Page 42 of Rescuing Dr. Marian
“Christ, Tommy.” He started to pull away, but I caught his wrist.
“Don’t,” I said softly. “Please. Not yet.”
For a moment, we lay there as the morning light grew stronger around us. Then, Foster’s thumb traced a small circleon my hip bone as he arched his hard cock against my hip. I had to bite back a groan.
“We should probably get up,” he said but made no move to do so.
“Smart thinking.”
“Breakfast starts in an hour.”
“Sure does.”
Foster’s thumb continued its lazy pattern. “People will notice if we’re late.”
“An observant group for sure.”
I felt rather than saw his smile against my shoulder. “You’re not helping.”
“Wasn’t trying to.”
Finally, inevitably, Foster did pull away, sitting up and running both hands through his sleep-messed hair. The sight of him—bare-chested, dark hair sticking up at odd angles, a faint red mark on his collarbone that I barely remembered making—sent a fresh wave of want through me.
“Coffee,” he said, like it was a magic word that would solve all our problems.
“Good plan.”
What followed was the most erotically charged coffee preparation in the history of caffeine.
The cabin, which had seemed merely small before, now felt like a dollhouse. Every movement required negotiating around each other, every task an exercise in spatial awareness that had nothing to do with efficiency and everything to do with the way Foster’s sleep pants hung low on his hips, the thin fabric highlighting the outline of his full cock.
I’d never spent so much time thinking about another man’s dick before, and suddenly I was obsessed.
Focus.
“Can you—” I started, reaching for the coffee filters.
“If you just—” Foster moved at the same time, moving toward the pot next to the supply caddy.
“Move your—” We both stopped, me pressed against the tiny table with Foster’s chest nearly touching my back as he reached around me for the pot.
We froze like that, his arm bracketing me against the table, his breath warm on the back of my neck. The heat radiating off his skin seared through me and the lingering scent of sleep mixed with a faded hit of masculine deodorant did more to wake me up than coffee ever could.
“Tommy,” he said quietly, and there was a warning in his voice.
“Foster,” I replied, intentionally matching his tone.
His free hand came to rest on my hip, thumb finding that same spot that had driven me crazy moments before. “We’re going to be late.”
“Are we?” I leaned back slightly, just enough to feel the solid warmth of his chest. “Oooh. Your pulse just spiked, Sheriff Blake.”
“Stop that.”
“Stop what? Making medical observations?”
“You know what.” But his thumb didn’t stop its movement, and he didn’t step away.
“Ah, am I being a professional distraction again? I seem to have a habit of that.” I turned in the circle of his arms, suddenlyfeeling braver than I had any right to. “You keep looking at me like you’re annoyed, but your ears turn red every time I stretch.”
