Private Practice

by Samanthe Beck

  His dick didn’t want to argue. The sight of her kneeling on all fours in front of him, naked and dewy from the rain-heralding humidity, had that particular part of him straining to comply, but his brain kept interfering. “You don’t know what you want. You’ve never done this before.”

  “I know I want to try, because the book says men love chapter 13. It gets five stars, for crying out loud.”

  “I’ll bet in the book on how to drive women wild, it gets zero stars.”

  “If you ever take lessons on driving women wild, you don’t have to pick this. Look, nothing’s wrong with my power of speech. If I don’t like it, I’ll tell you to stop, okay? I trust you.”

  He scrubbed his hand over his face. How could he argue with trust? “You win. Where’s the lube?”

  She grabbed it from the nightstand and passed the tube to him. “I thought you said as long as you had two hands and a tongue we wouldn’t need lube?”

  “I stand corrected. Now shut up.”

  He entertained himself for a few minutes rubbing lube over her, concentrating on familiar territory he knew she liked, basically massaging between her legs until she moaned and rocked into his touch. Sure, he was stalling, but she didn’t seem to mind—

  “Tyler, this is all very nice, and”—he slipped a finger inside her tight, wet channel—“oh…jeez, stimulating, but—”

  Yeah, but. “All right, hold on a second.” With his free hand he felt around on the bed until he found what he was looking for. Another dab of lube, and he nudged his way along the cleft between her cheeks to his target. Then he pressed very, very gently.

  “That’s not…so bad,” she said, her voice rising at the end because she squirmed to try and hurry him along.

  “That’s Thumper.”

  She stilled. “Thumper?

  “Yep.” He could almost hear the gears in her brain turning as she ran her calculations. He was bigger, wider, and longer than the vibrator. Thank God he’d told her to bring the thing tonight. He might have to rename it “The Deal Breaker.”

  Ellie flipped over, wrapped her arms around her drawn-up knees and stared at him with huge eyes. “You’re right. I don’t want to do this.”

  “Good.” Gripping her hips, he hauled her up into his arms, one hand supporting the ass she’d been so anxious to give him a piece of, the other fanned across her back. Her hands flew to his shoulders at the same time her legs clamped around his waist. Ignoring her squeak of surprise, he stood. “I’ve got a better idea. Grab the blanket, will you? My hands are full.”

  “Oh-kay.” Despite the skeptical reply, she reached down and snagged the lightweight blue quilt.

  He carried her down the hall and straight out the back door. The big, glowing orb of a moon turned her skin alabaster and edged the quickly encroaching rainclouds bunched low over the treetops with silver.

  “Tyler, have you lost your mind? It’s going to rain.”

  He stopped in the flat, grassy area in the middle of his oak-shrouded yard. “You won’t melt. Drop the blanket.”

  She did. He toed the edges out into a square, then sank to his knees and lowered her until she lay across the spread. His breath hitched at the picture she made, bathed in moonlight. Still not the right setting to bare his soul and tell her he wanted to be more to her than…hell…the guy who’d talked her out of chapter 13, but maybe he could show her. He crawled over her. She smiled up at him and shivered.

  “Cold?”

  “No. This is the best I’ve felt all day. You’re right. I won’t melt.”

  Well, hopefully she would, but not from a little rain. He leaned in and covered her soft, smiling lips with his, sinking into a long, hot, wet, endless kiss.

  “I don’t remember the naked backyard campout chapter from the handbook,” she said, a bit breathlessly, when he lifted his head.

  “Not everything worth learning is summarized in a book. Sometimes you’ve got to rely on instincts.” To prove his point, he cupped her jaw and kissed her again, worshipping her mouth, not stopping until she clutched his shoulders and made urgent little sounds in the back of her throat. When he looked down at her this time, dazed brown eyes stared back at him.

  “I’m not sure what the lesson is, Tyler.” Her whispered admission and concerned look sent flames licking hungrily up his abdomen and spreading into his chest. Type A Ellie liked to know the rules, liked knowing what to expect. Flying blind made her nervous. He prepared to make her all kinds of nervous.

