Doctor Steamy

by Kristen Kelly

  She licked her lips. “I could make it better for you. A lot better.”

  I dove in for another hot and heavy kiss while, God help me, my hands skated across the lovely contours of her back, hips and thighs. I wanted to touch every inch of her and after. Eat her alive.

  “Mmmm, Patrick.”

  God help me, I couldn’t be strong. When my name rolled off her tongue, my cock started dancing. I nibbled on her neck as my hands found softer places to explore

  “Shit.” I paused, grasping her hands before they pulled on my zipper. I realized I didn’t have anything in the way of protection with me. I didn’t carry condoms at work. Although off the clock, I was still in uniform. “Are you safe? Tell me you’re safe, Delila.”

  “I am,” she replied and then moaned into my mouth.

  I growled, quickly rolling the two pool sticks out of the way.

  My hands on her hips, I lifted her onto the table, pulled up her blouse and took her tits out of her bra almost simultaneously. I filled my palms with the globes of her sweet supple breasts. Then I moved her long hair to one side, sucked the tender flesh of her neck. It made her giggle. Hearing that sound encouraged me further. My cock swelled and my hands grew greedy, eager to touch more. Do. More.

  It felt wonderful. She felt...wonderful. I hadn’t felt this good in a very, very long time.

  “Mmmm, Patrick.”

  “I’m right here, baby.”

  “I want you. I’ve wanted you since the day I first saw you. Don’t make me wait.”

  I told myself this was wrong on every level in the universe, but the room filled with pressure. All kinds of pressure. The type you couldn’t avoid. It was all around us—pushing us into this union that—had I admitted it to myself a month ago, seemed predetermined since the moment I first saw her walk into the bar wearing a skimpy little halter dress on the fourth of July. That was one kind of pressure.

  Then there was the pressure that builds in a man who has seen too much. Too many of Boston’s youth caught up in drugs or prostitution. Too many kids that had to be scraped up off the street.

  I needed to forget. That’s where she came in.

  With one hand, I unbuckled my pants, yanked down the zipper, pushed my length between her legs so she could feel what she’d gotten herself into. This was her chance to stop me, although I didn’t know if it was possible.

  Her small breasts had slipped back into her brassiere. I pulled them out again, then reached around for the snaps. When I had a bit of trouble undoing them, I finally pulled the damn thing apart with my bare hands, ripping and bending the clasps in the process.

  “Oops,” I said by way of apology but Delila just smiled. I slid the straps down the length of her arms, scooped up the lacey apparatus and threw it on the table. “Lovely.” I bent my head to one breast, tasting the ripeness that could only be called youth, her nipples hard and pointing right at me.

  Small dainty hands grazed the top of my head, smoothing the short hairs. “I got a tiger on my hands.”

  She reached down with the other hand, pressing my aching length. “Mmmm, yes.”

  I lifted her skirt up to her hips, reached underneath to tickle her delicate hairs, and stopped.

  She had no panties on!

  “Delila,” I groaned. “You really do want this, don’t you sweet thing?”

  I probed her delicate center.

  She gasped. Her breathing escalated when I found the tiny bundle of nerves there, pressing with my thumb. Hot and wet. For me. All for me.

  I looked up, studying her face which was rosy and lust-filled. God, she was beautiful, with big blue eyes, strawberry blonde hair and delicate features. If I’d been a better man. Younger too. If I actually deserved someone like her, we would have gone on a proper date, taken our time, gone slow.

  Slow wasn’t what I wanted though. Not now. I was too far gone.

  “You sure, baby?”

  She leveled a heavy gaze at me, fluttering those long fake lashes of hers and grinned. “I’ve wanted you for like forever Patrick. Don’t know how more direct I can be...Officer.”

  Forever? We’d only known each other a month, and I knew next to nothing about Delila except she came from Cork when she was six and me from Tipperary as a young man. She had one sister and I had only the one brother. Now.

  The air in the room felt think inside my lungs. A pool ball click clacked in its pocket.

