Page 22 of Blind Date with a #Doctor
“How do you feel about a nightcap?” I ask, stepping behind her, voice low and rough.
She turns slightly, her back brushing against my chest. She exhales softly and says, “I’d rather have you.”
That’s all it takes.
I cup her waist, turning her to face me, watching the way her pupils blow wide, the way her lips part like she’s already waiting for my kiss.
“You sure?” I murmur, fingers skimming up her back.
Aspen’s hands slide up my chest, curling into the fabric of my shirt. “Absolutely.”
She grins, but before she can respond, I capture her lips in a deep, slow kiss. I’m not holding back anymore. Aspen melts into me, soft and warm, and I know I could lose myself in her for hours.
We move through the house in a blur of hands and lips and heavy breathing. By the time we hit my bedroom, Aspen’ssweater is gone, her jeans unbuttoned, my shirt barely hanging on.
She’s beautiful—flushed and breathless. Looking at me like she’s never wanted anything more.
I lower her onto the bed, pressing a kiss to the center of her chest, feeling her heartbeat pound beneath my lips.
I take my time. This is slow, deliberate worship. This is learning her body, where she’s sensitive, where she shudders when I trail my mouth over her skin. I plan to make her come apart beneath me, whispering my name like it’s the only thing she knows.
When she finally collapses against me, completely spent, I hold her like I don’t want to let go.
Later, we’re tangled in the sheets, her head on my chest, my arm wrapped around her. Neither of us speaks. We just breathe together, slow and easy.
I want to tell her that I want every damn part of her. But I don’t say it…not yet. Because saying it out loud? That makes it real. And if it’s real? It means I could lose it.
So instead, I press a kiss to her temple, pull her closer, and let myself believe that this is ours to keep.
Chapter Twelve
Aspen
If someone had told me a few weeks ago that I’d be spending my Saturday morning curled up on Carter Reed’s couch, drinking coffee, and planning our weekend like we do this all the time, I would have laughed.
But here we are and it feels so damn easy.
Carter is sitting beside me, one arm stretched along the back of the couch, his fingertips tracing lazy circles on my shoulder. I shift slightly, adjusting my legs beneath me, and his hand slides down to my thigh. Not in a way that says I want to pull you into my lap and kiss you until you can’t think straight. It’s just natural.
I don’t know when we crossed that line—when it stopped being just fun and started being something real. I feel it in the way he touches me absentmindedly and in the way he always wakes me up first just so we can talk for a few minutes before starting the day.
He looks at me, with soft, sleepy eyes, like he’s not in a hurry to be anywhere else. “You ready to head to the farmer’s market?” he murmurs, squeezing my thigh gently.
I grin. “Do I ever say no to produce and pastries?”
Carter chuckles, shifting to stand. “Fair point.”
He stretches—long and lean, his sweatpants sitting way too low on his hips, his t-shirt pulling tight across his chest. Goodlord, I need a moment. He looks down at me, smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and holds out his hand.
“Come on, sweetheart.”
The morning is cool but bright, sunlight filtering through the rows of tents and booths as we walk side by side.
Carter holds my hand the whole time.
I glance up at him, at the way he’s casually holding a bag of apples in one hand, our fingers laced with the other, and suddenly I can’t stop thinking about how different things are. How I feel different, like maybe this is what I’ve been missing.
I squeeze his hand, and Carter looks down at me with a smile, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. He just leans in and kisses my temple, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
