Doctor Sexy

by Katy Connor

  “The obstacles?”

  Far as I could tell, there wasn’t a single obstacle between us now. In fact, the only thing in our way was too much empty space. His face was close. The rest of him? Not so much. I took a step forward, leaving maybe an inch between his body and mine. Heat radiated off his chest. Or maybe it was from the way his eyes darkened as he stared at me from beneath those heavy lids.

  “The ways around them. Funny,” he said softly, “you don’t seem nearly as bad-tempered as I was warned you’d be.”

  “That’s because my cannoli have lulled you into a false sense of security. The sweetness you’re sensing is simply the sugar from my secret recipe.”

  “Tell me, Bella, what has you in such a bad mood?”

  “Uh-uh. That’s personal.” The last thing I wanted to get into with Hot Scott was the annoyance of finding Grant at the party—courtesy of Pete’s invitation—and me doing my level best to avoid him. “Asking hints that you might be interested in something more than sleeping with me.”

  I wasn’t interested in anything more. The idea of spending a night with the guy? Yeah, sign me up, baby. But getting any more intimate? Nope. Not for me. Not now. I was too content with my life the way it was to make time for a relationship.

  He shot me a cheeky grin. “I’m just wondering what angry sex with a gorgeous chef would be like.”

  “So we’ve progressed from sleeping together to having angry sex?”

  “Trust me, Isabella, if someone had told me to bring those condoms, sleep wouldn’t enter the equation.”

  “Isabella now?” A minute ago, he’d called me Bella.

  “Calling you Bella implies we’re friends. And let’s face it, friendship is not what I want from a sleepless night with you.”

  “So now you do want to spend a night with me? What would your nephew think?”

  “If he met you? I’m pretty sure the only thing he’d be thinking about was your cannoli. And if you make them in chocolate.”

  I reached back to snag a chocolate cannoli, stretching farther than I had the last time, as I had no intention of moving away from Hot Scott. “Go ahead. Give this to him with my compliments.”

  “You made chocolate ones, too?”

  “Of course.” Complete with Cioccolato Venchi, imported from Italy specifically for the cannoli.

  “Forget my nephew. Feed it to me.” He opened his mouth invitingly, and I wondered how he’d respond if instead of the cannoli, I fed him my tongue.

  “Nice uncle, taking food away from a little kid.”

  “Hungry uncle. I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

  “You just scarfed down two of my cannoli.”

  “Make it a third, Isabella, and I’ll be your slave forever.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “Is the chocolate as good as the other two?”

  “Better.”

  “Then it’s a promise.”

  His lips parted again, and he watched intently as I lifted the treat to his mouth. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

  “Deal.” Instead of taking a bite, his tongue darted out, and he licked at the filling. It was a move so boyish, yet so sensual, liquid heat gathered between my legs.

  “Mmmm.” He did it again, and this time I went all squishy inside.

  He held my hand in his, directed the cannoli into his mouth, and proceeded to lick out the rest of the center before devouring the shell.

  Watching a man consume a pastry should not be an erotic experience. It should not make my blood heat and my skin feverish, but it did. With his gaze pinned to mine, his lips centimeters from my fingers, and my hand in his, I began to burn. For him.

  “We’re out of ice.” The announcement from across the room was loud enough to break through the general noise of the party and splinter the intimacy of our pose.

  “Who’s volunteering to fill the bucket this time?” Rebecca’s voice was louder than the first.

  I flashed Jack an evil smile. “Dr. Scott is,” I offered on his behalf.

  His eyes widened. “I am?”

  “Remember our slave deal?” I winked at him.

  “Fine,” he grumbled, then said out loud to the rest of the room. “Yep. I’ll do it. Toss the bucket my way.”

  In seconds, he held the ice bucket, and I was waving him goodbye.

  “Not so fast.” He snagged my hand. “I have no idea where the ice is. And since this was your brilliant idea, you, dear chef, have no choice but to show me.”

