by C. M. Stone
He broke the kiss with a gasp and nuzzled her cheek, not giving a spare inch of space between them. “Maybe I should stop neglecting myself.” His voice was husky, almost a growl.
Without loosening his hold on her, he took one hand from the small of her back to cup her breast through the shirt. Her nipple hardened in anticipation a moment before his thumb swept over it to tease the little nub.
“Yes.” The word came on an ecstatic sigh as she arched into his touch, unsure of what she was even saying yes to. Maybe to everything he could ever offer her.
Jackson took hold of the hem of the shirt and gave it a tug. She hesitated before squirming to get it out from under her and shrugged it off, hissing at the cold counter-top now against the bare skin of her thighs. Her body was tense with self-consciousness, her arms automatically moving in to cover some of her exposed skin. Clothing could flatter and hide so much, but now she felt dangerously on display, especially with him still fully dressed.
He frowned and stepped closer to her again. The tease of his lips and breath at her ear were warm enough to banish the chill of the counter. His hands slid down her arms, then caught her wrists to gently tug at them. “Please don’t deprive me? There’s nothing I’d rather see right now than you.”
God, the man had no right to be so good at shutting her brain down. She nodded and relaxed her arms bit by bit, letting him pull them apart to expose her to his gaze. The last thing on her mind when she’d gotten dressed that morning was anyone looking at her in her underwear, but she was thankful for Rachel and Nikki’s urges to be more fashionable. The black lace of her matching bra and panties set had seemed like a nice combination when she’d bought it. The raw desire in Jackson’s green eyes as he gazed at her made her resolve to never wear boring underwear again, so long as there was a chance he might see her in it.
His fingers traced the lacy edge of her bra. “Is this what you wear under your scrubs?”
“It’s what I was wearing under them today.” And if it would get him to look at her like that, she’d fill her drawers with matching sets.
He groaned and shut his eyes, his face almost pained. “You have no idea how hard it’s going to be to focus on work knowing that.” He ducked and kissed the mound of one breast where it rose above the cup of her bra, then the other breast. “So beautiful.” His light touches spread fresh warmth through her body, her throat tighter around each breath. Once he’d freed her from her bra, he teased at one nipple with his tongue before closing his lips around it. “So friggin’ beautiful.”
She tangled her fingers in his hair and moaned, rewrapping her legs and her other arm around him to hold him. “You actually make me feel like that.”
“Good. I hope you never stop.”
He abandoned her breasts to kiss lower down her body. The scrape of his stubble at her bare stomach sent unexpected flutters through her, and she tightened her legs around him. His hands caught her knees and pushed them further apart as he kissed lower, until his lips met the front lace of her panties. It was the thought of him there more than anything else that jolted her body with hunger and she bit her bottom lip.
He ran his fingers from her knee down the inside of her thigh and rubbed them against her wet folds through the lace. The lace was soft enough, but having it pressed against her like that by his fingers made every little ridge of it stand out against eager nerve endings. She braced her hands on the counter and slid forward, closer to the edge and him until she felt in danger of falling off. The firm grip of his free hand holding her settled that fear so all she had to concentrate on was Jackson.
The next pass of his fingers was firmer, pushing the lace ever so slightly between her outer lips. He kept teasing her until his middle finger pressed in to circle her clit. The scrape of the lace against such delicate skin was almost agonizingly good. She whimpered and rolled her hips, wordlessly begging him for more.
He caught the waist of her panties with his fingers and tugged, letting them slide down her legs until they caught on one ankle. The sheer audacity of what she was doing—in an attending surgeon’s kitchen, for God’s sake—hit her all at once. Her skin burning with a blush, she started to form the words to tell him they needed to move somewhere else, but she couldn’t find her voice. Not when his lips were kissing up the inside of her thigh, inching closer and closer to where she ached for him.
At first he just kissed. His lips brushed her slick folds and gently stroked their way upward. Then he pressed more firmly and his tongue worked in to touch her for the first time. Slow, thorough explorations teased between the lips of her sex, then glanced over her clit.
She hissed at the direct touch at last and crept onto the very edge of the counter, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes. There was absolutely no way in hell there could be a future between them. It was risky because of work, impossible because she was going to leave the state, and irresistible all at once. She had to purposefully remind herself that it couldn’t change anything, otherwise she was sure she’d lose her heart entirely. This felt too right with him. It was masochistic to even give in this much, but there was no way she could deprive herself entirely.
The tension climbed higher as he alternated between drawing circles around her clit with his tongue and stroking it directly. When his lips wrapped around the little nub to focus all his ministrations, she came crashing down with a startled cry. Her fingers twisted in his hair to hold him close, needing that touch to keep her anchored.
After the moment passed she leaned back on her elbows on the counter to try to catch her breath. Jackson straightened, pulling his shirt off in the same motion. Feeling shameless for the moment, she allowed herself to openly stare at him. The hard lines of his broad chest begged to be traced with fingers or her tongue. His arms were thick and well defined, the muscles cording up when he braced his hands on the edge of the counter and leaned forward over her.
