Page 12 of Tropical Heat

It had been a difficult twelve hours. In addition to losing a patient, I had been forced to relive the death of my sister. All the emotions I had been suppressing for years came roaring back. Grief chief among them.

I’ve read a lot about grief since Tammy died. It affects everyone differently. There are studies which even claim it increases sexual arousal in some people. I never put much stock in the idea, but it is as good of explanation as any for what happened next.

I removed my blood stained scrub top and kissed him again, for much longer this time. The scruff of his unshaven cheeks scratched against the flesh of my neck. I reached to unbuckle the belt of his uniform pants, but he stopped me. “There is something I need to tell you before we go any further.”

The seriousness of his tone caused me to take a step backwards and give him my full attention. He held my eyes with his. “I am bisexual.”

“Is that all?” I asked, feeling relieved. For a minute there, I thought he was going to tell me he had a third testicle or something equally weird. I considered what we were about to do, a one time thing, and cared little about who he may have slept with in the past or would in the future.

“Your sexual preferences are really none of my business,” I told him. But we both knew that wasn't exactly true and why. “I appreciate you telling me. When were you last tested?”

“Right after Dixie Higgs bit me. I got the results yesterday. They were negative. What about you?”

“Hospital policy. I had to be tested before I could treat patients.”

He nodded and with that bit of awkward, but necessary business out of the way, Dante pulled me close, and we resumed where we had left off. We kissed long and slow until we had stripped one another bare.

In every aspect of my life, including sex, I always needed to be the one in charge. So when Dante picked me up in his powerful arms and effortlessly threw me onto the bed, it should have pissed me off. Instead, it made my belly flutter.

He looked down at me, brown eyes gone dark, studying every contour. I arched and thrust my chest upward. He nodded in approval. “You are so beautiful, and for the next couple of hours, I have you all to myself. What should we do first?”

It surprised me to realize that what I wanted—what I needed—was for him to take charge. For the first time in my life, I wanted to be the submissive one. I flicked my eyes towards his cock and then cast them downward. In my softest voice, I said, “I’m sure you can come up with something I will enjoy.”

A tight smile on his lips, he moved between my thighs and with one hand pinned my wrists above my head. “Do you have any hard limits?”

The question caught me off guard. Because I was always the one in control, no one had ever asked me that before. I shook my head. “Why don't you just show me what you like and if you go too far, I'll let you know.”

With his free hand, he massaged my breasts. “Ever since I met you, I’ve wondered if these were real or fake.”

“Now that you had your hands on them, what do you think?”

“They're fucking spectacular.” He released my arms and turned his attention to sucking, licking, and kissing every square inch of my very real breasts.

As he switched from left to right, my hips ground against his hardness. I wanted him inside of me, but fought the urge to reach between our bodies and guide him to my opening. Surrendering control was not as easy as I thought it would be.

Eventually, his mouth moved downward. When he reached the tightly trimmed line of my pubic hair, he stopped and looked up at me. “Don't come until I give you permission.”

I laughed, both at his optimism and the ridiculous notion of letting him dictate when I could come. Surrendering control was one thing, but needing permission to orgasm was a step too far. It was all a moot point, however.

“What’s so funny?” he growled.

“I don’t usually orgasm from oral stimulation.”

“We'll see about that. Just remember, don’t come until I tell you to.”

I don’t know why I agreed. Maybe it was because experience told me oral sex wouldn’t even get me close to climaxing. Others had tried and failed. Or perhaps it was that I found his confidence sexy as hell. “Fine, if you can get me off with just your mouth, I won’t come until you tell me I can.”

I knew right away Dante was different from the men I had been with before. Instead of burying his face between my legs, moving his tongue in the general area of my clit and hoping for the best, he gently kissed up and down my inner thighs.

With a contented sigh, I relaxed while he worked his way inward. By the time he reached my lips, they were swollen with desire. Every movement of his mouth, each flick of his tongue, brought indescribable bliss.

Such thorough and expert explorations of my labia had me pulling at the bed sheets. I was on the brink of climax and knew the slightest pressure against my clitoris would send me over the edge. I thrust my hips against his face, but Dante pulled away and looked at me. “Did I say you could come yet?”

“Fuck,” I cried in exasperation. “I want to come.”

“I don’t think so. Not yet, at least.”

“Fine, I'll do it myself then.” But he blocked my hand.

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