The strong, capable surgeon’s hands with veins roped along the back that curled into fists while he fought to keep his composure.
The burnt umber hue of his skin.
The silk of his deep tenor and how it wrapped around each word.
The distinguished silver threads weaving through the hair at his temples, tracing a path down to frame his jawline.
The shoulders that strained against his shirt, a hint of rippling muscle as he moved.
The truth hit me like a slap: IwantedCole Vaughn. Not his medical expertise or professional guidance. I wanted his hands on me, his tongue dueling with mine, his body pressed to every inch of me.
I carried my wine to the bedroom, where city lights filtered through the curtains in thin stripes. After setting the glass on my nightstand, I shed my suit jacket, then the pencil skirt, followed by the blouse, lace bra, and finally my panties.
The overhead fan sent cool currents across my bare skin, raising goosebumps.
From my bedside drawer, I retrieved my favorite toy, my most reliable companion for nights when my mind needed emptying and I needed to get off without having to call Jeremiah. I didn’t want his voice or his hands or his…anythingcrowding out what I actually wanted to picture.
I settled into the familiar hollow of my mattress, parting my thighs. With my eyes shut against the darkness, I switched on the rose vibrator and pressed its silicone petals against my clit.
The low hum filled the quiet room as I let my mind drift back to earlier in the day when it was just him and me and a closed door.
My breathing deepened as the vibrations sent waves through me. In my fantasy, it wasn’t the rose toy against my skin. It was Cole’s mouth, his stubble rough on my inner thighs. I imagined his dark eyes locked on mine as he licked and sucked, my fingers twisting the sheets as waves of heat pulsed through my core.
The fantasy shifted. Now it was his hands gripping my hips, positioning me exactly where he wanted me. Those surgeon’s hands that had tried to save lives today now focused entirely on driving me wild. I pressed the toy harder, my free hand sliding up to cup my breast, fingers rolling my nipple as I pictured Cole’s mouth replacing my touch.
“Unnnhhh…yes,” I breathed, words dissolving into a whimper. “Cole,please.”
I turned the toy up, adding pressure. My body responded instantly, hips rolling, heat and lightning twisting low in my belly. I imagined him whispering filthy things against my skin, his mouth everywhere, kissing my face, my neck, my breasts, sucking my nipples into taut buds like he couldn’t get enough.
“What do you want?” I heard in my mind, his tone husky, rough, possessive.
“I want you to fuck me,” I whispered aloud. “Fuck me hard. Fuck me deep. Fuck me slow.”
The fluttering, sucking pulse of the rose sent a full-body shudder coursing up my spine, so intense I had to bite my lip to keep my neighbors from hearing me scream as I mentally begged for his hands, his mouth, his body pinning me between him and the firmest of mattresses. I arched high, imagining my nails digging into his skin, making him smile and nudge my knees wider, my legs higher, then bury himself inside me with a steady, relentless rhythm.
I matched the imagined cadence of his thrusts, panting his name into the darkness, desperate for the release I could feel coiling inside me like a spring.
“Oh, God! Fuck…oh! God! Yes! Yes! Yes!”
The words tumbled out, rough and wild, my head thrown back as I lost control. The syllables hit the ceiling and rained down on me with every pulse. Suddenly I was neither in the room nor in my own skin but unraveling from the inside out.
The rose was relentless against my clit, but it was thinking about him, his chest pressed to mine, hips pounding our bodies together, rolling his pelvic bone against my clit that dragged the climax out, made me gasp his name again and again.
Fantasy layered over reality, blurring the line until I didn’t know which was silicone-inspired and which was my own fevered imagination.
As the high faded, smaller waves rolled and I sought them out in greedy fashion. My hips jerked against the toy, whimpers caught behind clenched teeth, leaving nothing behind.
When I was boneless and wrecked, watching the ceiling fan rotate, I managed to switch the toy off and drop it beside me with a shaky hand.
Whew.
This was bad.
I mean, it was so good, sofuckinggood.
But bad that all I wanted was to be with that man for real. The ache of that wanting burned hotter than anything else.
The last of my wine was gone in two hard swallows. The fantasy kept looping—his hands, his body, his mouth sucking the ever-loving shit out of my pussy lips.