She pushed herself up to meet him, sighing into the kiss. The taste and scent of her own orgasm on his lips was almost obscene in its intimacy. The hunger on his side was palpable, his body tense and ready.
“Do you want me, Darla?” he breathed against her cheek.
“Yes.” It was a shockingly easy thing to say to him. Her hands slid down his body to open his belt, then she hesitated. Doubt and insecurity were difficult to shake. Even if it meant nothing, she had to be sure she was more than just a momentary convenience. She needed to be the object of his desire, not simply a tool to slake his need. “Do you want me?”
“How can you even doubt that?” He guided her hand to his arousal trapped by his jeans. An erection didn’t really tell her what she wanted to know. “Do you want me inside you?”
At least that was an easy question. She whimpered, nodding, and turned to catch him in another kiss. She helped him work his jeans open and free him from his boxers before he rolled on a condom from his pocket.
He pressed into her slowly at first, stretching her around him, allowing her body time to adjust. The warm, thick feeling of his shaft inside of her comforted her in a way she’d never experienced with sex before. His next thrust was deeper, harder, and she moved to meet him, accepting everything he had to offer. It was almost too easy to find a rhythm with him, just as it had been on the dance floor at the gala. Or in the operating room. No fumbling, he didn’t speed up when she wanted to go slower. Nothing but grace in motion.
The counter still felt cold under her bare skin, but now it was a relief from the fever inside her. She rocked to him each time their bodies met, rewarded by a slow roll of his hips to give her the sweet friction she so desperately needed. Their movements steadily grew in tempo, his thrusts punctuated by quiet groans in her ear.
She clutched at him as she felt herself drawn closer to climax, not wanting it to end so soon. If this was all she could have of him, it had to last. She had to get her fill while she could, even if part of her worried that there was no such thing as enough of Jackson DeMatteo. Nothing could stop the mounting ple
asure inside of her, no matter how much she wanted to draw it out. She cried out his name and arched into him before shuddering in a still, quiet moment of release.
He pulled her closer to him and only then did his thrusts lose their rhythm, coming in unsteady speed until he buried himself inside her with one last groan. Both spent, they panted against the counter. Darla bowed her head over his shoulder, soaking up the sensation of his naked skin against hers.
He turned his head to kiss her. “Come to bed with me?”
Half a dozen reasons to say no were on the tip of her tongue. She had rounds in the morning. What they were doing together could cause so many complications. She was afraid of just how far she’d fall if she slept in his bed. There was only one reason she could think of to say yes.
“All right.”
Foolish as it was, she wanted to be there.
Chapter Fifteen
Dreams of broken glass and blood on a sidewalk dragged Jackson down like drowning in tar. When he finally fought his way free, one hand automatically reached for the other side of the bed and found it empty. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked around, half-wondering if Darla had been a dream as well. The indent on the pillow beside his reassured him that it had been very real.
But had it been right? If he went to Singh and told him, she’d almost certainly be transferred. If she wasn’t kept out of trauma entirely, then at the very least she wouldn’t be allowed to work with him ever again. A vague sense of unease settled in his stomach.
He pulled on a pair of boxers and headed upstairs. Darla had made herself at home at his dining room table, wearing the T-shirt from last night and digging into a carton of ice cream. He checked toward the kitchen and couldn’t see the rest of their clothes scattered around. It sounded like she had the washer and dryer both going.
He took a chair next to hers and allowed himself a moment to admire her. With her hair all wild from sleep and sex and in nothing but his T-shirt, he couldn’t imagine a sexier image to wake up to. “Chocolate potato chip ice cream for breakfast? Is that healthy?”
She drew her shoulders up a little as her cheeks reddened with embarrassment. “You’re the one who had it in his freezer. It was all I could find, other than some nasty looking leftovers.”
“I have it for snacking. Not breakfast.” He stole the spoon from her for a bite, then snaked an arm around her waist to tug her over into his lap. “And getting such a weird flavor usually saves me from having to share.”
He could feel her relaxing again as she settled into his lap, her arms looped loosely around his neck. “Well, you’re screwed now, because this happens to be my favorite flavor.”
“Damn. I’m in trouble.”
Healthy or not, he had to admit that sharing an ice cream breakfast with her was the nicest morning he’d had in years. Which only made things that much harder. If he was honest, that deal with Singh would be out at the very least. A one-time mistake they never spoke of might be safer for the both of them, but the thought didn’t provide any comfort.
He took a deep breath to try to prepare himself for some serious, and likely unpleasant, talk. Before he could start, his phone began to ring. He looked around, trying to remember where he’d put it.
Darla slipped off his lap, grabbed it from the counter, and handed it to him. “You left it in your pocket last night and you got some gas on your clothes, too. It’s all in the wash.”
“Thanks.” He looked at the caller ID with a frown before answering it. “Hi Dad. What’s going on?”
“Your mom and I wanted to wish you a belated happy birthday.” The older DeMatteo’s voice didn’t sound cheerful enough for birthday wishes. This was the same tone Jackson recalled teaching him geometry.
“Thanks. How are you two doing?”