  “Trust me.”

  “I do. But…”

  Her voice trailed off when he put his lips to work on her jaw, her throat, the smooth curve where neck became shoulder. “I could kiss you all night,” he murmured against her skin.

  “You couldn’t. You’d get chapped lips,” she managed, spearing her fingers in his hair and bowing her spine as he flicked his tongue over her perfect, pebbled nipple.

  He laughed and transferred his attention to her other breast. “Can’t help it. You’re so beautiful.”

  The fingers in his hair stilled. “You don’t have to say things like that.”

  “Like what?” He kissed the soft swell directly over her heart. “The truth?”

  He did have to say things like “you’re beautiful,” he realized, feathering his fingertips down her fluttering stomach, because she honestly didn’t know. How could he have overlooked the words for this long? Time to fix the oversight.

  “You’re beautiful here…” He kissed her stunned mouth.

  “Tyler, don’t—”

  “And here.” He brushed his lips over the vulnerable hollow at the base of her throat and swallowed a satisfied smile when her pulse beat an erratic rhythm under his lips.

  “Don’t…” she gasped again, arching involuntarily when he swirled his tongue around her belly button. It took a few beats for her to find her voice, but eventually, her weak, “I’m not,” reached his ears.

  “You don’t have the first clue, do you?” He wedged his shoulders between her legs and kissed the point of her hip. “How beautiful you are. Every inch of you…” His voice dropped and he kissed her between her thighs, where she was already hot and wet.

  Her head tipped back and strangled denial caught in her throat. He kept right on kissing her, licking, sucking, swirling his tongue over her until she shivered uncontrollably.

  Moving up her body, linking his fingers with hers, he brought their joined hands to rest on either side of her head. “Look at me, Ellie.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ellie hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes, but now she opened them and fell into the endless emerald depths of Tyler’s. As their gazes connected, she sensed his delivered a message. Insight flickered at the edge of her consciousness like a candle burning at midnight, but then he drove into her, flooding her overloaded system with sensations, extinguishing thought.

  She barely felt the first drops of cool summer rain strike her feverish skin.

  He set the pace, slow and thorough, and stoked the hungry need building and centering inside her with each incredible thrust. Warmth escalated to heat. Heat turned to fire, and still he watched. The rain caressing her skin only fed the flames. His breath against her cheek only fanned the blaze.

  Control ran through her hands like water. Not good. This wasn’t what she’d bargained for. She flexed her fingers and tested the careful but unbreakable prison of his grip. She must have made a frustrated noise when she couldn’t pull free, because he whispered, “Don’t. If you touch me, this will be over in three seconds. Just let me have you.”

  “Not like this, it’s too—” Too intimate? Too intense? She couldn’t put the fear into words, but suddenly, the thought of staring into his all-seeing eyes while she shattered in his arms terrified her, even as every cell in her body ached to do just that.

  “Before, in the bedroom, you said you trusted me. Trust me now and let go. I want to watch your eyes go dark and dreamy, I want to hear that little cry you make right before you come. I want
to feel your body tremble for me.”

  The words alone made her tremble. What he didn’t seem to appreciate was that she had no choice—he had her completely at his mercy and every long, leisurely stroke sharpened her need to a critical, almost painful point. Or maybe he knew and simply didn’t care, but no amount of writhing on her part altered his slow, measured thrusts. Her breath came in erratic pants, and still he tortured her with the sweet, unhurried rhythm. Stroking, stroking…always stroking, until she couldn’t concentrate on anything except the slick, hot slide of him over her swollen, aching flesh.

  “Let go,” he repeated, thrusting harder, reaching deeper.

  She couldn’t stifle a helpless moan of pleasure, but endured another flash of insight— this one as profound and powerful as his body buried in hers. Let go? She’d let go a while back, without even realizing it. Maybe weeks ago, when he’d shrugged off her carefully prepared lesson and taken her out on his motorcycle instead, or days ago, when he’d gone all the way to Lexington to shop for something as ridiculous as sex toys, or last night, when he’d held her in his arms at the side of the road and let her cry all over him. Somewhere along the line she’d handed this man way more than her body. While she struggled against that revelation, Tyler whispered, “Now,” gathered her close, and drove into her with one final, devastating thrust.