  This was different. We’d never even come close to having sex before. We’d talked about rugby and horses I used to keep. I’d kept my hands to myself, knowing it came with the job. A police officer demanded respect. Even though she’d been slipping me kisses, brushed her tits up against me when she said goodbye. Flirted with me every Tuesday and Saturday in the bar. She said we were the same. Irish. The same? Not likely. She was all sweetness and light. And I was...not. Not that I was a bad guy, but I’d seen my share of evil in the world, beginning with the gangs back in Dublin and now on the streets of Boston.

  I leaned back from her so I could get a good look at her soft features and then smiled before diving in for more deep kisses. I had never tasted anything so delectable. Sweet and spicy mixed together. I kissed her again, tasting mint gum and... What else was that a hint of? Sunshine?

  Yes. Definitely sunshine.

  Whether it was shining on my soul or sending me straight to hell, I didn’t know.

  “Delila...” I growled, realizing my accent had been slipping back in since the very first drink. I’d really concentrated on getting rid of the way I’d talked fifteen years ago. Americans seemed to love an Irish accent, but the thugs I arrested on the streets, thought it funny to use my euphemisms against me.

  “Delila,” I repeated. “Does that make me Samson?”

  “Perhaps.” She clutched my trouser-covered length saying, “Depends on how much strength you have, Officer.”

  I growled. “Just don’t cut my hair.” I lifted her thighs up, pushed them apart roughly, and then, gripped my engorged cock with one shaky hand, plunged it into her wetness and shouted, “Bigora that’s tight.”

  She’s a virgin, you asshole. What did you expect?

  I heard a forced giggle, but it looked like she was trying not to cry.

  Every muscle in my body tensed. I should stop but I couldn’t. I thrust forward again...and again with no thought of her discomfort, ignoring the look of pain on her sweet face, her eyes closed.

  I pulled back slightly, clamoring for control, feeling like a first-class jerk, but unable to control myself.

  She felt like heaven, moist and welcoming. A Utopia of flesh. My heart thumped inside my throat, her body trembling beneath me.

  All at once, the day’s symptoms of wrong and helplessness dissolved into dust, replaced instead by my obsession to claim her as my own. Make her forget every other man before me. I pumped everything I had into her and I pumped some more, rattling the legs off the table, the balls rolling like hostages in their tents while I filled her with my deep sated need. I felt alive and in control.

  There was only this.

  And her.

  My mouth parted. I smelled stale beer and the two shots I’d allowed myself on my own breath.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  My balls tightened against my body, readying themselves to explode.

  This wasn’t me. I didn’t hook up. I didn’t screw women in the back of some bar.

  Maybe it was the beer.

  Maybe it was abstinence since Maggie, adding to my uselessness at not being able to save those three teenage girls today. Or the fact, I’d been drinking since nine o’clock and it was now two a.m.

  Maybe it was kismet.

  Yeah.

  I liked that explanation better.

  “Deeper. Need deeper,” I choked out.

  A strangled sound came from her throat, her face pinched.

  I slowed.

  “Want me to stop?” I prayed she’d say no, but I had to ask.

  “No.” Her face relax
ed and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  After several minutes, I needed her skin beneath my teeth. Planting stiff bites along her neck, breasts and collarbone, her soft skin raised into sharp pink welts.

  I was just arrogant enough to mark her as mine it seemed.

  “It’s... It’s getting better,” she said, her eyes misted over.

  “I should stop.”

  “N...no. I want this. I want...us.”

  I couldn’t fathom what she was saying. I wasn’t capable of thinking of anyone else but myself. Not now. I slid one hand under her knee, yanking it up toward her shoulder so I could penetrate deeper. I was like a mad man. Wanting to fuck her so hard, so completely, she’d barely be able to walk the next day.

  Asshole.

  They popped into my consciousness once again. The kids. Inside the pockets, balls clanked together and the table rocked even more. Something like anger welled inside my chest, urging me forward. I wanted to ease my own stupid pain, erase the picture in my head of three beautiful girls sprawled across Main Street, one with her head caved in—blood everywhere—so much so, that it obliterated the white lines of the crossing walk.

