Page 89 of The Doctor's Truth

“Okay…”

Donovan rolls himself over, ungracefully, like a flopping fish. I press my body against his, sealing myself to him. His back, my chest. His ass, my hips. I push his hair back, and it’s so straight, so stubborn, it sticks up like porcupine quills when I rub it the wrong way. I nuzzle against the back of his neck, inhale him, and nibble his shoulder, the bit his shirt leaves bare.

I roll my body against his, slowly, with purpose. I move the way I would if I was inside of him, and the notion makes me swollen with need. When Donovan pushes back against me, adding friction, it’s not in tandem. I have a rhythm, but he has a purpose—to bring us both to sloppy climaxes, and fast. He slots his rear against me and wiggles, grinding on my cock in a way that takes the breath from me.

I regain control and press him tightly into the mattress. I grind on him, and he grinds against my bed.

The noises he makes are animal—throaty grunts and shaky uhs into the mattress. I don’t even know if he’s aware he’s making them. His face is to the side, and his eyes are tightly closed, concentrated, mouth open in pleasure. He grips the bedspread under him, balling it. A sound escapes him, loud, and it sends a bolt of panic through me.

I try to remind him, “My parents are downstairs…”

“I don’t care,” Donovan growls, and the noise sends shivers down my spine. “Don’t fucking stop.”

He reaches up and grabs the back of my neck, holding me tightly, pinning me there. I want him. Badly. I want to feel our naked bodies together. But somehow this—even though we’re both fully clothed—feels just as good. Seeing him unravel underneath me is almost more than I can take, and I don’t want this to stop.

“Flip,” Donovan says suddenly. He yanks my shirt, and I follow his lead, rolling onto my back on the bed.

Now, Donovan climbs on top of me. He drapes his body over mine, molding us together like wet clay. I can feel him now—his erection bulges, radiates heat. He ruts unevenly, and I feel his cock hunt on my pelvis before it nuzzles against my cock, and his jerky thrusts send such a hot friction through me it makes my throat dry.

I don’t know where to put my body. I’m suddenly six feet of awkward. Where should I put my arms? My hands? They’re stuck to my sides, useless. Yet Donovan gyrates over me as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for him.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asks suddenly.

My brain freezes. I know the answer, but my tongue won’t let me say it. So I sputter out a “Huh?”

“I said…” He twists his hips in a way that sends sparks from my groin to my toes. “Do you want me inside of you? Have you?”

“Have I…uh…?”

“Have you ever had someone inside of you?”

Somewhere on my shelf of trophies beside my bed sits a first-place award for debate team. But all my oratory skills go out the window at his question. I’m fumbling over my words. “I don’t…uh…no…”

Donovan’s hands plant on the mattress on either side of me. He bows his head so his body against mine. His voice tumbles into my ear. “I’ll show you how good it feels. I’ll hit places inside of you that you didn’t know existed.”

My neck burns. My face feels red hot. He’s grinding me against the edge of my pleasure.

He continues, his voice weaving through my lust-fogged brain. “And when I find it…that spot inside you that makes you whimper…I’m not going to stop. I’m going to make you blow so hard, it’ll turn you inside out. You’re never going to want anything else but my cock, buried to the hilt.”

My fists grab empty air at my sides, clenching then unclenching, fingers splaying.

“Donovan…” His name comes out as a warning. My voice is so hoarse, it’s almost unrecognizable. “I’m going to…uh…”

Donovan’s laugh is a warm puff of air against my collarbone. “I know.”

He doesn’t stop. He pivots his hips into mine—tight, rapid thrusts—and I know I should, but I can’t hold back anymore. The moan that escapes me is loud, and he swallows it at the last second with his own tongue, sealing his mouth against mine as I spasm with pleasure underneath him.

My lap is wet, a stain I’m going to regret in a couple of seconds. But I can’t think of anything but reaching that precipice again, and my fingers finally leap into action, gripping his hips as I hump myself through the last shuddery waves of it.

I can’t stop moaning, and I bite his shoulder to stifle the sound. When I finally pull back, breathless, he has wet, pink teeth marks on his neck.

“Fuck,” I swear.

“Yeah,” Donovan agrees. “Fuck.”

He kisses me again, and this time his tongue melts me. I’m six foot five. I can lift two hundred pounds. But underneath Donovan, my bones are weak. When his tongue slides against mine, tasting like red wine and hunger, I’m as vulnerable as a rabbit, heart kicking in my chest.

I’m so lost in his kiss, I don’t even hear familiar heels on the hardwood until it’s too late. “Honeybear?” my mom’s voice calls out, thin as reeds. “Is everything okay?”

---