  Chapter Two

  Dr. Scott pulled me along with him, asking for directions to the basement as we walked. And though I briefly considered directing him upstairs, to one of the bedrooms, I figured we’d be mobbed by thirsty hospital staff if we never returned with the much-needed ice.

  I flicked the light on as Jack closed the door behind us, and we made our way down the stairs. The basement hadn’t been renovated. Bec used it for storage.

  When I paused at the bottom of the staircase to find the second light switch, Jack walked into me, the length of a fully erect cock pressed up against my back.

  Knowing I did that to him, well…

  “Are we having some trouble back there?” I wished my voice didn’t sound quite so breathless.

  “No trouble at all. Except for grumpy chefs who stop unexpectedly when you’re walking behind them.”

  “You’re obviously having a hard time following this grumpy chef at a safe distance.”

  “Hard is a good way to describe it.”

  I hadn’t moved. I didn’t want to. I liked the feel of him pressed up against me, his hard-on unapologetically obvious.

  For long seconds we stood like that, he deliciously crowding my space, me struggling to catch my breath.

  And then his fingers were in my hair, his touch so light, for a heartbeat I thought I’d imagined it.

  Anticipation raced up my spine.

  “Bella,” he whispered, and I leaned back into him, reveling in the strength of his chest. “I’ve been hard since I caught sight of you across the living room.” He flipped my hair over my right shoulder, and must have dipped his head down, because his voice was a mere inch from my left ear the next time he spoke. “Wanna lick you right…here.”

  His lips touched my neck, his touch so tender, a full-body tremor shook through me.

  “See if you taste as good as your cannoli.”

  His lips parted, and he dragged his tongue over the spot he’d just kissed, licking me like he’d done with the filling from my pastry.

  Any ability to inhale abandoned me.

  He groaned, the sound reverberating through my ear. “Sweet. So damned sweet.”

  Jack suckled my neck, hard enough to make my knees weak but soft enough he wouldn’t leave a mark. His arm crept around my waist, pinning me to him, and I grasped his forearm with one hand, needing something, anything, to hold on to.

  Footsteps thudded above us. The heavy beat of a drum drifted through the closed door. But it was the pounding of my heart that almost deafened me. It slammed hard against my ribs, its rhythm out of sync with the sensual tug and release of Jack’s mouth. He had to feel the irregular hammering of my pulse beneath his lips.

  “K-keep that up, and we’ll never get ’round to filling the ice bucket.”

  Jack sighed and pulled away. “I suppose you’re right.”

  It took me a good minute to regain my equilibrium and to balance on my own two feet. My head swam, as though his kisses had injected a sedative straight into my neck. Limbs lethargic, all I wanted was to sink back against his chest and lose myself to the delicious nuzzling of his lips.

  “Onward, then.” Jack gave me the tiniest push, and I forced my legs to move, heading to the freezer in the corner. It was fortunate Jack had volunteered to collect the ice—or oice, as he called it—because I had neither the coordination nor the strength to open the freezer door, find the oice, and fill the bucket. All of this he did while still holding my hand.

  Trust me, I wasn’
t pulling away.

  Task completed, he guided me back through the basement and toward the stairs. In an almost exact replication of earlier, I stopped on the bottom step to switch off the light, and Jack walked straight into me. This time, I knew it was deliberate. I may have waited a second or two too long on that step, hoping he’d do just that.

  “Are we having some trouble here?” he threw my question back at me. And though I know he teased, I found it tough to answer, because once again, his mouth was by my ear, his breath hot on my cheek.

  “Mm,” I murmured. “Just wondering if things were still…hard for you?”

  “Fuck.” He nipped my ear lobe. “Harder than ever.”

  He proved it to me, pressing himself close. Then he released my hand to push my hair aside again. He buried his nose in it and inhaled. “You smell as sweet as you taste.” His mouth was moving, his lips trailing across my neck. He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to my skin, and I swear, I melted, right there on that bottom step. A small moan might even have escaped.

  Jack dragged those lips up to nuzzle behind my ear.

