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“I’d want to escape it, too, if all I did was work all the time.”
I wait for her to respond, but that’s all she’s going to give me for now. I eliminate the distance between us and meld our lips. Willow presses her body against mine. Her hands sneak beneath my shirt, her palms cold on my warm skin. I grind into her, wishing I had a spot to lay her down. But we’re right next to the trail, out in the open. Something about the possibility of getting caught makes this even hotter.
I flick the button on her pants and lower the zipper just enough to slide my hand beneath her waistband. She doesn’t stop me. The lace on the edge of her panties is coarse and feels so different from the soft skin of her lower abdomen when I shift my fingertips along it. She tilts her head back against the tree and closes her eyes. Her breath quickens.
I drop my face to her neck, the soft suction of my mouth making her squirm. And I wonder if I’m leaving a mark. I haven’t lefta love bite on a woman since my teens. But it’s fitting because Willow makes me feel like a wild kid again.
My fingers breach the lace covering her center. She moans when I glide over her clit and keep moving south. I’m instantly coated in her wetness. I smile against her skin, knowing I’m the one who’s making her drip. When I dip into her opening with my middle finger, her hand drifts down until she’s gripping and rubbing my shaft through my pants. I’m as hard as the rock we’re standing on.
I pulse my finger in and out of her, rubbing my thumb against that sensitive nub at the top. The soft noises coming from her throat tell me she likes it. The movement of her hand against my cock falters, and even though I’m throbbing—almost painfully so—it’s okay because this is about her. I want to make her forget whatever it is she’s trying to escape.
I know she’s close to the edge when she pushes harder against my hand and moves her hips in little circles. Her eyes are still closed, and her mouth is gaping. The look on her face is the sweetest torture.
My mouth collapses on hers. I lick and suck her lower lip. Those emerald eyes open and connect with mine right before she shatters. The satisfaction deep inside my gut multiplies times a million when I see her face melt with pleasure. Pleasure that I gave to her.
I don’t remove my hand from her pants until the aftershocks of her orgasm subside. But when I finally do, my finger goes straight into my mouth. I taste her desire on my skin, and it’s my turn to close my eyes and moan.
I almost laugh when I see her expression. She’s slumped against the bark, her limbs loose and relaxed, unable to move. Her eyes are hooded. I elevate her zipper and secure the button onher pants. Repositioning her clothes is almost as intimate as undressing her.
“Damn,” she says breathlessly.
And I do laugh this time.
As I adjust myself, she watches me, looking somewhat guilty. But she doesn’t owe me anything. For me, this was about her. I wanted to wipe that look of desperation off her face. I wanted to make her forget whatever it was that was plaguing her. Erase that sheen of tears from her eyes. And if I get my way, she’ll be begging me for my cock before our time together ends.
We hear voices in the distance. Willow looks at me with wide eyes, realizing we’re out in the open and could’ve been caught. I wink at her.
“Ready to go?” I ask.
She nods.
We collect our backpacks and start making our way back down the trail. Her cheeks are still flushed with desire. Willow stops to put her shirt back on, and I give her my sweatshirt to wear. The weather shifts quickly in this part of the country, and the sky is covered by thick clouds now. The lighting is now gray and cozy.
I watch her walk in front of me for a few steps before I start moving. Willow, in my clothes, turns me on almost as much as that tank top or her bikini did the other day.
It isn’t until I drop her off at home later that evening that I realize this was the best afternoon I’ve had in a while. A long while. And maybe the best ever with a woman.
And that’s the moment I know I’m in trouble.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WILLOW
“It’s been a long day,” Dr. Cooper said, stating the obvious, approaching me from behind.
Leaning over, I was filling out the orders for the patient who was already on his way to the recovery room. The OR had cleared out. We were the last two in here right now. The cleaning crew would show up at some point to prepare the space for tomorrow.
We had just finished our fifteenth surgery of the day. Yes, I’d said fifteenth.
There was always a huge rush to get elective surgeries done before the end of the year. Everyone who had met their insurance deductibles wanted their procedures done now because those deductibles would reset on January 1. And we worked hard to accommodate everyone we could, even at the expense of our own health. Dr. Cooper insisted he did it to help people. But I knew the truth. He did it to show that he could. To let his colleagues and the rest of the world know that he worked harder than ninety-nine percent of the other surgeons in the city. Harder and longer hours. He made more moneytoo. He was the best. He was the man. But he always chased … something. What that something was, I still hadn’t figured out. But it seemed as if he was never satisfied with the things he had—people or possessions.
I glanced over at Dr. Cooper and admired the way he filled out his scrubs. I didn’t know why men looked so hot in surgical scrubs and caps, but they did. My surgeon was no exception.
When we operated, it was like a locker room most of the time. A dozen men, me, and an OR nurse or two. Maybe a female anesthesiologist. It was truly a man’s world in there. The topics of conversation were often unsavory and raunchy. After a while, it had become normal, much like the late-night calls had.
“You finished?” he asked.
I stood, and he didn’t move back, always crowding my space. I pretended not to notice.
