No Good Doctor

by Nicole Snow

  “Does it have to be you?” I ask tentatively. “Do you have to carry this? End this?”

  “No one else can.” He shakes his head, the rough stubble of his cheek against my shoulder, my throat, a soft and yet thrilling scrape. “I’m the only one who knows the whole truth and can handle it properly. Nine, he’d be arrested on sight, and Fuchsia – who the hell knows what she’s really after. The only one I trust to protect this town, protect you, is me, Ember.”

  My breath catches. My eyes widen. And then I just stare at him as he lifts his head slowly, those intense green eyes fused to mine.

  Before, they seemed like sea glass. Glacial green ice, the color of a frozen pond.

  But there’s nothing cold about them now. Nothing frigid. Now, there’s fire.

  Doc’s gaze burns with a quiet heat, the same storm from so many years ago still raging inside him.

  He’s all torment, all passion, all broken.

  And I realize, then, that I’ve been lying to myself from the moment I saw him. I don’t just want to open him up and look in on all his secrets. I want them to be mine.

  I want to be part of Gray’s story, however it ends.

  I’m not sure who kisses who first.

  I’ve never kissed anyone in my life, but it’s like I know this man with some deep, intimate part of me that tells me how to meet him, how to touch him, how to grasp on tight and let myself be swept away with him as his mouth descends on mine and teaches me what it means to truly burn.

  Holy, holy hell.

  I’m breathless as he takes my lips with his and consumes me, his hot flesh stroking mine, these new sensations and new sweetness teach me wicked things. Like how my mouth can be every bit as sensitive as more delicate parts of my body.

  It feels obscene the way he licks and caresses my lips, the way he makes them throb until I sigh and shudder and part them for him in a way that feels so much more intimate than just a kiss.

  It’s more like I’m opening my entire body to let him in. I feel it in my thighs and in my breasts and in the pit of my belly and then much deeper as his tongue steals into my mouth. He attacks my tongue with strokes so luscious, I arch with an involuntary moan, winding my arms tighter around him and throbbing right between my thighs in all the best, most delicious, wettest ways.

  I—

  “Mrowr?” Baxter says, right before a paw reaches over the back of the seat from the rear cab storage and bobs me on the top of the head.

  Oh, crud. The cat. I’d totally forgotten her.

  We break apart with startled sounds, staring at each other, then at the pair of wide golden eyes peering irritably at us.

  Then we both burst into quiet laughter, my palm holding in my giggles and failing, Gray’s rich, baritone chuckle rolling over me.

  But he doesn’t let me go.

  If anything, he leans harder into me, resting his brow to mine, his breaths coming hard and harsh. “I think she’s hungry,” he whispers raggedly, and I bite my lip.

  “So am I,” I answer, and his eyes fly wide, staring at me.

  “Ember...”

  It guts me hearing my name on his lips in that hoarse, hungry tone, that spark of heat making the two worlds collide inside me. I lick my lips and taste him, this raw hot dose of masculinity and something like heady bourbon slipping past my lips, and shudder.

  “Please,” I whisper. “You...you mess me up, Gray. And I just want to feel everything around you, and I want to feel more.”

  “How?” Those brilliant green eyes search mine, his marvelous, full mouth shaping almost disbelieving words. “How can you want me when I’m so–”

  “Don’t.” I press my fingers to his lips – they feel so good, so warm against my skin – and offer a small smile. “Don’t you dare say old. And don’t say any of the other things you’re going to say about yourself. All the things in your past...I know they hurt, but they made you who you are. And who you are, to me, is pretty close to perfect.”

  He lets out a slow, seething breath that sounds almost pained, his body tense against mine, but I can feel more than that.

  I can feel how hard he is.

  It’s thick and hot and pulsing, resting against my stomach, nearly burning through his jeans and my shorts, and I’m suddenly far too aware how easy it would be for him to drag my shorts and panties aside and let me know exactly how it’d feel for him to own me, teach me things about my body I’ve never known.

