Page 141 of Aftershock
“Oh.Oh.” My breath catches, because the farther up his hand travels, the closer he gets to touching me where I ache. “Alaric…”
“Miss Rayne.” His forehead creases, gaze cutting to my face. “It’s Dr. Lockwood.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I don’t miss how huge his pupils are. “Anything bothering you, or can I continue?”
“I’m fine.” My voice doesn’t sound like me. My pussy has never felt as empty. As needy. “Go on.”
“I can tell you’re tense. It’s understandable.”
“Umm, okay, maybe I am. A little.”
More like a lot. Unbearable heat flares over my neck and cheeks when he draws my shirt up above my breasts, even though I know I shouldn’t be nervous.
It’s Alaric, after all. My Alaric. Not some random doctor.
But this checkup and his mostly detached attitude make it feel less like a game and more like something real. Forbidden too. Even more so than when we’re sneaking around the hospital.
“Hmm.” He nods, bunching my shirt high on my chest.
Then his fingers, not-so-accidentally, graze the area above my tits. The soft touch coaxes a shudder out of me. My nipples turn to hard points from the cool air brushing them.
I’m so on edge that a whimper escapes me.
“I can help you with that.” He dips his chin, his attention lowering to my breasts. “With settling down, I mean. While I perform the exam.”
Alaric’s insinuation sends a sharp ache between my thighs. I need his teeth sinking into my flesh. His cock splitting me in half.
“Please, I want to settle down,” I whisper instead of begging for what I really want, because that would only put an end to our game. “I’ll take whatever you prescribe.”
“I know.”
The moment his hand slides below my panties, a guttural moan rushes past my lips. My eyes slam shut against the onslaught of sensations.
It gets more intense when Alaric slides a finger into my sex. He fucks me with it at an almost detached pace, as if the act is purely functional.
“Open your eyes,” he says in his doctor voice. “Look at me.”
I do as I’m told, though he looks so good it’s almost impossible to hold his gaze.
“Good. Now tell me, how’s this, Miss Rayne?” There’s something filthy about how controlled he stays, how his expression hardens as he uses my arousal to pleasure me. “Better?”
My mouth won’t cooperate. My hips, though, respond to his every touch, grinding to match his pace.
“Looks like an improvement.” The rhythm he’s stroking me with becomes slower, too slow. “Good. Good.”
“What? No.” My eyebrows fly up. “Please, I need…”
“You need to calm down,” he says through gritted teeth, his tone low and controlled. His hand stays between my legs, but his finger barely moves. “I can’t listen to your lungs when your breathing is irregular.”
“Okay,” I rasp, then shift my legs wider. A plea for more. “Okay. I’ll be good.”
“You already are.” The praise barely has time to settle on me when he places the stethoscope on my chest. “Deep breath.”
Obeying proves to be a struggle when I need him so desperately inside me.
“Just like that,” he continues, as if I’m not about to lose my mind. “Another one. Slower this time.”
