Page 4 of Dr. Intern

Claire leans into my arms, pressing her plump ass against my erection. Her breath catches slightly as she no doubt feels my arousal, but she continues staring at the bookshelf.

“They’re my parent’s books,” I finally reply, drawing my gaze to the crowded shelf. “I’m house-sitting to save some money.”

I notice her quick glance around, likely wondering if anyone else is in the house. “Don’t worry,” I assure her with a chuckle, “they’re in Europe or something. Honestly, I have no idea what country they’re actually in right now.”

She visibly relaxes, and I briefly consider peppering her neck with kisses, desperately wanting to taste her. Instead, I decide to hold back for a little longer.

“I’ve looked through some of these,” she comments, skimming fingers over the spine of a radiology book. Given that my mother was an endocrinologist, and my father a surgeon specializing in interventional radiology, our house is practically a library of medical literature.

Raising an eyebrow, I look down at her curiously. “You’ve read medical textbooks?”

She doesn’t turn her head, but I can sense her eyes rolling playfully. “Yes, despite my taste in television, I do enjoy reading.”

I chuckle into her wild hair. “Funny, I took you as more of a romance girl.”

Claire shrugs, a hint of sadness briefly crossing her face. “Gotta try to fit into my family somehow.”

Swiftly shifting the mood, she turns within my embrace, looping her arms around my neck with an easy familiarity.

“Though, these days I do enjoy my dirty books too,” she says, her eyes sparkling with mischief, like she’s daring me to press her for details.

My hands fall to her waist, pulling her closer so that our bodies are flush.

“Is that so?” I muse, letting my fingers fall on her juicy ass. “Let me guess. Vampire romance? Pretty sure Twilight was in our era, right?”

She shakes her head, tilting her hips into mine slightly. “Guess again.”

My dick twitches at the increased pressure and I venture another guess. “Fairies and shit? I can totally see you liking those bat boys, or whatever they call them.”

She throws her head back in a burst of genuine, unrestrained laughter, her wild hair cascading free from its clip and framing her face. All I can think about is how I want to wrap those curls around my hand while her lips wrap around my cock.

“It’s like you don’t know what I like at all,” she chides, rubbing her finger across my neck in a way that feels far too natural for someone I just met.

I lean down, our faces inches apart, my lips dangerously close to hers. The air between us changes, now charged with the tension that’s been brewing between us all night, and I know without a doubt that I’m less than thirty seconds from a point of no return.

“Alright then,” I say, my voice lowering. “What exactly do you like?”

I want her to tell me. I want to know so that I can give it to her.

A quiet gasp escapes her pillowy lips, but no words come out. It’s as if she’s embarrassed by what she’s thinking, which I don’t understand because she had no problem verbalizing anything before.

“Use your words, Claire,” I breathe, stroking my thumb over her cheekbone. Her eyes flutter closed at my touch, her pulse is pounding so fast I can practically hear it through her skin. “Tell me what types of things you like to read in those dirty books of yours.”

She breathes in deeply, slowly opening her eyes to meet mine. “You won’t judge me?”

I run my thumb from her jaw to her collarbone as I consider the question.

How can she think I would judge her for something like that? It’s hot as fuck. All women should read books that enlighten them about sexuality. Hell, if I had time, I would read them too.

“Absolutely not,” I reply, noticing tiny goosebumps form on her neck beneath my touch. “Please tell me, pretty girl. I’m hard as fuck just thinking about it.”

The corner of her lips twitch up as she looks down at the massive erection pressing against her belly.

“Fine,” she concedes, her cheeks flushing bright red as she pauses.

I move my fingers to her chin, tilting her head so that she’s forced to look at me.

With a sigh of resignation, she meets my gaze. Her pupils are so dilated that her eyes have lost almost all of their color. “I like a filthy-talking, dominant man who overuses the phrase ‘good girl.’”

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