  I can almost feel it, the sensation of something thick and hard slipping between my legs, gliding inside me, stretching me – and suddenly it’s insanely hard to breathe. I can’t look away from him. My every breath in is just a shallow, hot thing that makes my lips pulse with angry need for another kiss.

  Gray...Gray, please.

  His gaze dips down, lingering over my tank top, and I flush as I realize my nipples are hard, pressing against the fabric, the texture of my bra teasing against them until I nearly throb and moan with the friction that makes me far too aware of how much I want the cloth replaced with his fingers.

  Or his mouth.

  I’ve never been this dirty-minded before, but he brings it out in me. He makes me shiver. He makes me need.

  And he makes me brave, too, as I push myself up just enough to brush my lips across his and whisper, “Take me home, Gray.”

  I see the moment when it clicks – what I mean, what I want.

  I expect him to say no.

  But instead, he dips his head like a handsome vampire accepting my invitation in – and presses his lips to my throat.

  Oh. My. God.

  I’ve never felt anything this sinful in my life as his mouth closes over my pulse, and he gently draws the flesh between his teeth to suck in rhythm with the pounding roar of my bloodstream. I feel it all over my body: drawing, pulling, reaching down deep, and with a soft cry, I clutch at his hair, his shoulders, arching against him. I rub my body against his in total wanton desperation until my breasts crush close and tingle with heavy, hot sensations, until my panties slip up inside me, creasing my folds and rubbing and teasing until I’m slick fire.

  That imaginary sensation burns inside me still, this raging ache to be pierced and filled, to learn what it’s like to have his hot flesh inside me, and I gasp roughly, closing my eyes tight.

  “Gray!”

  Slowly his lips depart my flesh, leaving a burning, damp spot on my skin that draws all my senses to it, this livid torch of awareness. And even with my eyes closed, I can feel, hear the slow, dark, hungry smile in his voice.

  “That’s what I wanted to hear. I had to know you were sure.”

  Slowly, his arms untangle, and his body heat leaves me, but he doesn’t, his hands gently setting me upright. I open my eyes, watching him dazedly, trying to put myself back together – but I can’t stop trembling with anticipation, with need, as he settles himself behind the wheel and starts the ignition.

  “Buckle up,” he says.

  Finally, the Ford backs up, retreating from the ruins. From the memories. From the fear that hovers over Heart’s Edge.

  Suddenly, it’s hard to make out the darkness. As long as I’m with him, I can only see light.

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cat more confused than Baxter in my life.

  Maybe because she picked up on the breathless tension in the air between us as we drove back to town. Cats are sensitive to those kinds of things, and we were probably giving off energy that made her fur stand on end as we tried not to look at each other.

  All while I fidgeted, rubbing my thighs together. I couldn’t help myself, not when I didn’t want this tight, hot feeling inside me to stop, but now and then I couldn’t stop the little moan that came up as my panties teased wetly against me.

  Every time, Gray nearly jolted the car to a stop as his foot hit the brake too hard.

  The cat probably didn’t enjoy getting tossed around like that, either.

  Or maybe it’s just that ever since we arrived at his house, she was plunged in
to a whirlwind.

  I barely had a moment to take in his cozy cottage again. I hadn’t really been looking before, but it was a sort of sparsely comfortable place in weathered driftwood tones, minimalist without being empty or lifeless.

  I caught a glimpse of the laundry room while Gray settled the cat in with a bed made out of a laundry basket and a few old blankets, a litter box, a can of wet food and a bowl of dry, plus some water. He lingered to scratch behind her ears, just half a second out of the approximately three point five minutes he took to get her settled in a breathless rush while I stood awkwardly in the living room. Watching and – okay, guilty – counting.

  Now, here he is, looking at me with his eyes still just a little too wide, his broad chest heaving just a little too fast, and God, he’s so ripped. So gorgeous. So everything.

  I’ve tried hard all this time not to look at him as a man, but I can’t stop myself. He’s so virile, so raw, so large, and I’m suddenly aware of how young and small I am next to him. This wisp of fluff next to this massive oak of a man, him weathered and stable and steady while I’m light and flighty and so easily blown away.

