The Doctor (Nashville Neighborhood Book 1)

by Nikki Sloane

  “Yes,” I announced in an unsteady voice, “I have this ache that won’t go away.”

  Gratefulness ringed his eyes, then vanished as he settled into his role. “Can you lie back? I’d like to take a look.”

  Just like that, the sexual charge between us was back. It snapped taut, making it hard to breathe. I leaned back into the pillow and let my hands fall to my sides, staring up at the gorgeous man looming over me. His scrutinizing, thoughtful gaze swept over me in the moments before he reached for the sheet and slowly peeled it out of his way. Down his attention went, taking in my bare legs, and then his attention returned upward, tracing the line of buttons on the oversized dress shirt covering me.

  Perhaps his exam was clinical, but my skin burst into flames the second he touched me. His warm fingertips pressed gently to the lymph nodes in my neck, but his touch on my throat was sensual. He trailed his fingers down, gliding them to the hollow between my collarbones.

  His hands on my body seemed to melt his exhaustion away and turned his voice into gravel. “Where does it ache?”

  The muscles deep in my belly clenched. “Lower,” I whispered.

  As he eased back the sides of the open collar of my shirt, the steel of the stethoscope hanging around his shoulders glinted in the low light. I trapped my bottom lip between my teeth and tucked my fingertips beneath my thighs to keep my hands to myself. I wanted to snare his tie and haul him down to me, but I also didn’t want this scene to end. It’d barely started, and I was already panting.

  His dark eyes turned somehow darker as his fingers located the top button and pulled it free. “I’ll have to undo this to continue the exam.”

  The white coat, matched with his soothing doctor’s voice? I didn’t stand a chance. I swallowed a ragged breath and hoped he didn’t notice how furiously my chest was heaving. Although I was sure he did. It didn’t seem like anything got by Dr. Lowe.

  He shifted the open neckline to the side, just enough to expose my bare, extended nipple. He grazed over it with his knuckles before turning his palm over and gripping me. “Here?” He looked so serious. So committed to his role. “Is this where it aches?”

  I trembled under his watchful gaze, loving every second of this. I shook my head minutely. It drove him to the other side, and he repeated the action. The pad of one fingertip swirled a circle around my nipple, and then he pinched it between his thumb and the side of his hand. It was an electric shot straight to my clit, and I jolted.

  “Lower,” I gasped.

  His half-smile was indecent. He liked what he was doing as much as I did.

  He popped the buttons on the shirt one by one at a painstakingly slow tempo. I had my knees pressed together, squeezing against the anticipation of his hand running between my legs. My heart galloped and skipped along, making the blood rush loudly through my ears. God, I wanted him so badly, but the scary thing was I wanted to please him even more.

  I shivered when Greg opened the shirt and exposed me completely. Goosebumps burst over my flesh, dotting my skin, and he coasted both palms over my trembling belly. His eyes were half-lidded and heavy with lust while they followed the path of his hands descent to my hips.

  “Here?” His hands slid inward, his thumbs brushing lightly over my mound. “Or here?”

  I arched upward. “Oh, God. There.”

  “Try to stay still.” He was teasing and commanding in the same instant. His hands—his fucking hands—they moved so slow. One fraction of an inch at a time, until finally, he grazed my clit. A single stroke. That was all he gave.

  “It hurts there?”

  “Yes,” I hissed. “Yes . . . Dr. Lowe.”

  He sucked in a sharp breath, and my head lolled to the side to take him in completely. He was standing at the edge of the bed, and I could see the swelling bulge in his dark slacks, well within striking distance for me. I reached out and ran my palm up his inseam, cupping him through his pants, only for him to swivel his hips away.

  “That’s not appropriate,” he said, and sweet baby Jesus, I threatened to liquify under his intense, scolding stare. Nothing about this was appropriate, and I fucking reveled in our naughtiness.

  Greg shifted on his feet, adjusting his stance so he could touch me with ease. He slipped his hand between my thighs and dragged it upward, all the way until the side of his index finger brushed against my throbbing center.

  “Part your legs, please,” he said.

