Page 70 of Doctor Hot Mess

Harper

Harper’s Pool House

2:04 PM

For a moment,I lie still, piecing together the disjointed memories of the past eighteen hours—my overnight shift, the gym, coffee with Jonah, the amazingness right here in this bed.

The thought suddenly makes me pulse between my legs. I reach down, still nude, and feel the wet folds between my legs.

As consciousness slowly returns, so does the delicious ache between my thighs - a vivid reminder of this morning's activities with Jonah.

God, just thinking his name sends a shiver through me. I close my eyes and let the memories wash over me. The way he'd looked at me with such raw hunger. How his hands roamed my body, leaving prickly little edges of fire in their wake.

But what really makes my breath catch is remembering how he'd taken me from behind. The primal urgency of it all as he'd positioned me on my hands and knees. I can almost feel the ghost of his fingers digging into my hips, pulling me back against him.

"Fuck," I whispered, heat already building low in my belly.

I shouldn't be thinking about this. About him. But I can’t help myself. The memory of Jonah sliding into me, stretching and filling me so perfectly, is utterly intoxicating. I bite my lip, recalling how he'd started with slow, deep strokes that had me trembling and begging for more.

My hand drifts down my body without my brain directing it. It slips beneath the waistband of my sleep shorts. I’m already insanely wet. My folds are slick and swollen as I trace light circles around my clit.

A soft moan escapes me as I remember the exact moment Jonah picked up the pace. The beautiful sound of skin slapping against skin. The way he gripped my hair and pulled my head back as he pounded into me makes me yell out.

"Harper," he'd groaned, his voice husky with desire. "So fucking tight. So perfect."

I whimper, increasing the pressure of my fingers. In my mind, I can hear the litany of filthy praise he whispered. How good I felt. How beautiful I looked, spread out for him.

My hips rock against my hand as I slide two fingers inside, imagining it’s Jonah's thick cock instead. I curl them, finding that spot that makes sparks dance behind my eyelids.

"Jonah," I breathe, lost in the fantasy.

I can almost feel his solid warmth pressed against my back. The rasp of his stubble as he nips at my shoulder. The rumble of his voice in my ear.

"That's it, sweetheart. Let me hear you,” I hear him say.

A desperate keen tears from my throat as I work myself faster, chasing that high. In my mind, Jonah's thrusts grow more erratic, and his grip on my hips bruises the tender skin.

I imagine him pulling me upright and putting my back flush against his chest as one large hand splays across my stomach. The other would snake around to rub my wet entrance in cadence with his thrusts.

"Come for me, Harper," he'd growl. "I want to feel you fall apart."

The coil of pleasure in my core is wound impossibly tight. I’m so close, teetering right on the edge.

"Please," I whimper, not sure if I’m begging the Jonah in my head or myself. "Please, I need-"

The dam finally breaks. Waves of ecstasy crash over me as I cry out Jonah's name. My body shakes, my muscles clench around my fingers, and I ride out an intense orgasm.

Slowly, reality seeps back in. I lay there panting, my skin flushed and tingling in the aftermath. As the haze of arousal faded, I felt a twinge of guilt. This thing with Jonah was supposed to be casual - fun and uncomplicated.

But there’s no denying it now. The way my body responds to even the memory of him, how my heart races at the thought of his touch... I’m in way over my head.

I groan and throw an arm over my eyes. What the hell am I doing? I don’t do players. I certainly don’t fall for cocky surgeons with commitment issues.

And yet here I am, aching for Jonah in a way I'd never experienced before. My carefully maintained control is unraveling, and I have no idea how to stop it.

I sit up and stretch my body. I'm invigorated by my walk down memory lane from earlier.

I pick up my phone off the nightstand to check the time. I slept longer than I thought, and I can feel the dull ache of exhaustion from my shift still clinging to me.

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