  I want to run my fingers over every inch of him, trace the breadth of his shoulders, the hard rises of his chest, the chisels of his abdomen outlined through his clinging shirt. I want to feel the weight of his cock in my palm, freed from the tight confines of those jeans that sit so narrowly on his angular piston hips.

  I want to feel his red-hot lips all over my body, leaving scorch marks.

  And I never want those blazing green eyes to look at anyone but me.

  But I’m frozen in place, watching him, aching to melt away the distance between us. His scarred hands clench so tight, and he takes a step toward me, then stops as if yanked back on a leash that’s barely able to hold him, straining in place.

  “Ember,” he says thickly, swallowing hard.

  It’s a question. Unspoken, and yet I know. And I know my answer.

  One step. One step and the distance between us seems to break, and I let out a shuddering sigh as I drift closer. “Please,” I breathe. “Please.”

  There’s only one moment. Only one moment of hesitation, of questions, of doubt – and then we crash together.

  We meet like hurricanes, coming together in a kiss like a storm front. His fingers cup my jaw, my face, the thick texture of those scars electrifying my skin. His hands bury themselves in my hair, tilt my head back, open me until I can only surrender to the dominance in his touch.

  For all his gentleness with animals, so yielding, so soft, he’s a different beast with me.

  This isn’t the good doctor anymore. This man demands absolute control.

  And I give it willingly, melting. He holds my entire body in the palm of his hand.

  I’m mindless. I’m desperate. I grasp at his shirt, tugging with needy little sounds that melt into the devouring claim of his lips, only to go weak-kneed as he bites my mouth, chasing everything but submission from my mind.

  He knows how to use his teeth to make me dizzy, grazing and teasing. I feel like I’m being devoured from the inside out, the mark on my neck and the wetness between my thighs pulsing in rhythm. My nipples want his fingers, his tongue, so bad it almost hurts.

  I feel something lick down my inner thighs and realize I’m dripping.

  Just one kiss, those heavy hands in my hair, stroking down to my scalp and I’m gone. Wet for him, burning for him, already ready to come.

  I can feel it winding tight inside me, this sensation like something coiling tighter and tighter until it’s going to snap. I try so hard to fight it off when I want to feel this forever. I don’t want to break too soon, but as his hands glide down my shoulders, my spine, seeming to shape me with his touch, I can’t resist.

  A searing shudder rolls through me, like an earthquake made flesh.

  And then those broad, strong hands curl over my butt, grip hard, dig into my skin. They pull me into him and grind me against that hard, thick ridge of his cock bulging through his jeans.

  With a gasp, I shatter.

  I don’t know how to describe it.

  Like I’m being picked up and wrung apart until I’m just wet heat everywhere, my body convulsing and my flesh clenching up. Like every part of me is a fist trying to squeeze all the pleasure out of me. Like I’m tingling and sparking and jolting and screaming.

  Then I’m rising up on my toes, whimpering, keening, licking needily and helplessly at his lips as he kisses me so much deeper, plunging his tongue against mine until he’s thrusting into my mouth, thrusting into my wet, fluttering folds, and he hasn’t even touched me there. But I’m a hot mess anyway.

  I clutch at his shoulders, struggling to even stand. After a moment, he breaks back, looking down at me with a scorching, smoky gaze, his eyes dilated and lit, his mouth such a sexual curl that it feels dirty just looking at it. As the last of the wave passes through me, I go limp, his arms barely holding me up, and he stares at me with something like wonder, struggling to catch his breath.

  “Ember, did you come?” he breathes, a quiet and sinful growl.

  I thought I’d felt hot before, but it’s nothing compared to the flush of embarrassment that goes through me. I look away, lowering my eyes. “S-sorry...”

  “Don’t be.” Fervent, but so very warm, he curls his knuckles under my chin, gently nudging my face toward his. “Don’t ever be sorry. Do you know what the fuck it does to me, knowing I can make you come with a kiss?”

  Oh, I know.

  I know because I feel it.

  And the strange, wild riptide that coursed through me just makes me want more.

