by Katy Connor
Am I really going to let him…let him fuck me with it?
A rush of tight heat floods my core, an unspoken answer to a question that doesn’t need asking.
I want him to. So damn much.
His Adam’s apple slides up and down his throat. His jaw bunches. “Are you wet for me, beautiful?”
I nod, even as I try to calm my crazy heart.
“Show me,” he orders, although the gentleness to the words makes my heart skip a beat.
His breath catches, and his eyes burn with desire as I bunch my skirt up and slip my hand beneath its hem.
His pupils dilate. And then he lets out a low moan of approval as I step away from the door and lift my hand toward him. “See how wet I am, Tal. See how wet you make me,” I whisper.
I’ve never been so forward, so brazen.
Gaze locked on mine, he slowly takes my wrist and brings my fingers to his lips. He sucks them into his mouth, his tongue swirling around them. It’s singly the most erotic and intense thing ever done to me.
His eyes flutter closed for a second, and then he removes my fingers from his mouth. “Then you are ready for this.” He gently brushes the tip of the glass dildo against my parted lips.
“What if someone comes in?” Okay, so the shy Bia isn’t completely gone.
With one step he presses me back to the door and, glass dildo now nestled between my breasts, locks the door.
Oh boy…
“What if we get interrupted?” The words fall from me in a soft breath, which he captures with his mouth. Clearly, he doesn’t care. He kisses me, and I easily surrender to the pleasure of his lips and eager tongue. I don’t care either. I wrap my arms around his neck, wanting him closer to me. With a growl, he smooths a firm palm along the back of my right leg, aligning the domed crown of the glass dildo to my pussy.
A rush of sensations—excitement, anticipation, wonder, trust—turns my blood hot.
Oh wow…wow.
He torments my clit with it until I’m mewing and writhing against the door. I’m making noises I’ve never made before.
He breaks away from our kiss, and I want to cry out in denial. I don’t want him to stop kissing me.
“Tell me to fuck you with this, beautiful,” he murmurs, the order barely a breath against my lips. “I need to hear you say it.”
A wave of something close to power rolls through me. “Why?”
“I need to know you want me, want what’s happening between us, as much I do.”
The vulnerability in his voice, in his confession, shakes me to my core. I’ve lusted after Tal for so long, the controlled, unflappable, sex-god Tal, but this side of him affects me more than anything. It’s there, raw and open and honest, and it pushes me over the edge. There’s more to him than just a sexy-hot surgeon. So much more. And I want to know it all. I don’t trust people. Haven’t for a long time. But I want to trust him.
“I…I want you, Tallowwood Bernadi. More than I’ve wanted anything. Anyone.” I move my hand down between our bodies, grip his wrist, and slowly, slowly inch the head of the glass dildo into my pussy. “I want what is happening between us so much it scares me.”
His Adam’s apple jerks up and down his throat. He searches my eyes. What’s he looking for? “I don’t…” he whispers. “I hate the thought of scaring you, Bia.”
“It’s a good scare.” I give him a small smile, even as my cheeks grow hot. “I promise.”
A choppy groan rumbles low in his chest, and his eyes flutter closed.
“Now fuck me with your Christmas present, Tal,” I demand, guiding his hand closer to my groin, penetrating me deeper and deeper with the smooth, hard glass rod.
He groans again and crushes my lips with his, the kiss hungry as he pumps the glass dick in and out of my sex.
Holy crap, it’s intense, exquisite. Wild, and somehow naughty and sublime all at once. It’s nothing like my vibrator. Is that because it’s glass, or because it’s not my hand controlling it, but Tal’s? I don’t know, and I don’t care. Not at the moment. Not when wave after wave of unadulterated pleasure crashes through me.
Not when Tal pinches my nipple in perfect rhythm with every upward thrust of the dildo, detonating even more pleasure through me. Bringing me to the brink, and over it.
I explode, tearing my lips from his, crying out his name. I can’t help it. It’s too much, too good.
Too perfect.
I’m never going to recover from this. Ever.