  Heat shot from the base of my neck to the juncture of my legs. My breasts grew heavy, my nipples pinching into hard points. Then his arm was around my waist again, his hand spread over my belly, the tips of his fingers tormenting the excited flesh beneath my shirt. I wanted to rip the darn thing over my head, feel his palm against my exposed skin.

  He traced his tongue over the edge of my ear, and I jerked involuntarily, my ass grinding against his erection.

  He let out an agonized growl, as though the contact was enough to cause him pain.

  I understood. The need throbbing through me was a physical ache. I needed more.

  This time when I ground against his erection, it was entirely intentional.

  Jack swore and muttered something unintelligible. He stood a step down from me, which meant at his height—a good head taller than me—his erection was seated firmly against the jean-covered crack of my ass. When I ground against him, he fitted himself into that gap, increasing both the tension and the friction between us.

  The barrier of clothing between us made me want to scream with frustration.

  “Not enough.” Jack’s voice was gruff, the rise and fall of his chest as uneven as mine. “Need to taste more.”

  My hair was a wild mess, tumbling over my shoulder and face. I expected him to brush it aside, expose my neck again, but Jack had other ideas.

  The hand on my belly inched lower, his fingers finding the button on my jeans.

  “Jack,” I gasped.

  “Your skin…tastes like heaven. Need more.” He tugged at the button, unfastening it, then tackled the zipper, pulling it down and open.

  “W…what are you doing?”

  As if I needed to ask. Already he’d dipped his hand beneath the elastic waistband of my panties.

  No way I was stopping him.

  “Touching.”

  I had on a pair of skinny jeans. Even unfastened, it was not easy for Jack to slip his hand into my underwear. The pants were molded to my body. Yet he seemed to be in no hurry, easing his hand lower and lower still.

  “Are you wet for me, Bella?” His mouth was at my ear again, nuzzling.

  I tried to answer. I did. But his fingers brushed lower. My panties were soaked. Combined with the heat of his hand, the tight space was damp with my excitement.

  I whimpered and ground against him.

  “Yeah. Wet and ready for me. For my touch.”

  Footsteps thudded close, as though someone were approaching the closed door.

  “A-anyone could walk in. S…see us.”

  His hand ceased its slow descent. “They could,” he whispered. “They could find us here, with my hand down your pants, your pussy begging for my touch.”

  Desire jolted through me.

  “They could watch as I dip my finger insoide you.”

  God, I wanted his finger in me.

  I’d like to pretend his words and his accent didn’t set my blood on fire. Like to tell you the thought of anyone walking in on us was terrible and horrible and mortifying. But the truth is, all I could do was moan in response. My clit, like my pulse, throbbed uncontrollably.

  His fingers were so close.

  My heart raced.

  The footsteps receded, and I swear I was almost disappointed. The idea of someone walking in, finding me pinned against the hot doctor, his hands in my pants…

  I tugged at his arm, guiding his hand lower until his finger slid over me.

  The groan that filled the air could have been his or mine. It was deep and low and echoed through the basement.

  His touch was electrifying. My entire body must have thrown off sparks. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and goose bumps scattered over my spine.

  I bucked against him, unsure whether I needed more pressure against my ass or my clit. Probably both.

  “So damn responsive.” He bit my neck.

  I thrust against his hand, needing more.

  “I fucking love it.” He gave me more, edging his finger lower, rubbing over my clit, until the tip found the very wet entrance.

  This time the groan was undoubtedly his. I was too busy heaving out strangled gasps to groan.

  Jack leaned to the side. There was a gentle thud, as if he’d put something down, then the tinkle of ice against the bucket. When he straightened again, he wrapped his other arm around my waist, his hand creeping beneath the hem of my shirt.

  I yelped.

  His hand was freezing. Icy and wet, and he trailed it over my belly and higher, finding my bra. He tugged at one cup, freeing my nipple. And the instant it escaped its lacy boundary, he traced the tip with his icy fingers.