  His cock is so hard against my stomach, my ribs. It makes me painfully aware of how small I am.

  How large he is.

  How he’s going to break me – and how much I want him to.

  Especially when he bows his head, bringing his mouth closer to my ear, wet and warm and teasing against my skin. That chocolate voice of his goes right through me, reaching deep, making me nearly hurt with how sensitive my wrung-out body is.

  “Let’s do it again,” he whispers, so much dark promise in those words. The delicious relish, the anticipation, makes me shiver with something almost like fear but so much better. “And again, and again, until you’re just a soaked mess for me.”

  Oh, hell.

  I’m done. Those simple words blaze through my mind, and a heatwave sweeps through me.

  “Gray.” I nearly moan his name, digging my fingers against his shoulders. “D-don’t tease me like that.”

  “Why not?” His chuckle is a vibrating rumble, a tremor, a full-body caress. “I think you like it, Firefly.” His lips tease over that mark on my throat, making it burn, and I let out a soft gasp, eyes slipping closed, head tilting back to bare my throat to him in willing offering. “Are you a virgin, Ember?” he whispers against my skin.

  I bite my lip. “Maybe.”

  “No maybes.”

  And then he’s gathering me up. Those hands are so sure on my body, lifting me with an easy strength that makes me feel so small, so sheltered, so eclipsed by him. He carries me against his chest, and I feel his heartbeat, resting my palm over it.

  So loud. So wild. So ready.

  It mirrors mine perfectly, rushing fast and hot and telling me I’m not alone in this frenzied feeling that’s surging through my veins, taking me over. If this is how sex with him starts, I can’t even imagine where it ends.

  “Tell me if this is your first time, sweet girl,” he says, his gaze never leaving me, enveloping me in warmth as he turns to carry me to his bedroom.

  The way my bottom lip tucks into my teeth is all the answer he needs. My cheeks feel like they might burn right off my face.

  Doc smiles. He actually flipping smiles, and it’s kind and sexy and intense.

  “Good. I want to make sure it’s one you’ll never forget.”

  He’s so gentle. Any fear or doubt I might’ve had at the idea of my first time with him
?

  It’s gone, swept away in those powerful, corded arms.

  The way he looks at me, the way he holds me, I know he’ll never hurt me. I know he means every steaming word, every promise, every feral kiss he brands against my lips.

  And I nod, burying my beet-red face against his chest to hide, twining my arms around his neck, holding on to him for dear life.

  “Guilty. It’s my first,” I whisper, muffling the words against his shirt. “And I think I...I want it to be you, Gray. I can’t imagine it happening any other way.”

  I don’t even have to look at his eyes to know I’m bathed in fierce emerald green. His only answer is a low rumble storming through his chest and vibrating into me. It’s an animalistic sound of so many decadent things pouring out.

  Need.

  Possession.

  Appreciation.

  He growls like I’ve just given him something special, and it warms me inside. I’ve officially turned into a messy little knot of emotion, twisted up every which way by kisses and green-eyed perfection.

  Then that warmth turns into a breathless flurry. He tumbles me down, and I land on my back on his bed.

  My eyes pop open. Oh my God.

  He’s so tall towering over me, looking down, and I feel so vulnerable and exposed, lying here against the massive expanse of quilt and bed sheets with those beastly eyes raking over my entire body.

  This man really is an animal doctor in every sense of the word.

  Biting my lip, I kick my boots off – and the movement draws his gaze like a wolf tracking prey, his eyes trailing down the length of my bare legs like one more touch, as if he’s caressing my skin.

  But I’m distracted as he catches the hem of his t-shirt in those brutal hands and pulls it up. It’s almost hypnotic, watching the way his body flexes and flows, the movement pulling his abdomen taut and making the knots of hard muscle there ripple, drawing the sinew of his waist tight.

  It’s a dangerous tease as the fabric lifts up over his chest, his tight pectorals, exposing their broad expanse, and the sharp V of chest hair. It trails into a dark line spearing down his tight abs, into the waist of his jeans.