Chapter Seven
TAL
“Bia…” I moan, burying my face into the side of her neck. If she reaches for my fly I’m fucked. There’s no way I’ll be able to stop myself from coming. “Fuck, Bia, what have you done to me?”
Before she can answer, before I can lift my head and gaze into her eyes, someone knocks on my office door.
Are you fucking kidding me?
“Dr. Bernadi?” a female voice calls on the other side. “Dr. Bernadi, the parents want to speak to you.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Bia moves. Quickly. My wild, uninhibited siren is gone and she’s the shy next-door neighbor once again. She scrambles away from me, the glass dildo slipping from her pussy, blushing furiously as she hurries to fix her clothes.
For a devilish moment, I seriously consider pinning her back against the door and kissing her. Hell, why not? She’s mine, and I don’t care who knows it.
I take a step toward her, eyebrow arched.
She gasps, eyes widening.
With a low chuckle, I drop her a wink. “Okay,” I say, loud enough for whoever is on the other side to hear.
Surgeons are renowned for being narcissistic bastards with god complexes. It’s inherently part of our psyche to hold the rest of the world at bay even as we function with the firm belief we’re above everyone.
However, when that patient is a child or an infant, I’ll always give my time to their parents after the surgery. I may be a conceited asshole, but I’m not a callous prick.
Meeting Bia’s gaze again, I draw in a slow breath. It’s not just pleasure I see in her eyes, but something else.
Trust? Or something even deeper? The kind that comes with a connection beyond the physical?
Am I ready for that?
“It’s best you leave now, beautiful,” I grumble. “I’d rather not talk to Mr. and Mrs. Richmond with an erection.”
Yeah, bring it back to the sex. Just the sex. That’s what I have to do. This is nothing more than just sex between us. I’m not looking for more.
“Okay,” she says on a whisper.
There’s a hint of confusion in her voice. For some reason it makes me feel guilty. Which confuses the hell out of me. Guilt is not an emotion I’m used to. Fuck, maybe I am an alpha-male bastard after all?
“You’re too much of a distraction,” I tell her, putting a wry smile in the statement. “Need to keep my blood in my brain, not my…” I flick my crotch a quick look and grin at her.
She blushes some more and dips her head, in acknowledgment or disappointment that we’ve been interrupted, I’m not sure. Or maybe my dismissal has upset her. Fuck, I hope not.
It seems I suck at being a nice guy.
Stepping toward her, I lift her chin. “Look at me.”
She does, and my heart thumps faster. I could die in the intense blue of her eyes. “Tell me what’s in your head.”
A shaky laugh falls from her. “You’ve made me…c-come so many times and I haven’t once yet—”
This woman is going to be the end of me.
I drop a feather-light kiss on her lips. “I’ve come to the thought of you so many times since you moved next door to me I’ve lost count.”
Pink blushes her cheeks again, even as a small smile—a playful smile—curls her lips. I will never get enough of seeing that smile. “So I’m not the only one who masturbates to their sexual fantasy, then?”
Seriously, the fucking end of me.
I kiss her again, harder this time. “
You’re not the only one,” I murmur against her lips. “And you are so much more than just my sexual fantasy now.”
A question fills her eyes, and my throat tightens. What the hell did I just say? What the hell do I mean? So much more than just my sexual fantasy now? What does that mean? What the fuck am I—
The knock comes on my door again, harder this time, more insistent. “Dr. Bernadi?”
Heart pounding, head roaring, I pull away from her. “Coming.”
A soft laugh falls from her, and mischief dances in her eyes. “In me,” she whispers. “Very, very soon, I hope.”
For a split second, all my panic about “so much more” vanishes and I’m overcome with the craving need to pump my seed into her tight pussy. The thought of it flooding her womb, overflowing her sex and trickling down her smooth inner thighs almost causes me to tell whoever’s on the other side to fuck off.
How the hell will I be able to maintain a semblance of intelligence and conduct any kind of articulate conversation when all the blood in my body is in my cock? When all I want to do is fuck Bia Adams over and over and over?
