commands as he takes a sharp right and clicks the garage button. We wait for the door to roll up. I gulp.
“Things are getting complicated.”
“Things are getting interesting.”
Can’t argue with that.
CHAPTER 8
Take Me to Heaven
He pours both of us scotch in his bedroom. I look out the window at his garden, mesmerized. I’ve had sex plenty of times to know what’s about to happen tonight. Mechanically, at least. Then why is my heart twirling in my chest like a fidgety dancer before a big show, making my legs bounce up and down?
Rhys hands me my Waldorf crystal whiskey glass. We clink glasses. Our eyes meet, sharing a brief, dark secret. I tilt my head back and gulp the whole thing in one go. He laughs.
“Liquid courage?”
“My parents are going to ask a lot of questions if I don’t go back home tonig
ht,” I explain. Again, feeling a lot younger than my years. He pours me some more whiskey, his eyes never leaving mine.
“You have good answers, Savannah. ‘Where were you?—With my boyfriend.—What were you doing?—Fucking all night.—Why didn’t you call?—It was late, I texted you guys.—Don’t you think you should wait before you fuck him in every position possible? Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?—Well, Mom, Dad, I’m the fucking cow he wants to keep. And if anyone else tries to touch my milk, he will burn the whole fucking farm down.’ Did I cover everything for you?”
I stare at him with my mouth agape, then gulp my second glass of whiskey and wince. This man is crazy, and I’m not saying that in a bad way. He plucks the glass from between my fingers and sets it aside, taking a step toward me. “Enough drinking, Savvy. I want you to be in the moment, with me.”
His hand disappears inside my hair, and he is cupping the back of my neck. I breathe hard and shallow, closing my eyes and letting his lips wander over my face. My nose, my lips, my chin. We’re all alone. Theodore is with his mom tonight and we have the house to ourselves, so I’ve been informed by Rhys.
“Strip for me, Savannah. Strip for me like this is what you were born to do.”
I take a step back and lean over his bed. His bedroom is painted in pale gray, and every piece of furniture in it is either black or white. It’s classically furnished and sparsely decorated. The mattress underneath me is firm yet soft. I drag the edge of my black dress up in slow-motion, my eyes on his lips, until I reach my navel. Then I stop and slip a hand into my underwear. Soaking.
“You’ll never be able to fuck me as hard as I need you to.” The admission leaves my lips before I could stop it. I’m drunk. The wine from earlier and two shots of clean whiskey did the trick. His throat bobs with a swallow.
Drawn to Him: A Romance Collection Page 17
