Page 28 of The Doctor's Truth

“That was mine,” Donovan says in my ear. “Now you have to cum again. For Jason.”

My thighs won’t stop trembling. Jason’s grip tightens on my legs, and he takes a handful of my hair. He lifts his hips to fuck me now, taking me the way he wants it. I’m still half in the throes, and every thrust from him makes me see stars. I can feel his breath on my back, a steady beat.

I’m so sensitive, and Donovan’s ministrations feel so good, they hurt. My breath catches in my throat, and I reach up and grip Donovan’s shoulders so tightly, I’m sure my nails leave marks.

I cry out when I orgasm a second time. Jason moans loudly as his own release twitches inside of me.

I have to grip Donovan’s wrist to get his touches to cease. “Please,” I beg. I’m so sensitive, everything in me pulsing, pounding.

“You did good,” Donovan murmurs in my ear—or is it Jason?

I’m swooning. Blissed-out. In my body and out of my mind. They kiss me all over, touch me and hold me, and I wrap myself up in their sweat and their smell as the three of us collapse together.

15

Kenzi

I don’t remember falling asleep.

But when I wake up, I’m completely disoriented.

My brain peels back days: it’s anticipating gray London skies, the nasty buzz of my alarm clock, and the chick-chick of the crappy radiator in our flat.

Instead, I hear the quiet lapping of water against the hull of the boat. The low groan as the rubber bumper grinds against the dock. Donovan’s soft snores in my ear.

I wouldn’t believe last night happened, except I’m wedged between two furnace-hot men. Both naked. Both cradling me. Donovan behind, his arm tucked around my middle. Jason has his arm around me as well, his hand resting at my hip.

Is this real? It feels like a fantasy, a fever dream I made up.

As though to test my surroundings, I reach over and gently rest my hand on Jason’s face. I slip my fingers through his dark hair, drawing it back. He’s real. Very real.

His eyelids flutter, and those dazzling blues land on me. Slowly, a smile crawls across his face.

“Morning, Trouble,” he murmurs.

“Morning,” I whisper.

“How’d you sleep?”

“Like the dead.”

“Me too.” We linger in this, the soft warmth of the morning, and his thumb rubs lazy patterns across my hip. “Last night was amazing,” he adds.

“Yeah. It was.”

There’s so much sincerity in this moment that I make the decision, all at once. I’m going to tell him. Whatever Jason was, whoever his family is—it doesn’t matter.

This man, who looks at me with so much adoration even in the harsh morning light…he’s a good guy. He deserves to know the truth.

I bite my bottom lip. “There’s…something we should talk about.”

He knits his eyebrows. “What’s that?”

“Uh…”

The words almost come out. Almost. But I’m interrupted by the low buzz of someone’s phone going off.

“Is that me?” I ask, and Jason shrugs, so I launch myself over him. I bend over the side of the bed. There’s a sea of clothes scattered on the floor, and I hunt around until I find the culprit—my phone, hiding in my jacket pocket. I glance at the caller ID, and immediately my heart leaps into my throat.

---