  My impending climax rose: the memories of my day faded.

  I rocked my hips forward, feeling the delicious friction grabbing me by the balls.

  Grunting and heaving, I filled that sweet virgin space. A space I yearned, with all my heart, to crawl into for eternity.

  I wasn’t totally selfish. “Lean back, baby.” I brought both knees up settling her feet upon my shoulders. Then I dove in to her slickness, lapping at her center with my tongue and pulling at her lips, the taste of my own seed salty on my tongue.

  “Tiger,” she squealed and then, “Oh, oh. Oh my living God.”

  I felt her hands upon my head, her hips lifting to meet my mouth when I spread those thighs as far apart as they would go.

  She arched up to me, gasping. I nipped her soft mound between my lips, then sucked on her soft parts, wanting her to come undone for me.

  She started to shout.

  Pausing between her legs, my tongue still inside her pussy, I mumbled, “That’s it, baby. Come. Show Samson what you’re made of.”

  I picked up the pace, lifting her completely off the table while I feasted on her pussy. By this time she was keening so loud I wondered if Jake the Publican would hear us. Wait. In the corner of my brain, I recalled something about him leaving, handing me some keys. Good thing too. I’d been in just the right mood to shut the place down. He’d already had violations ranging from serving minors to staying open past curfew.

  When I was sure she’d been totally satisfied, I picked her up, settled her trembling body on her feet. I turned her around abruptly, settling her hands upon the table, ass tipped in the air. Damn, she was sweet. Perfectly round buttocks with a tiny heart tattooed on one flawless cheek. I so wanted to sink my teeth into her ass, but I saved that for another day.

  I was still hard. Or more like, hard all over again.

  Shit, I was an asshole.

  “Can I have you this way, baby?”

  “Y...yes.”

  I pushed my swollen cock along the small of her back, painting it with precum. I slid it up and down, the small friction nearly finishing me right then and there.

  Seemed I couldn’t get enough of this sexy virgin tonight.

  I kissed the back of her neck and whispered, “I’ll go slow this time. If it feels like too much, let me know.” I reached around, fingered her saturated clit first, her inner thighs, wet and sticky.

  “More,” she said, wriggled against my hand. “I want you inside me, Patrick. I can take it.” She gripped the edge of the table, white knuckled and eager, standing on the tips of her toes. If I thought I was the only one that had wanted this tonight, I was wrong. Dead wrong.

  I pounded my way inside that deep happy place she’d provided me. Not in the back door but close.

  I heard her breath catch. This time there was no slowing me down. I was like a freight train traveling full-speed ahead. I held onto her hips, my fingers making indents as we moved.

  Delilah responded to each of my thrusts with a roll of her hips, our skin slapping so hard and fast together that the balls inside the pool table started to jiggle once again, the pool sticks rolled, and the light overhead started to sway. My own balls exploded with a vengeance so fierce I couldn’t stop it if I tried.

  CHAPTER 2

  Patrick

  I deserved this headache.

  My head felt like a brass band was playing inside my brain the next day. When I remembered how rough I’d been with Delila, a woman who had to be fifteen years my junior, I felt like the biggest shithead on the planet. I was a cop for Christ’s sake. Sworn to uphold the law. Protect innocents. Even sexy sweet college girls who didn’t know their own power. I should have gone slow. I should have been more considerate, especially since it was her first time. The least I could have done was found a goddamned bed.

  Why was I beating myself up about this? It wasn’t statutory. Far from it, but weren’t all women of that age a bit naive when it came to men? I took advantage. Big time. Well, it was a one-time deal, nothing I intended to repeat. For her sake.

  If I hadn’t been drinking, hadn’t had such a shitty day in the first place...

  And yet...

  All I kept thinking about was how smooth her skin felt beneath my hands. Slippery and tight as I took her. I’d slid right in without preamble. No preparing her beforehand except the way I’d ravaged her neck, breasts and thighs. And those sounds she made... Hell, those sounds were tattooed on my hippocampus; my new companion for those the long lonely showers I now needed.

