Page 43 of Rescuing Dr. Marian
Foster’s eyes darkened. “You want to keep poking, Doc? Go ahead and find out what happens.”
The challenge in his voice sent heat straight through me. “Yeah, I do. I’ve heard that poking a bear results in a physical and aggressive response.”
For a heartbeat, I thought I’d pushed too far. That I’d brought our secret nighttime activities into the morning and across some unspoken boundary of his. Foster’s jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with something that might have been frustration or desire or both. Then he stepped closer, until my ass was pushed against the table, and then further, forcing me to lean back and brace myself on one arm. His big hands bracketed me on either side, closing me in.
“Mm. I believe this is called agonistic display,” I said softly, even as my heart hammered against my ribs. “When wild animals try to intimidate their prey.”
“That right?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Do you find me intimidating, Dr. Marian?”
“Maybe a little. And clearly I’m here for it,” I said, letting my gaze drop meaningfully to where our hard cocks were now pressed together before meeting his eyes again.
Something shifted in his expression then, the last of his morning restraint cracking. “Fuck it,” he muttered, and then his mouth was on mine.
This kiss was different from the desperate hunger of the night before. It was slow, thorough, like he had all the time in the world to explore. His tongue traced my lower lip beforedeepening the kiss, and I made a sound that should have been embarrassing but only seemed to encourage him.
My hands found the waistband of his sleep pants, fingers dancing along the edge, and he groaned against my mouth.
“Tommy,” he said, but it sounded more like surrender than protest.
“Fuck, I like when you get all growly,” I murmured against his lips, then nipped gently at his jaw. “New kink unlocked.”
His response was to lift me onto the table, stepping between my legs and kissing me harder. The new angle let me wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer, and suddenly, we were grinding against each other like teenagers.
“Christ,” Foster panted, his forehead resting against mine. “We have jobs to do.”
“Do we?” I was having trouble remembering why that mattered when his hands were sliding under my t-shirt, mapping the skin of my back with calloused fingers.
“The students?—”
“Can wait five more minutes.”
Foster’s laugh was breathless. “Five minutes? That’s optimistic.”
“Fine. Two minutes.” I kissed the corner of his mouth. “One minute.”
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he said, but he was smiling as he said it.
I was about to respond when Chickie chose that moment to bark at the door, the sound jolting us both back to reality. Foster stepped back, running a hand through his hair again, and I reluctantly hopped down from the table.
“Right,” he said, his voice rough. “Coffee. Breakfast.Responsibilities.”
“Very adult of us,” I agreed, though my voice wasn’t much steadier.
We managed to get through the rest of our morning routine with only minimal additional contact, though I caught Foster staring when I pulled my SERA shirt on.
“See something you like, Sheriff?” I asked, unable to resist teasing him.
Instead of answering, Foster crossed the small space between us and reached for my collar, ostensibly to fix where it had gotten twisted. But his hands lingered, smoothing the fabric over my shoulders, his thumbs brushing the base of my throat.
“You missed a spot shaving,” he said quietly, his thumb tracing a patch of stubble along my jaw.
“Did I?” My voice came out embarrassingly breathy.
“Mmm.” His touch was featherlight, almost reverent. “Right here.”
I leaned into the touch without thinking, and he made a sound in his throat. For a moment, we just stood there, him touching my face like it was something precious, me trying not to melt under the tenderness of it.
Then I leaned up and whispered in his ear, letting my lips brush the sensitive skin just below. “Tonight, I want to find out what you taste like when you come in my mouth.”
