Page 53 of Baby for Dr. Damaged

“For our son,” I say, amused. “And I thought that I was distracted.”

“Sorry, sorry.” One hand lets go of the wheel, and waves through the air before resting on my knee. “Names for our son. I’m listening.”

“I mean, I didn’t have anything in mind. I thought that you might?” I offer. “Just not Junior. I can’t stand when people name their kids after themselves.”

Amused, Jackson says, “And here I was just about fully set on Jack.”

His hand slides up and down my leg, distracting me. I struggle to stay on topic. “Not Jack. But— I don’t know. What do you think about Nicholas?”

Jackson makes a face. “That’s a little old-fashioned, don’t you think?”

“We could call him Nick for short, modern it up.”

“Nah, there's already too many Nicks,” says Jackson. The car turn signal flips on, even though we aren’t anywhere near our road.

I look around but don’t see anything diverting traffic. “What are you doing?”

Jackson pulls into an empty parking lot, behind a gas station that has already closed for the night. He slides the car into park and then turns off the engine, turning to brush a hand over my cheek. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“And an empty parking lot reminds you of me? That’s so sweet,” I say, teasingly. I lean forward, across the center console, and give him a kiss. “Now, what are we really doing out here?”

“I’m being serious,” says Jackson. “I’ve been thinking about you all day, and I can’t wait any longer. If we go home now, there will behoursstill before Bonnie goes to bed.”

“Wait for what?” It clicks with me, and I gasp, then laugh. “Are you saying you want to mess around right here?”

Jackson says, “I want to sleep with my fiancée.”

Something about that idea is thrilling. I wouldn’t normally agree to being so brash and bold, out in the open but there was something enticing about letting him get me off in the storage closet. I think that this must be the same thing. The allure of being watched and caught, but without anyone around to do the catching.

I only think on it for a moment before I unhook my seat belt and start pushing down the pale green scrub pants that I’ve been wearing. At my side, Jackson does the same. There’s nothing about our frantic, clumsy stripping that drips with sex appeal.

But that’s what makes it so attractive, right? It’s raw in a way that frilly lingerie could never be. It’s a want so great and powerful, nothing else matters. I leave my shirt on, but mostly because that’s more practical.

It’s a bit awkward climbing over the center console but I manage it, settling myself over his lap. My knees rest on either side of his thighs, and my hands brace themselves on his shoulders.

“Fuck, I can’t get enough of you,” says Jackson. His hands run over my sides, tracing my ribs, up under my shirt to press against bare skin. “I could stare at you forever.”

I laugh. “I already said yes. You don’t have to keep being so sweet.”

“I mean it though,” says Jackson, finally dropping one hand down, so it settles between us. He flicks his finger against my clit, and the sudden pleasure that jolts through me has me jerking, a gasp slipping between my lips. “The faces you make… I could get drunk on them.”

“I can show you a prettier face,” I say, leaning forward and catching him in a kiss. It’s deep and passionate, his tongue in my mouth, his teeth in my lower lips.

His finger slides down further, tracing over my slit and then pressing up inside. I’m already so wet that I’m practically dripping, the sounds that my body makes as he slowly finger-fucks me almost obscene. I shudder with pleasure, back arching and my forehead moving to press against the headrest. My breath comes out in heavy, hot pants against his skin.

“Going to show me my favorite face?” Jackson asks. “The one you make when you cum on my cock?”

“Yes! Yes,” The word comes out as a shuddering, trembling thing. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Please, Jackson—please!”

He listens, pulling his hand away and pressing the broad head of his cock to my entrance instead. It doesn’t matter how many times we do this. That first stretch is still enough to have me groaning open-mouthed, the muscles in my back going tense as he slides up into me, stretching me open.

It takes a few moments but soon enough, I’m fully seated on his dick. Breathless, I roll my hips. The position is awkward, and it’s impossible for Jackson to get enough leverage so I take initiative, reaching back and bracing one hand against the dashboard.

My legs tremble when I push myself up, and I whine when I drop back down, riding him with unsteady jerks of the hip.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “That’s it, Amanda. Just like that, love, you’re doing so good. You’re doing so— Ah, fuck, that’s right.”

Jackson rolls his hips to meet me the best that he can. Each thrust sends utter bliss through me. There’s a certain thrill in it, in being outside, being somewhere that people could see us if they looked the right way. But even more than that, there’s a thrill in the fact that I can see the ring on my finger.

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