  She let go. He held on. They both went flying.

  “I love you,” tumbled from her lips.

  Despite Tyler’s big, heavy, incredibly warm body covering hers, Ellie shivered as she stared at the stars peeking through wispy clouds. The storm had passed, but now the rapid beat of her heart replaced the cadence of falling rain.

  Had she actually spewed the words “I love you,” or had she imagined it? Either answer scared her senseless. Tyler and she were completely wrong for each other. She yearned for the ties and connections of a big, tight-knit family, a sense of belonging. Things she’d never experienced. Neither had Tyler, but unlike her, he’d spent his entire adult life avoiding them. Even if he suddenly decided to trade late nights at Rawley’s and a revolving-door love life for commitments and responsibilities, how could they possibly succeed? Talk about the blind leading the blind. What did either of them know firsthand about happy homes? Absolutely nothing.

  Home and family defined Roger as intrinsically as his blue eyes and ready smile. His loving, supportive upbringing counterbalanced everything hers lacked. Filial bonds, a sense of purpose and destiny based simply on being a Reynolds, were practically woven into his DNA. And he’d be on her doorstep Monday night, ready to meet a sexually experienced, confident woman, not some confused girl who’d accidentally fallen for the wrong man. She’d had a plan. How had her heart gone so completely off course?

  A groan sneaked past her lips before she could bite it back. Tyler immediately shifted and mumbled, “Sorry. I’m crushing you.” Head propped in his hand, he looked down at her, his expression unreadable.

  “No, no. It’s not you. I’m just, um…” Her flight instinct kicked in. “I’ve got to go.” She said the words quickly because her stupid heart wanted to stay right where she was, at his side, forever.

  “Something spook you, Doc?”

  Was he toying with her? She sat up and scooted away from him before her hands gave in to the temptation of his broad shoulders and the carved muscles of his chest. “No, of course not.”

  He edged closer. She inched back.

  “You seem a little jumpy. Let’s talk.”

  “Talk?” God, she sounded like a parrot.

  “Yeah. I’ll start. A few minutes ago, you told me, ‘I—’”

  “I have to go!” Her mind shuffled for a plausible exit strategy. “I need to check on Frank. He wasn’t home when I dropped off groceries after work.”

  Tyler’s eyes narrowed. “Frank is MIA?”

  “No,” she admitted, hating the quiver in her voice. “He left a note saying he was at a meeting.”

  “So what’s to check? He was at a meeting.” His raised eyebrow implied her excuse fell short of convincing.

  She scrambled to her feet and shook her head. “Frank doesn’t have meetings. He has Rawley’s—when they serve him—and his couch. His note doesn’t make any sense. Nothing makes any sense.” Least of all her. She took a step back, then another. “Good luck with the bank on Tuesday. I’ll see you…around.”

  …

  Tyler stared up at the big ghost-white moon. The craggy face seemed to laugh at him, and he supposed the whole thing did play like some kind of joke. He, the king of the loose, casual hookup, just produced an “I love you” from the only woman who mattered, and she ran off so fast she practically left a vapor trail in her wake.

  Still, it was hard to appreciate the humor of the situation with his heart bleeding out of his chest. He’d intended to say the words, eventually, but in the proper setting, with the right lead-in. Say the words first and be prepared to deal with her doubts. He knew damn well she had them. Doubts about the chances of two people like them, who’d never known love, creating one that lasted a lifetime.

  He hadn’t said the words, even though he felt them. She had, and it should have thrilled him, but it sucked. Not only because she hadn’t meant to say it, but because afterward, she’d looked at him like some kind of dead-end detour she’d accidentally taken. She’d certainly thrown herself into reverse and hauled ass in the other direction as quickly as she could. Somewhere deep inside, a part of him insisted her reaction affirmed a lesson he should have learned when his mother left. Namely, he wasn’t the kind of guy women stuck around for, invested in, or planned on spending forever with.