He braced himself, knowing exactly how that question would be answered. True to form, his father launched into lengthy, dull stories about fixing a fence on their property line and how road construction had forced him into a detour through a part of Kansas City he hated during his morning commute. None of it was personal and, in truth, none of it was even interesting enough for Jackson to keep track of. Boredom tended to dominate his thoughts every time they had one of these stilted conversations, followed by regret and longing for real connection.
When there was a gap in his dad’s updates, he sought something neutral to say. Something that could conceivably sound like he’d been listening. “Seems like you’re both really busy.”
“And what about you? Eliza said you might be getting on the tenure track.”
“In theory.” He looked toward Darla, who was putting the ice cream back in the freezer. Guilt settled over him. “I’m trying to get the chief’s recommendation, but he doesn’t make the decision on his own and my competition is pretty good at politics.”
“You never should have taken an adjunct position to start with. Begin as you intend to proceed. If you don’t start on the right path, it’s far too hard to change tracks later down the road.”
The mixed metaphors were nearly dizzying. Thank God his father wasn’t a literature professor. “I took what I needed to take. It’s pretty much impossible to start out a full professor these days.”
“And just as close to impossible to switch from adjunct to tenure track. You sabotaged yourself.”
He rubbed the worry wrinkle between his eyes with his palm, as if he could physically push the irritation away. “Thanks Dad. I’m really proud of myself and all I’ve accomplished, too.”
“Don’t be like that, Jackson. You know we’re proud of you. That doesn’t mean we’re blind to your mistakes.”
Of course they weren’t. No one was and they’d never let him forget it either. “I have to go.”
Darla looked startled by the sound of his phone slapping down on the table. “Wow. That makes me really happy my mom and I get along.”
“My dad has a hard time grasping that my career isn’t his. He tries to control everything.” And instead of growing immune to it, Jackson still found himself hoping things would change. He couldn’t decide if he was more annoyed with his father or himself. Seriously, he was a grown-ass adult at the top of his game. Wanting his parents’ approval, that was so…puerile.
“My mom’s a little controlling too,” Darla said. “I think she’s just trying to be helpful, though. Maybe that’s all your dad is doing.”
Her mother was controlling? That gave him pause and he rolled the thought over slowly in his mind. If it was true, it made her comments in surgery to Nancy make more sense. Her mother wanted her to go into trauma and so her own interests didn’t matter. “Sometimes parents help us the wrong way.”
“I guess that’s possible. Or help us more than we really want.”
“Come here.” He pulled her down back into his lap and nuzzled into the side of her neck, her ebony curls blocking out the rest of the world like a curtain. “You really were amazing last night.”
She squirmed in his lap. “Well, I do have a yoga video I follow twice a week.”
He laughed, tightening his arms around her, and gave her a quick kiss. “Oh, you were beyond amazing in bed. But I was talking about that little boy.”
“I just did what had to be done.” One of her hands rested on his chest, and he felt her fingers start to trace over the muscles there. Taking her back to bed was so much more inviting than going to work.
“If trauma is really what you want to specialize in, I think you’re going to be a very good surgeon.”
Her brows raised a bit and she gave him a smile. “Thank you.”
“But.” It was the last word he wanted to say. It could only make his deal with Singh harder, yet what kind of man would he be if he kept it to himself? “You could be better than good. I think you could be great if you went into pediatrics.”
All the wriggling in his lap and touching stopped instantly. The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. “Why? Because I’m a woman? Because you figure I’ve got to
be all nurturing?”
“No. Because you, as an individual, are really good with them. Like Dr. White said, kids aren’t just little adults. They have their own unique needs and you handle that well.”
She shook her head. “This is what I’ve been working toward my whole life.”
“Okay.” Her reaction made the rest of what they needed to talk about harder. White had been right about her talent, but the night between them would cast any of his professional recommendations in a self-serving light, no matter how sincere they were. “You know if we’re involved in any way, we’re not supposed to be working together like this.”
She didn’t say anything at first, her expression distant. “It’ll be fine.”
“I don’t think it will be.”
She abruptly stood up from his lap and gave him a small, sad smile. “I want to leave at the end of my first year, to transfer back to a hospital in Chicago. Just don’t tell anyone before then and it’ll be fine, like I said.”
Numbness washed over him as her words sank in. It solved the problem, but not in a way he liked. There’d been no hint from Singh that she might leave the hospital. “Does anybody know you’re leaving yet?”
“No. I didn’t want to talk to the residency program director until after I took my Step Three exam.”
So she’d be licensed to practice medicine without supervision, he realized. It’d give her more leverage if anyone was unhappy with her leaving instead of finishing her residency at UMC. He closed his eyes, fighting back his own hurt over how temporary their relationship would be. “When’s your Step Three?”
“A couple of weeks away still. My mom’s flying out the same day as McGaffey’s retirement party next week to help me prepare.” She squeezed his shoulder. “I’m going to check my clothes.”
McGaffey’s position would be filled before she left. It wouldn’t interfere with his deal with Singh, but that was a distant concern in comparison to her actually leaving. He rubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath. Every relationship has an expiration date, he reminded himself. This time he was lucky enough to know when it was.