  I threw a towel around my chest. I picked up my electric razor, plugged it in, and put it to my neck, hoping the soft buzzing noise would relax me a bit.

  It didn’t.

  It felt good to be with a woman again. Too good. Not least of which was because having sex with a woman who seemed genuinely interested in me did wonders for my male ego.

  Shit, what lead up to this anyway?

  Oh yeah. The conversation.

  I didn’t usually talk about work, but the alcohol had loosened my tongue. The whole story came crashing out and when Jake asked me to close up for him, all I thought about was releasing the bubbling inferno anyway I could. Delila had been hinting that she wanted me all night. A man can only take so much.

  I turned my head to the side, pivoting the razor while telling myself I needed to focus on the day ahead. Put that one steamy night behind me. Behind us.

  “Delila,” I growled into the mirror.

  I knew I should stay away from her.

  Stop going to McGuire’s maybe. Find another pub.

  I couldn’t.

  Didn’t want to either.

  We’d go back to being friends of course, but that was all. I needed a friend. At least one. I had no desire to drag Delila into my world or break that spirit. It wouldn’t be easy though. Not after last night.

  “Delila,” I murmured into the mirror. Her lilac shampoo was still in my nostrils.

  I’d never known anyone like her, receptive, giving, able to receive every lust-filled fantasy I’d unloaded on her. I was insatiable. Most women I’d dated as of late weren’t like that. Not since medical school. Or was it law school?

  My cock pulsed, rejoicing at the memory of the previous night’s event. I looked down and sure enough there was a bulge inside my uniform. “Greedy selfish bastard!” I didn’t want to admit I craved that hot delicious space wrapped around him. I didn’t want to admit how badly I craved her.

  Putting down the razor, I dropped the towel in the sink and went into my office. I tried to distract myself from my own selfish thoughts by looking out the window at Back Bay. I’d rented space in a brand new building.

  Okay, it was my brand new building, but as far as anyone else was concerned, I was just a very eccentric Irish cop who preferred his privacy. Even though I only lived in a small percentag
e of the building, I’d paid a pretty penny for this view because it reminded me of Dublin Bay. Sometimes too much, which was probably why I’d decided to become a cop. Was it the right choice? Who knows, but it was better than scraping my drug addicted brother off the streets of Dublin every Friday night, although these days he swore he’d turned his life around. I didn’t want to know if that was true or not.

  I poured coffee from the percolator on the stove into a thick enameled cup and took it over to my computer, intending to check for emails from the multitude of charities I owned before I headed out to work when my phone rang out its tune of A Nation Once Again.

  It was my business cell.

  “Yeah, Patrick here.”

  “Hey, bro. How’s it going in the ole US of A?”

  “What do you want, Sean?”

  “Hey, can’t a guy call his only brother without wanting something?”

  “No.”

  Silence and then, “I...”

  “You need money again.”

  “Don’t we all?”

  “How much?”

  “That’s just it. I don’t exactly know how much. Could be a little. Could be a lot.”

  “What?”

  “I mean, I do and I don’t.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Listen, can’t you just send me a blank check or a newish credit card because I’m not so sure how long I can...”

  “What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

  A loud sigh.

  “Is this is about another girl? Sean...?”

  “Um...”

  “Eejit! Tell me you did not get one up the pole and she needs an abortion.”

  “Awe, Pat. You cut me quick.”

  “Then tell me. Tell me Sean, before I hang up the phone and you don’t get another cent from me or the trust fund.” Lord knows why I set up a trust fund for him when he was a teenager. I guess it was the hopeful side of me.

  “I’m...I’m getting married.”

  I let that sink in for a few seconds. “You’re getting married,”

  “I am.”

  I took a breath.“You. My Muppet of a brother. Head like a bag of spuds. The guy who once told me settling down is for whankers and priests.” I burst out laughing and I didn’t stop. Not until tears were running down my face, I could barely breath without snorting when I finally took a breath.