  My trembling legs fell open, giving him more room to explore. A moan ruptured from deep inside my chest, and he cocked one eyebrow, studying me. Without even trying, the throaty moan was just right. The sound I made was the same for pleasure or pain.

  “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your discomfort?” As he asked it, the pads of his fingertips massaged my clit, and I clenched my teeth so hard, I wondered if I’d split my jaw.

  “Eleven,” I groaned.

  “Well, that’s definitely a problem.” His gaze flowed down my bare body and zeroed in on his hand that stroked tiny circles where I was impossibly wet. When my hips flexed, rolling in time with his manipulations, he set the palm of his free hand flat on my belly and pressed down, pinning me to the mattress. “I can help alleviate your symptoms, but you have to hold still. Understood?”

  I breathed out the words. “Yes, Dr. Lowe.”

  It was a million degrees in the room, and a bead of sweat trickled down my hairline. Staying motionless while I was essentially naked and he was fully clothed was a challenge, and it became a thousand percent worse as his hand increased both pressure and speed. I balled my fists into the open shirt at my sides, squeezing until my hands ached.

  The sensation built with each stroke of his fingers, and I threatened to fly apart. It felt so good. Whimpers leaked from my mouth. I tried my hardest to stay still, but Greg obliterated that option when he sank his middle finger deep inside me, all the way to the last knuckle.

  “Fuck,” I whispered, bowing up off the bed.

  Only for his strict hand on my belly to shove me back down. His gaze locked onto mine and his expression was firm. “Quit squirming,” his eyes said. But I couldn’t help it. As he pumped his thick finger in and out of me, growing slicker with each decadent thrust, my hips undulated to match his movement. It was uncontrollable. My body was in command, and I was merely a slave to it. A passenger along for the crazed, exquisite ride.

  And the view. God, he looked amazing. So professional in his fitted doctor’s coat and tie. He looked like a man who’d finish surgery and then enjoy eighteen holes of golf. Instead, he’d come home to a naked nineteen-year-old girl waiting in his bed for him to fuck her senseless.

  As long as I was disobeying him and not being a good ‘patient,’ I figured I’d cross the line completely. My hand shot out a second time and I skated my palm over the thick line of his erection, caressing and stroking the hard muscle beneath the fly of his pants.

  His expression went razor-sharp, and it squeezed the air from my lungs. But instead of pulling away, his hand came off my stomach and ripped at his belt, trying to undo his pants one-handed. “You want to behave inappropriately? Let me give you a lesson in how it’s done.”

  My pussy clenched down on his finger as he freed his hard dick from his pants, pushing the sides of his underwear down and out of our way. He had to hold his shirt and the end of his tie up, flattening it against his defined stomach with a hand. I barely got a chance to swallow a breath before the head of his cock was in my face, pressing against my mouth and demanding entrance.

  He shivered as I parted my lips and welcomed him inside. A second finger from him pushed into me, stretching my body and moving at just the right speed to send quivers along my spine. The way his rough fingers fucked me mirrored the way he did it to my mouth. Our scene together was rapidly devolving, but I was swept up in the urgency. My fantasy wasn’t breaking down—it was simply changing. Morphing into something unexpected and exciting.

  I swirled my tongue over the hard column of
flesh filling my mouth, using the tip to trace each protruding vein. He groaned in satisfaction, and heat swelled low in my back, rising upward as I neared an orgasm. His thumb flicked over my clit, strumming me as he jammed his fingers deep inside.

  He could touch me a million times and I was sure I’d never get used to it. It’d always feel this amazing. It’d always cause my toes to curl and my heart to beat wildly.

  Going down on him was like drowning, only in a way you enjoyed losing the battle. The struggle to breathe, the desperate movement to keep up. I wanted to push myself and see how much I could take. I opened the back of my throat and let him drive further—all the way until my eyes watered and a horrible choking sound ripped from the back of my throat.

  Greg retreated in an instant, withdrawing completely. As he pulled away, I was left feeling impossibly empty, hanging right on the edge. My eyes went wide, and I reached for him, but his expression froze me in place.

