Page 32 of Doctor Bossy

And then, once I gave in, it hit me without warning that I may never again be able to live without this.

I was a dumb fuck for even doing this and not thinking it through.

Although, truth be told, there hadn’t been much thought involved in the first place, especially for a man as presumably intelligent as people made me out to be. I never bought the hype about myself, especially not now. If I was truly a genius, why on earth did I think I could get off with just a taste of Becca rather than get drunk and fall completely off the wagon?

But perhaps it just went to show that even smart people were just animals at the end of the day.

And that was exactly what Becca made me feel like.

An animal.

I pressed her body deeper into mine. She was essentially on me at this point, and I still had the maddening urge to get even closer. I wanted to devour her, to consume her, to get drunk on her essence as I had in far too many dreams.

But combined with those thoughts were even stranger ones—the urge to take care of her, slay all her demons, and wrap her up in my arms and destroy anything that got close enough to hurt her again.

God.

With how volatile I was feeling inside, I should never have gotten close to her or touched her. The combination of emotions was a kegger waiting to go off, and it had been triggered the moment she looked up at me, regret in her beautiful brown eyes and so much pain that it was palpable. I understood that look well, knew that anger at oneself when you trusted someone you should not have and when you keep expecting better from someone who could not meet that expectation.

I’d faced that daily with my son before I finally gave up on trying to change him. Still, there were far too many times I allowed him to emotionally manipulate me, and I gave in to him out of guilt even when I was self-aware enough to know better. It felt like the ultimate betrayal to myself, and I always felt angry at myself after.

Becca was clearly going through the same thing with her mother, and that vulnerability had brought out something in me, something I had long thought was dormant.

Something that made it impossible not to kiss Becca.

And now that I had, I didn’t want to stop.

I hadn’t kissed a woman in years, but it didn’t seem like something I needed to practice. My tongue seemed to know all the things it wanted to taste—the curve of her lips, the caverns of her mouth. My hand wanted to go into her hair and grasp it tightly, holding her for the onslaught and wrapping her even closer to me because I still wasn’t close enough.

I may never be close enough.

I caught her moans in my mouth, and that revved me further. Common sense and anything that wasn’t this moment flew out of the window, and all I became aware of was the taste of her, the way her body felt against mine. She was all soft lean lines and small hands, and her scent…God, her scent…

I could smell it emanating from her, the subtle musky desire that I could practically feel on my tongue…

“Fuck.” The expletive tore out of me before I felt myself move, lifting her onto my desk. I had a second to see her face, eyes unfocused, face flushed, before dragging her forward for another kiss. I could get drunk off of the taste of her and the softness of her lips alone, but my hands were already crazed, exploring her body.

And I wasn’t the only one.

I felt hands tugging at my shirt, too, releasing them from my pants so she could run her hands under it. I felt the coolness of her palm against my heated abdomen and let out a groan.

“Oh my God.” She tore her mouth away from mine to gasp in some air, her eyes wide. “I knew it. I fucking knew it.”

I didn’t ask her what the hell she was talking about. There was no time for that. The urgency that had been built would not be sated by anything else. I needed more of that sweet scent on me, in me, all around me.

My hands were tugging on her jeans, and she lifted herself so I could shimmy them off her. None of us had any thought, but it seemed we were both on the same crazed frequency because she didn’t seem shocked at all when I tore her pants off—only even more desperate, mewling as she shimmied on the desk.

“Please hurry,” she pleaded, her hands grasping my shirt.

“With pleasure,” I growled. I was surprised that I could talk at all with this much desire choking my throat. It was driving me crazy, but it was good to know my vocal cords still worked.

And then finally, the jeans were off.

I slid her panties to the side and touched her, first going with one finger, holding eye contact as I slowly strummed the entrance of her pussy. She started breathing harder when I did, biting her lip when I shifted my finger just a little deeper, barely skimming the underside of her clit.

When I touched it for real, her eyes slid shut for a brief moment, and her body jerked involuntarily. I continued to strum the little nub while watching her, addicted to her reactions. Her face started to contort, and desire was starting to turn her into a whimpering, begging creature. Her quiet moans were my kryptonite as her hands began to grab me, clutching my shirt, and her voice was high, gasping pleas to somehow stop and never stop at the same time.

And I absolutely loved it.

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