Biting back a growl, my grip on the glass dildo painfully fierce, I turn away from her and storm across my office to the door of my private bathroom. “Get your ass out of my office, beautiful. Now.”
I hear her turn the knob of my door. “Oh, and Bia?”
She stops and looks at me over her shoulder.
Heart smashing into my throat, I fix her with a level stare. “You belong to me now.”
It’s the closest I can get to understanding the nebulous feelings I have for her. The closest I can get to articulating them. It’s also a primitive, caveman declaration; one I never thought I’d make. Women aren’t things to be possessed by men, and yet when it comes to Bia… I swallow. The very notion of another man touching her, looking at her, thinking lascivious thoughts about her…it drives me insane.
What the hell has she done to me?
“Do you understand?” I ask, my voice husky.
“I understand.” She arches an eyebrow, eyes twinkling. “And just so we understand, the same applies to you. Got it?”
It’s almost too much. The possessive tone in her statement, the way she looks at me… If she doesn’t get out of my office now, I won’t be able to control what happens next. “Go,” I rasp. “And be ready for everything I’m going to do to you tonight.”
I walk into my private bathroom. It’s that or storm across my office floor, lock the door, and have my fucking insatiable way with her. As I turn on the tap to clean the dildo, I hear her open my office’s door and offer a soft hello to whoever’s on the other side.
I study the object in my hand. Barely a few moments ago it was buried deep inside her. It’s still coated in her cum, glistening with it. I lift it to my mouth and drag my tongue up its length, from its base all the way up to its domed head. Bia’s juices and pleasure torment my taste buds, my senses. Fuck, I’m addicted to her already. That didn’t take long.
More than addiction, Bernadi. Admit it.
Shutting down the unnerving thought, I wash the dildo quickly and hide it in the small cupboard beneath the basin.
“Dr. Bernadi?” The hesitant call comes from my office door.
Gripping the sides of the basin, I open my eyes and stare into my reflection.
Swallowing, I swipe at my mouth.
What’s going on with me? I can’t decipher what I’m feeling. I can’t…
If I’m not in this for a relationship, if Bia is just another good time in the sack, why am I feeling so…so… I don’t even know how the fuck I’m feeling. All I know is the thought of not being with her again, of not spending time with her again, not just sexually, but just…time…
No, I don’t like the thought of not seeing her again at all.
Not one little bit.
What does that mean?
I swipe at my mouth again, searching for answers in my stare.
Searching, but finding none.
It takes a long ten minutes before I can walk up to the parents of the infant girl whose heart almost caused her premature death.
They hug me, the mother first, followed by the father, although he initiates the interaction with a firm handshake before grateful sobs of joy overwhelm him and he pulls me into a rough bear hug.
I accept their emotional thanks, assure them their daughter is going to be okay, and let them talk to me for as long as they wish. I don’t like people as a whole. I prefer not to interact with them at length if I can avoid it, but I understand it helps parents emotionally work through what’s just happened to their child.
And yet, as I stride back to my office after our conversation is finished, my thoughts return to Bia.
The rest of the day drags. Paperwork—my least favorite part of being a surgeon—takes forever, as is the norm after a major operation, and by the time I’m finished, I’m testy. It hasn’t helped that I’ve been interrupted numerous times. It’s not Scarlet’s fault she needed to consult about patients more than once, and I feel guilty as hell for being blunt and short with her.
Finally, closing my laptop and eager to get out of the place, I stand. Okay, so I’ll go find Scarlet, apologize, and then head home. I might eat up some miles on the bike on the way, see if that can help me decompress.
It’s a plan.
It’s a diversion. Until I figure out what I’m feeling for Bia, I’m never going to be—
Bennett Stirling strides in like he owns the place. “Resus Bar?”
I shake my head. “I’m out of here. Going home.”
“Going back to the hot little piece of ass called Bia, you mean?” He smirks. “Don’t blame you. I could get lost in those divine tits of hers, I have to say.”