  He looked . . . unsure.

  “Is everything okay?” My words were raspy, my throat raw.

  A shift went through him, and the cool, confident doctor persona snapped back into place. “Can you turn over, please? Onto your stomach.”

  I really, really wanted to resume what we’d been doing just a second ago, but I was so close to coming and desperate for release, I was willing to do anything he asked. I turned onto my side, then rolled onto my stomach, pressing my breasts into the mattress. The pillow was cool against my cheek as I turned my head to peer up at him.

  “That’s good,” he said. “Perfect.”

  He adjusted the waistband of his underwear, tucking himself away. His fly was yanked up, but the button at the top was left undone, and I frowned in my confusion. Were we taking a step backward? Had I done something wrong?

  Greg’s focus turned to his left. He leaned over, pulled open the drawer of his nightstand, and jammed a hand inside. Items rattled around, and then he dropped something onto the top of the nightstand with a crinkle of wrappers and a distinct thud. It was dim in the room, and before I could get a good look, he turned and blocked my view. He gripped the hem of the dress shirt I was wearing, drew it up, and cool air wafted over my newly-exposed ass.

  Warm palms smoothed over my curves, sliding across my skin like it was made of silk. Any other time I would have found this sensual massage relaxing, but not now, not when my heart threatened to leap from my chest. My impatient body demanded satisfaction. I could barely tolerate it when he began to knead my cheeks, working his way down to my legs, rubbing the backs of my thighs.

  “You’re tense.” His tone was reassuring. “Try to relax.”

  Was he kidding? I was tense because he’d left me in this worked up state half the damn night—

  Thoughts scattered when his hand veered up between my legs, running through my cleft, and then continued its indecent path up, slipping shockingly between my cheeks.

  Holy fuck.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  I JERKED AT HIS WICKED, DIRTY TOUCH, and pushed up onto my elbows. “Uh—”

  At my startled reaction, his hands returned to their innocent holding pattern, caressing my body. He tried to conceal his embarrassment. “Pretend that never happened.”

  It was hard to slip in and out of the scene so abruptly. I didn’t want him to be ashamed, and more importantly, “It’s okay. You, um, just caught me by surprise.”

  It was one of those statements that came out before I really evaluated the thought. Was it okay? I’d never done that before. One night, first semester when I’d been hammered, Preston had tried anal. No discussion, no lube, or anything. We’d been having sex, and when he tried to put his dick in a new place, I’d given him a full five seconds to attempt it before realizing I couldn’t deal. But hey, I’d given it the old college try.

  Before Greg, Preston was pretty much all I knew in the bedroom. I hadn’t believed oral sex could feel like it did now. I’d enjoyed sex with my boyfriend at the time, but I had no comparison. I hadn’t known what I was missing. And I wasn’t disgusted by the idea of anal stuff, or even outright opposed to trying it, but I was fairly confident I’d never enjoy it.

  Was it possible with Greg I might?

  His voice was so low, it was barely audible. “Yeah?”

  His hands ventured once more, creeping closer to the new spot for us. He watched me intently, looking ready to retreat the moment a word came from me. But I pressed my lips together, curious. The fingers of his right hand trailed through my pussy, gathering up my arousal, and slowly spread it backward into my crevice.

  My breath came out stuttered. His featherlight touch was unfamiliar. Naughty and corrupt.

  But I . . . kind of liked it.

  His left hand abandoned me so he could palm his straining cock through his pants for a moment, and then he scooped up the item he’d set on the nightstand. It was a small, clear bottle with a blue top. Fire blasted up my legs as I realized what it was.

  The cap on the lube was flipped open. He tipped the bottle over and poured a small amount into his palm, then closed the cap with a sharp click, and dropped the bottle onto the bed beside me. He moved methodically, rubbing his hands together until his fingers glistened. All the while, the intense connection of our gaze never wavered.

  The way he looked at me—it was consuming. He was powerfully sexual and commanding. I licked my dry lips and drew in a deep breath to steady myself.

  Greg didn’t waste any time. His fingertips started at the small of my back and inched down. His left palm cupped my ass cheek and peeled me open while the coated fingers of his right hand slid down, spreading the lube around. The sensation was unexpected.