  Another part of him recognized the thoughts as Big Joe talking in his head, telling him he wasn’t good enough. He’d done his best to ignore his father when alive. He sure as hell shouldn’t listen to a dead man.

  He should listen to his gut. And his gut told him Ellie loved him. The knowledge rattled her. Understandable, considering how much she liked her plans. She felt safe with everything mapped out, and loving him threw her into uncharted territory. She’d need a moment to get her bearings, sort out her feelings. Maybe more than a moment, but the point was, she needed time.

  He’d give her ’til Monday. Then ready or not, they were going to talk.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ellie stared into her bedroom mirror and adjusted the strapless top of the short, red scarf of a dress she’d chosen as her drive-Roger-wild outfit—just one more detail of her meticulously orchestrated evening. During the past forty-eight hours she’d reaffirmed her ability to push distractions aside, stay the course, and stick to a damn plan. Of course, it helped that she’d had a zillion things to accomplish in preparation for tonight.

  No time for worries about where Frank had been Saturday evening when she’d stopped by, or hours later when she’d driven past his darkened house on her way home from Tyler’s. She’d shoved those concerns to the back burner and strategized every nuance of her date with Roger, from the menu, to her outfit, to, most importantly, which chapters she’d employ to prove she was his ideal woman.

  Whenever her irrational internal debate about what, if anything, Tyler had thought of her heat-of-passion outburst Saturday night threatened to interrupt her efforts, she’d ruthlessly silenced those voices. The questions had absolutely no bearing on tonight. He didn’t belong in her head. Right now she needed to give her entire focus to her Win Roger Plan, because tonight’s date represented a critical milestone.

  She touched up her makeup and ticked through her mental checklist for the evening. Seductive hair? Check. The tousled updo artfully suggested she’d just gotten out of bed and could be talked back in with very little effort. Enticing outfit? Check. The wispy little dress looked like a stiff breeze could blow it off. The super-high red heels she’d bought to go with it screamed “Screw me. Now.” Basically, she’d never worn a sexier ensemble in her life.

  Too bad she’d never felt less sexy, or more nauseous. Nerves or…something…had s
unk a cold ball of dread in the pit of her stomach. The ball rolled uneasily every time she thought about Roger here, in her bedroom, or the two of them delving into any of the chapters she’d mastered. Performance anxiety? Maybe. She blotted the sweat on her forehead and told herself to calm down.

  Then the doorbell chimed and calm officially left the building. She forced her lips into a smile and hurried to the door.

  Roger stood there, pale under his golden tan, hands smoothing his white linen shirt over his khaki pants.

  “Hello, Roger. Please come in.” God, she sounded like an undertaker.

  “Thanks. Oh, my goodness.” He blushed to the roots of his hair. “You look so…gosh, what’s the word?”

  For some reason, his stammering reaction only ratcheted up her tension. She felt like she was sitting on a roller coaster perched at the top of the very first drop, and suddenly realized she didn’t want to take the plunge. All this time she’d been following her plan, so bent on achieving her goal that she’d ignored every click of conscience warning her she was going farther and farther along the wrong track. The Roger she wanted was a fantasy of her own creation, not a real man. In reality she barely knew the man standing on her doorstep, and she certainly wasn’t in love with him.

  “Ellie, I think maybe you’ve got the wrong—”

  “Roger, I’m so sorry, but I can’t—”

  Their words overlapped and they both stopped short, leaving a deafening silence. Roger broke it with a weak laugh. “Sorry. Ladies first.”

  “No, I’m the sorry one.” She sighed and let out a long breath. “I know you’re expecting wild, Slap & Tickle-style sex tonight—and I wanted you to think that’s exactly the kind of woman I am—but I’m not and, I’m sorry, I just can’t. I’m an idiot for dragging you out here under false pretenses.”

  She glanced at him from beneath her lashes, surprised to see his jaw relax and a faint smile tug at his lips. “I think when it comes to false pretenses, I win the prize.”