Hot protectiveness snakes through me, and I clench my jaw.
Bennett laughs and holds up his hands. “Easy, Bernadi. Don’t rip my head off.”
I fix him with a level gaze, pissed that I failed to hide my emotions. “Then don’t covet what’s mine.”
What’s mine? Did I really just say that aloud?
Yes, I did. Fuck, I’m in trouble.
Bennett lets out a low whistle. “Okay, okay. I won’t. Promise.”
“Good,” I growl. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
I walk to my office door, stop, and arch an eyebrow at him.
He chuckles. “Fine. I’ll go ask McCallum if he wants to hit the bar instead.”
It takes me longer to arrive back at my condo than I like. Traffic’s a bitch. Even swerving in and out of the congestion on my Ducati takes longer than I want.
At the sight of Bia’s car in its allotted space in the underground parking area, my body thrums with anticipation. I’m still on edge from the day, as well as my unexpected jealousy over her. Climbing from my Ducati, I rake my fingers through my hair, my dick already semi-hard.
I don’t bother with the elevator to our floor. I take the stairs, cock growing harder with each pounding step. Two steps into the hallway leading to our doors, I stop.
An icy glove reaches into my chest and squeezes my heart.
A tall, blond man is standing at Bia’s open door. Leaning his elbow against it, his unbuttoned shirt flashing his hairless chest, his cargo shorts ridiculously baggy. He smiles, talking softly to someone I can’t see on the other side of the threshold. Bia? Who else would it be? To the best of my knowledge, in all the time she’s been living next door to me she’s never had anyone visit.
Who the hell is this jerk? Jesus, he’s wearing flip-flops. What kind of moron wears flip-flops in Hardrock at this time of the year?
Forcing myself to be calm, relaxed, I resume walking.
“C’mon, kitten,” I hear the moron murmur, leaning into the open door a little more. “You know you want me to come in there. Don’t try and convince me you haven’t missed me.”
Missed me.
My gut clenches.
Whoever he’s talking to says something. I can’t make out the
words, but I can hear the voice. It is Bia. This bastard is talking to her, trying to convince her to let him in. And whatever she just said, Mr. Hot-Shot-With-A-Tan doesn’t like it.
He shifts on his feet, agitated tension falling over him for a split second before he smiles again. The grin is the very definition of cajoling, and I want to smash it from his face. Surgeons never risk injuring their hands, but at that very second I don’t give a flying fuck about my metacarpals or phalanges.
I know exactly where to strike to shatter the bone structure of his jaw and cheekbone. And I know exactly how to punch. Years of schoolyard fights taught me well.
“C’mon, kitten,” he says again, extending his hand through the door. I can tell, as I draw closer, he’s trying to touch Bia’s face. “Remember how good we were together? Let me in and I’ll remind you.”
Possessive jealousy roils through me, a thunderstorm of destruction ready to break.
“I told you not to come near me again, Donny.”
The fear in Bia’s voice shoves me over the edge. Two steps from her door, I clear my throat.
Donny throws me a look, his expression a mix of irritation and surprise.
“She asked you to go away. You need to leave.” I give him a courtesy warning. There won’t be another.
“Fuck off.”
I smash my fist into his jaw.
He staggers sideways. Bia gasps. I flick her a look—What the fuck? She’s dressed in just panties and a tank top—and then slide my stare back to Donny, now almost cowering a few feet away—hand pressed to his face where my knuckles struck his jaw. “Leave now,” I say.
“Who the fuck are you?” he demands, puffing up his chest. He’s almost as tall as me. Probably stronger, when it comes down to it. I don’t give a fuck.
“The man who knows the most painful way to break every bone in your body and is happy to do it.” I offer him a chilly smile of promise. “I’ll make sure you piss nothing but blood for a week.”
Fighting’s not my thing anymore, but human anatomy sure the hell is.
Falling back a step, he glares at Bia. “This is the jerk you rejected me for? This pompous fuck?”
She groans, face contorting with anguish. “Donny, shut up.”