  In fact, it was stunning how good it felt.

  He swirled over the taboo spot, each circle he drew was tighter than the last until the tip of his index finger was there, pushing gently to gain entrance. That . . . did not feel as good. It just felt weird, and I hesitated, tensing my shoulders.

  His eyes were a deep brown ink, and his voice fell to a hush. “There are a lot of nerve endings here.” His fingers resumed their swirling, proving his point. “Which means there can be a lot of pleasure. Trust me, Cassidy. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to, and I promise I’m not going to hurt you.”

  I believed him, but a voice in the back of my mind said it was a promise he couldn’t make. Not emotionally. I already thought about him too often. I cared about him too much. What was going to happen when the summer was over? If we kept this thing between us going, how would we ever explain it to Preston?

  I pushed the thought away. I didn’t want anyone else in the bedroom, even in my mind. It needed to be only Greg and me. “I trust you.”

  He didn’t smile with his mouth, but warmth lit up in his eyes, and my shoulders relaxed, giving him a signal to try again.

  This time, I held still as his finger prodded, moving over my slippery skin until it was right, fucking, there. I fisted the sheet beneath me as he pressed against the ring of muscles and slowly pushed past them.

  I gasped at the sensation and clenched my jaw. It wasn’t exactly comfortable. He’d said there’d be pleasure, but I wasn’t feeling it yet. He hadn’t gone far with the intrusion, but it was enough to stretch me and make me question if we should keep going.

  “Try to relax,” he whispered.

  That was easy for him to say, but it only made me focus harder on what he was doing, and it was rapidly approaching unpleasant territory.

  “Squeeze down on me.”

  My eyes went wide. “What?”

  “As tight as you can go,” he said. “Then, relax.”

  All the blood rushed to my face and I swallowed a lump in my throat but tried to do as told. I clenched, and when I released my muscles, he eased his finger deeper.

  “There.” He sounded pleased. “That’s the feeling you want.” His left hand curled down my ass cheek and dipped toward my pussy, teasing me while his sinful finger gained more ground.

  I collapsed face firs
t onto the bed and groaned it into the pillow. “Oh my God.”

  Because it felt wrong, but also oddly good. The filthy, nasty way he touched me turned me on, and—shit—his fingers playing with my clit made my vision blur. I tried to find the same sensation from before, pressing back against his finger, but as both of his hands began to move faster, control slipped from my grasp.

  He was in charge. Playing me. Using me exactly how he wanted. Fucking me with a finger in my ass and a hand cupping my pussy, working me over into a frenzy. I was practically humping the bed, rocking my hips back and forth to get the contact I desired. It was so incredibly erotic. I moaned as he pushed deeper, sliding a little further with each pass.

  “How does that feel?” he asked.

  Strange.

  Good.

  Different.

  Words jumbled in my brain. I grunted an unintelligible sentence that thankfully was muffled by the pillow. I squirmed under his control. I clawed at the sheets, gripping and releasing, struggling to find something else, but it was mindless.

  I’d been right, Greg could make me like it. I was so close to orgasm, I needed to come and was frantic to get there. But he slowed me down considerably when a second finger worked to join the first. It took my body time to grow used to it, and then I was right back on the edge.

  “I’m going to—” I warned.

  This time when he withdrew, I lifted my head and groaned my frustration loudly, more than a little annoyed. He’d denied me so many times already. Was that on purpose? Was he trying to bring out the selfish side of me?

  “Where are you going?” I demanded.

  He left me on the bed and stormed into the bathroom, not answering me. I heard the faucet run, followed by the sound of soap pumped from a dispenser. “Take off your shirt,” he said, raising his voice over the running water.

  He reappeared in the doorway moments later, a towel in his hands, and as soon as he was done using it to dry his hands, he dropped it to floor, forgotten. He stalked back to the side of the bed. His demanding posture and urgent movement told me he wasn’t playing around anymore. I pulled one side of the shirt off and then the other, while he picked up the strip of condoms and tore one package open.