Page 21 of Baby for Dr. Damaged

My lips brush over hers, so gentle. My words are just as soft, barely filled with sound. “Goodnight, Amanda.”

“Goodnight,” she responds, just as breathless. Her hand flutters, moving to rest on my shoulder, and then up to my neck. There are faint red marks on hers, where my teeth nipped too hard a few hours ago.

Neither of us wants to part, that much is clear. We both just want to stand there, in each other’s arms. But I know how tired Amanda is, and how tired I am; and I know that Bonnie could come down the hall at any minute, with the door to the guest room sitting wide open.

So I give her one last lingering kiss, fleeting and soft, before I pull away and head for my own room.

It’s not just her words that echo through me during the night, as I think about her request to help head the research team and get things going in regard to a treatment for Margur’s. It’s the look on her face that really haunts me.

As if she thinks I could honestly help Harris.

As if she wouldn’t think about asking anyone else.

I don’t want to fail again. To provide their family with false hope, only to figure things out a few weeks too late. But I don’t want to turn her down, either.

Maybe… Maybe it’s worth thinking about, at least. I can do that much for Amanda, if not more.

Chapter ten

Amanda

Ican’tsleep.

This happens sometimes, usually when I’ve got too much on my mind. Too much weighing me down. And tonight I do.

The fact that the bedroom isn’t familiar doesn’t help either. It’s too cold with the blankets pushed down, too hot with them pulled up. I twist, kicking out one leg, and then finally just give up and get out of the bed completely.

It’s a bad idea, but sometimes you just have to give in to bad ideas. Sometimes, they’re what keeps you grounded.

So, I get out of bed, pad down the hall, and let myself into Jackson’s room. I’m careful about closing the door behind me and making sure that there’s no soft pad of an eight-year-old’s feet following after me. Jackson’s in bed, fast asleep.

It’s almost five in the morning.

Careful not to wake him, I get onto the far side of the bed. He must be some kind of a light sleeper though, because the mattress has barely dipped down before his eyes are open. He pushes himself up onto his forearms. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, sorry. I just couldn’t sleep. I thought that having someone around might help.” I smile at him. Even in the dark, he’s handsome.

Jackson’s mouth twists up at the edges. “Does it?”

“It does. I wouldn’t mind more of a distraction though,” I admit, aiming for playful. I’m not actually expecting anything to come out of it, but I’m also not going to complain when Jackson catches me by the back of the neck and pulls me in for a searing kiss, our mouths crashing together.

It’s nothing like the little sweet thing from the guest bedroom. This is pure, tired exhaustion; pure, desperate exhilaration. It’s tongue and tooth and just enough spit to make it messy. A thought strikes me, and I swing a leg over him, straddling his hips while I kiss him. But only for a moment. Then I scoot down, kissing over his bare chest and the curve of his belly until my hands are on his hips, just above his sleep pants, and I’m settled between his legs.

Sounding amused, Jackson asks, “What are you doing?”

“Distracting myself,” I answer, with a laugh. Carefully, I tug down his pants until the fabric is just beneath the jut of his cock, exposing him fully. Then, I lean forward and lick a stripe up the length of him, all the way to his tip. My tongue flicks up, under the head, and my hand curls around the base of his shaft, holding him steady.

Jackson’s breath leaves in a sharp hiss through clenched teeth. “Shit.”

It’s a harsh whisper. We need to be quiet this time, but I think that there’s something a little thrilling in that concept. Having to be quick, having to be quiet. The risk of it rises up in my chest and makes my heart flutter.

I bob my head a few times, down, over his length and then back up. Shallow at first, teasing him with hollowed out cheeks and kitten licks.

But as it turns out, Jackson hates being teased.

His hand reaches in the waves of my hair, let out of the knot for sleeping, and his fingers twist in the blonde locks. There’s a sharp tug and my head jerks backwards, eyes wide.

“Stop teasing,” says Jackson, frowning just a little bit. The blush on his cheeks and the heavy, sharp look in his eyes makes up for the tartness in his words.

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