  The contrast of one hot hand in my pants, tracing my slit, and the other freezing one, caressing a nipple that had never been harder in my life, almost made me come. With his erection pressed against my ass, his massive chest embracing my back, it felt like red-hot pokers of pleasure were stabbing at me from all sides.

  I sighed in bliss, and he rewarded me with a pinch to my nipple.

  I was lost to the mastery of his touch, of his seduction. So lost, I almost didn’t notice as he withdrew from my pants, torturing my clit as much on his retreat as he had on his advance. But notice I did. The absence of his touch made me want to cry.

  “God. No. Jack… Please.” I should have been embarrassed, begging him shamelessly like that. But he’d taken me to a point of no return.

  “Shhh,” he soothed, his cold hand still on my breast, tantalizing. “I told you, I have to taste.”

  And right there, with his mouth beside my ear, he placed his finger between his lips and sucked. The same finger that had been in my panties.

  I heard every sound, every lick, every hum of appreciation, and I trembled in his arms, wanting more. Needing more.

  “Fucking delicious.” His voice was a gruff, satisfied whisper.

  He traced his wet finger down my ear, over my cheek, and to my lips, leaving a damp trail in its wake. “Taste,” he ordered and dipped his finger between my lips.

  Taste…me?

  I licked at his finger, hesitantly. There was no hint of anything me-like, just the slightly salty, slightly sweet flavor of his breath.

  I sucked on his finger, wanting more. I ran my tongue along it, then squeezed my cheeks in, creating enough suction to pull it in deeper, then released it—only to suck it in again.

  As I sucked, rhythmically, Jack pulled me even tighter against him.

  If our clothes weren’t there, he’d be deep inside me.

  Then his hands were off me.

  Empty. Cold and wanting, I groaned in protest.

  “Easy, precious.” He nipped right back, biting my ear again. “Just giving you what we both need.”

  He spoke the truth. His hand, cold but no longer icy, crept beneath the waist of my panties, and then his finger—no, fingers—were on my clit, and he was massaging gentle circles into the
swollen bud until I whimpered.

  He pressed against my ass as he drove his finger in and out of my mouth, letting me set the pace with my sucks and licks. And all the while he caressed my pussy.

  “So hot,” he whispered. “Not worried at all about who might walk in.”

  Liquid heat gathered between my legs.

  “You like that idea, don’t you? The thought of someone walking in, catching me with my hands in your pants, my fingers on your pussy.”

  I jerked against his hand, and he took the opportunity to dip it lower and slide one hot finger inside me.

  “Correction,” his voice broke. “In your pussy.”

  Heat rushed to my neck and my cheeks.

  He fucked me there, on the bottom step, his finger sliding in and out of my slick channel, his palm rubbing against my clit in the tight confines of my jeans.

  My nipples tightened. My gaze was pinned to the door, fastened there in horrified and thrilling anticipation. What if someone walked in? What if someone caught the Italian chef with the new Australian doctor’s hand down her pants, his finger in her mouth?

  I couldn’t bear it, and I couldn’t get enough.

  The convulsions began low in my belly. As each muscle tightened in anticipation, he slipped another finger in my mouth, and another one in my pussy.

  So full.

  So good.

  My inner muscles flexed, clenching around his invading fingers. My clit swelled beneath his palm.

  And just like that, I was coming.

  Fuck. Blackness stole my vision for a few seconds as the tremors spread through my body.

  “Jack!” My pussy spasmed.

  Jack whispered something. What he said, I couldn’t determine. Couldn’t hear over the rush of blood pounding through my ears.

  And when at last the convulsions subsided, and only gentle tremors shook my slick folds, Jack withdrew his fingers. This time, instead of him licking my come off his fingers, he offered them to me. An unexpected, and from the sound of his heavy breaths, generous gift on his part.

  I accepted, opening up and sucking his fingers between my lips, licking every last drop of my pleasure off them.

  Before I had a chance to swallow, Jack spun me around, and cupped the back of my head.