Page 40 of Near Miss

I move my tongue in another circle. My hand grips her thigh, and my fingers move into her and out of her slowly.

Beckett.

I keep doing it—slowing down when she tells me to and moving faster when her fingers tug on the hair at the crown of my head.

Beckett.

My cock strains in my pants. I keep moving my tongue the way she seems to like, these deep circles, slower and faster, and I feel her clench against my fingers.

I flick my eyes up just as her back arches, her head tips back, and her eyes close—but her mouth opens, this fucking moan I want to hear for the rest of my life, and I keep going until her shoulders soften, those green eyes open and she blinks, looking down at me, cheeks flushed and everything about her radiant.

Pulling back even though I don’t want to, I slide my fingers out of her—I meant it, I could live between her legs. I press my lips gently to her thigh and set her leg down.

I lean back, rolling my shoulders, my hands finding my thighs. I feel a bit like bringing my fingers to my mouth instead, so shecan watch and see how fucking good she tastes, but this wasn’t about me.

“That—uhm—” Greer breathes, eyes wide and bright and beautiful, before she drops her dress. “Thank you. That was—you did, get me there. Your endorsements were accurate. We should—we should get back to the party.”

“You’ll have to give me a minute.” I grin, undoing my zipper and untucking my shirt so I can adjust the hard-on that’s probably never going away for the rest of my life.

Her eyes flick down to my hands, watching, until I tuck my shirt back in and do my pants back up. I grab her underwear from the floor before shoving them in my pocket and pushing to stand. “You can put these in your purse later.”

She laughs, and it echoes in the space that seems significantly smaller than it did before.

We’re just on this side of touching, and if I moved not even an inch, I’d be pressing her against the wall.

Greer tips her chin up, offering me a small smile before she whispers softly, “Thank you.”

I swallow. “Anytime.”

I angle my head down, and her chin tips up just a tiny bit more.

Only a breath between us, and I lean in.

My lips brush hers, and hers brush mine, too. Just for a brief moment in time, forever to be locked in this closet with the dust-covered coats, umbrellas, boxes, and real her and real me—before she reaches down, grabs her plaque, opens the door, and I follow her back into the hallway.

Beckett

Apparently, surgeons don’t get flustered. They’re all masters of control and staying calm, cool, and collected.

Greer got back to our table and dropped into her seat like nothing happened, all polite smiles and thank-yous to anyone who stopped by to congratulate her.

But I could still taste her, feel her on my tongue, and had a distinctly hard time concentrating on anything else.

At one point, she dropped her purse into her lap and opened her hand to me.

“You weren’t going to let me keep them?” I leaned forward, pulling the still-wet lace from my suit pants, and holding it out to her between two fingers. My voice was still rough, and all she’d have to do was look down and see me straining against my suit pants to know how turned on I still was, and probably would be forever.

She gave me a flat look and stuffed them in her purse, going back to the conversation like nothing happened.

Something did happen—and I don’t think I’ll forget it for the rest of my life.

The girl. The way she tasted. The way she felt against my tongue and fingers when she came.

What it was like for her to trust me.

Not because she thought I was dependable and reliable.

But because she saw the real me and still thought I was worthy.

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