Page 102 of Darling Venom
“Miss Richards…”
“Scout’s honor.”
He narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t fight me on it, instead moving for the knot of doom. “I’m going to untangle this now.”
“Please do.”
He grasped the tie, so close to me, I could feel him everywhere. His knuckles brushed against my collarbone with each movement.
I felt dizzy. Fuzzy all of a sudden. Like I was floating in a haze.
I let him work in silence, counting sheep until I reached three-hundred and eighty-four sheep and he finished.
The two flaps covering my chest parted, revealing my chest to him.
Tate’s hand slid up my ribcage. “I’m going to touch your breast now.”
“Do you do this on dates, too? Because it sounds really awkward.”
He offered me a cold, this-is-not-funny smile, all professional.
Snap.
We really had entered a different realm the minute I became his patient.
Tate’s hands were on my breast now. Since I’d never been checked before, I didn’t know if doctors were supposed to be this thorough, but he spent a considerable amount of time massaging my right breast, pressing down with practiced, methodical movements.
My nipples began to pucker, heat swirling under my belly button. I didn’t need to look down to know both were rock hard. The two peaks stared right back at him, sensitive and begging to be touched.
I peered at his face, my heartbeat skyrocketing. He wore a frown, concentrating on feeling for lumps.
I felt like a pervert.
Tate moved to my left breast. His fingers slid over my skin and circled
the curve of my cleavage, his thumb digging into a spot I’d never thought was sensitive. Just below my nipple.
I let out a moan without meaning to, then covered it with a cough and a dumb excuse about recovering from a cold.
Oops.
I closed my eyes, willing myself to not be wet.
Too late.
I knew I was.
My legs were still clamped shut, and the place between my inner thighs had grown damp and warm, begging for me to rub them together for friction. He drove me crazy. I feared I’d climax before he touched me there, so staying calm when his hands traveled south was hardly an option.
“All clear,” he said, somewhat hoarse.
He kept such a poised façade. A passive face and relaxed shoulders.
His thumb brushed my left nipple when he moved away. It was a light, accidental touch, but I could feel it. I shuddered, my womb clenching. I let out another desperate, involuntary moan and fell into a bout of fake coughs.
No covering that up.
“Sorry,” he muttered, and I opened my eyes, staring at him under hooded lids.
