Page 22 of Auctioned to Dr. Daddy

The overstimulation has her gasping, but I’m unrelenting. I fuck up into her tight, wet heat until the cord in me snaps, and my cum drenches her inner walls. The hot, off-white spill slides back out of her pussy when I pull away and drips onto the floor.

“That seems like a waste,” I tell her, reaching between her legs with one hand. I use two fingers to gather my cum up and press it back up inside of her. She moans, her grip going even tighter on the back of my neck.

Slowly, I finger fuck her, pressing my cum in even deeper. I can’t help it. It hits me that if this is the last time we’re ever going to be together, I want to make sure that Demi is never able to forget it. I want to make sure that no one is ever able to make her feel better than I have.

The meat of my palm grinds into her clit, and I press a third finger. Our cum squelches between them with each press up, her breath hitching each time.

It takes half the time to bring her to the second orgasm as it did the first. Her body jerks, one leg kicking out as the euphoria washes through her. There’s a hot gush of liquid on my fingers. I let them linger for a moment, just a few seconds, before pulling them away.

A part of me wants to know if I could get her off a third time, but I don’t want to push my luck. That’s the sort of thing that you need a bed for—and time—and right now, we’ve got a table and just enough hours for me to go get a shower before work.

And trust me, after last night and this morning, we both need a shower before we show up at the hospital. Otherwise, everyone’s going to know exactly how our auction date ended.

Still, that doesn’t stop Demi from surging up and catching me in a breathless, desperate kiss. Her tongue curls into my mouth and I let her. Then I do more than that—I kiss her back. There’s something inside of me that wishes that she wasn’t transferring to Mercy General in two days.

Something that wishes I could latch onto this moment with her—this genuine connection—and hold onto it from here on.

But there’s no way to change that or stop it from happening, and I’m not going to be the kind of dick to voice a pointless, impossible want out loud.

Chapter Ten

Demi

Asitturnsout,leaving my car at the restaurant the night before was a great idea—I get to spend another twenty minutes with Nathan. The car pulls into the parking lot, up to my own small, second-hand sedan.

Nathan points out, “That thing looks like it’s seen better days.”

“Is this because I have so many bumper stickers on it, you can’t actually see the paint job on the trunk?” I joke.

“I was talking more about the fact that your tires look shot. Storm season’s going to be hitting soon. You should get those changed,” Nathan tells me, nodding toward my car.

He’s right. The treads are all but worn down to smooth rubber. It just seems like I always have somewhere else to put the money. Tires are stupidly expensive, especially for a full set of four, and while I might not be making terrible pay, horse riding isn’t a cheap past-time. My last full set of tack cost more than the sedan did.

“I’ll make sure to get someone to look at it,” I promise, leaning forward and bracing a hand on the center console. I press a kiss on the side of his face. “Thanks for the great date, Dr. Stone.”

Before I can fully pull back, his hand is sliding up the back of my neck, holding me steady for a proper kiss. The sort that’s more tongue and tooth than anything else. When he lets go, my lips are tingling, and my heart is thundering in my chest.

It’s not fair that we’re going to be working together. I want to spend more time with Nathan. Time like this, not time rushing after patients with crash carts.

“You do that,” he says, voice low and husky. Is it just me, or are his eyes even smokier than they had been the night before? It must be the light. “I wouldn’t want something to happen to you.” And then, “Be careful driving on them. I mean it.”

“I will be,” I promise, finally grabbing my purse and getting out of the car.

Nathan’s a real gentleman. He waits until I’m in the car and have the engine started to leave the parking lot. I fish my phone out of my purse and flick the volume on. It’s got a few messages on it.

None from the hospital, at least. There’s one from Mindy, asking to meet up with me this month, but most of them are from Selma. I skip the texts and just call her; I’m the odd one out for our current generation. I can’t stand texting. It feels way too impersonal.

“Selma,” I say when she picks up. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, I pull out of the parking lot and onto the main road, almost instantly getting stuck at a red light. Shit. “Sorry, the phone was in the car.”

“Brunch,” says Selma. “I have details. I want details. Come on, Demi. Give me a place. I’ve practically been dying to hear back from you.”

So we make plans to get brunch at a little place called Seattle’s Garden, and I change course. It’s less of a restaurant and more of a cafe. Selma is already sitting at one of the garden tables when I pull up, her dark skin highlighted by the yellow sun dress that she’s wearing.

I hurry over to her. “Sorry! Traffic is crazy today.”

Soon as I’m sitting, she’s reaching across the table and taking hold of my hands. “Traffic, schmaffic. You totally got laid last night.”

“Selma!” My cheeks are hot. I jerk my hands back away from her. “Seriously?”

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