Page 48 of Doctor Hot Mess

She pulls my hand and walks toward the back of my condo. "Come…"

“Yes,” I answer, my hands losing my grip on the hem of her shirt. The loss of her warmth has me following her like the Pied Piper. “Whatever you want, the answer’s yes.”

The door clicks shut behind us, and I can feel the heat of Harper's body against mine in the dimly lit hallway. My heart is pounding, and my hands itch to explore every inch of her. I'm keenly aware of the thin walls, the need for silence with Lila resting just beyond them. It's a delicate balance—this hunger for Harper, the quiet we must maintain. It's a thrill, a dance on the edge of control.

Harper's eyes reflect the same need that's coursing through my veins. I reach for the hem of her shirt, my fingers brushing the soft skin of her stomach. She lifts her arms, allowing me to pull the fabric over her head, revealing the sports bra underneath. I make quick work of it, my hands trembling slightly as I free the generous swell of her breasts. Her leggings follow, sliding down the curve of her hips, taking her panties with them, until she stands before me, naked and flushed with desire.

My gaze roams over her, drinking in the sight of her body bathed in the soft glow of my bedside lamp. "You're fucking exquisite," I whisper, my voice husky with want. I trace the curve of her waist with my fingertips, reveling in the way her breath hitches at my touch. "Every inch of you makes me ache."

She reaches for me, her hands fumbling with the buttons of my shirt, the urgency in her movements matching my own. Together, we peel away the layers of my clothing, our hands skimming, our mouths meeting in hungry, desperate kisses. I break away only long enough to retrieve a condom from the nightstand, rolling it on with practiced ease while my lips and hands continue their exploration of her body.

We fall onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, the urgency between us building to a fever pitch. I position myself between her legs, the tip of my cock teasing her entrance, eliciting a sharp gasp from her lips. "Do you want this, Harper?" I murmur, nipping at her earlobe. "Do you want me inside you?"

"Yes," she breathes, her fingers digging into my back. "Jonah, please..."

I give her what we both crave, pushing into her with a single, smooth stroke. She's slick and tight around me, and it takes all my self-control not to lose myself completely in the sensation. We rock together, our bodies finding a rhythm that's both familiar and new. The quiet of the room is punctuated by our stifled moans, the creaking of the bed, and the sound of our skin meeting in the dim light.

The tension coils tighter with each thrust, each whispered plea, each stolen kiss. Harper's breathing quickens, her muscles trembling as I drive us both toward the brink. "I'm close," she whispers, her voice strained, and I feel her body respond, her inner walls clenching around me.

With a final, desperate surge, we fall over the edge together. Our cries of release are muffled by the necessity of silence. The climax rocks through me, a white-hot wave of pleasure that leaves me shuddering and spent.

As our breathing slows and the world comes back into focus, I roll onto my side. I pull Harper against me and inhale her scent. Her head rests on my chest as her body relaxes into mine. I press a kiss to her temple, and my heart swells with a feeling of utter and complete contentment.

EIGHTEEN

Harper

Monday, March 2

6:54 AM

The morning lightfilters through the edges of the blackout curtains, soft and golden, casting faint shadows across the room. I blink slowly, disoriented for a moment until the scent of him—clean, musky, unmistakably Jonah—brings me back.

I shift slightly, careful not to wake him, and glance over. He’s lying on his back, one arm bent behind his head, the other resting on the rumpled sheets. His dark, shaggy hair is a mess, curling slightly at the ends, and there’s a shadow of stubble across his jawline that makes him look both rugged and relaxed.

Even with his eyes closed, I can see them in my mind—bright, piercing blue, a contrast so sharp against his dark hair and strong features that it feels almost unfair. That contradiction suits him, though, like he’s built to keep people guessing. It’s unsettling and magnetic all at once, much like Jonah himself.

My gaze drifts lower, to the tattoos that cover his chest and arms—black and gray ink, intricate and bold. They weren’t there two years ago, and the sight of them stirs something in me. A mix of curiosity and longing to know what else he keeps hidden under his charming mask and well-put together white doctor's coat.

It’s a dangerous question, one that tightens my chest the longer I let it linger.

I shouldn’t still be lying here, tangled in his sheets, with his aura lingering in the air. Every breath reminds me of last night—the heat, the hunger, the way we completely gave in. It was reckless, impulsive—exactly the kind of thing I’ve sworn to avoid, especially with Jonah. And now, as the adrenaline fades, I can’t stop wondering if I’ve made a mistake I can’t take back.

My mind spirals, thoughts colliding in a way that makes it hard to focus. Last night was… Jesus, it was incredible. Raw. Consuming. But was it anything more than a moment fueled by adrenaline and Mason’s voice in my head telling me to take a leap?

There is no denying it was completely amazing. I'm just not one to give into carnal pleasures without thinking it through. I didn't think this through.

I glance at Jonah again, his full lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He looks so calm, so unburdened. And here I am, beside him, my pulse ticking faster with every second.

What are we doing?

I sought him out, intending to talk about this, whatever this is. We both admitted we wanted each other, but that was the extent of things. I'm not even sure the two of us are capable of going deeper than that. Our relationship has always been superficial.

Want is primal, instinctual—it doesn’t mean there’s something real between us, beyond a friendship. And what happens now? My fear is nothing, and I'm left with the same hollowness I felt the last time we ended up in this bed together.

The familiar tug of doubt creeps in. A voice in the back of my head whispers that I’ve made a mistake, that I’ve let my guard down when I should’ve been holding it firm. I try to focus on the steady sound of Jonah’s breathing, hoping it will quiet the unease building inside me, but it only makes the contrast sharper—his peace against my storm.

I glance at Jonah one last time, the sheets pooling low on his waist, his dark hair falling in messy waves across his forehead. My chest tightens, the weight of the moment pressing harder with each passing second.

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