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Without waiting, her arms circle my shoulders and legs latch around my waist. She hoists herself up. Her pussy runs along my cock, which pulses against her slick entrance. She teases and taunts, pivoting her hips enough to slide a little into her heat before angling up.
“Jesus, baby, you keep playing with the tip it’s going—” my words turn into a sharp hiss as she drops, impaling herself all the way.
On instinct, I thrust hard. “Oh my Goddddddd,” she moans, rotating.
My teeth grind at the contact and she rocks steadily against me.
“You inked me on your skin,” she whispers in awe, pressing her chest to mine. Her eyes cinch shut and then open, sparkling a brilliant blue. “You’re not the only one addicted. Every room we finish in this studio, I want to celebrate like this.”
“Not a problem.” I grab her ass and drive up. “You naked, happy, and attached to me is what I live for.”
Chapter 34
Poppy
Nervous tingles swarm everywhere, my heart racing as I wait impatiently for any sign. Dr. Rexwell jots another note on my chart, making me want to jump across the table and snatch it from him.
“Relax.” Evin tries to hold my hand but I slap it away.
“Get out of my head,” I hiss.
His amused grin adds annoyance to my already overactive feelings.
“Hmmm,” Rexwell remains impassive and unreadable, flexing my foot again, then bending the knee a few degrees.
“Hmmm, what? Is there a problem?”
“I’m sensing trouble in paradise. Last time you two were in my office was a much different jam. Your newlywed bliss didn’t last long.”
“Are you kidding me? You’re worried about my marital status? What about my Achilles?”
His gaze comes to mine, and I swallow a scream. “You’ve been torturing me with your silent scowl for the last ten minutes to tease me?”
He flat out smiles, the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth crinkling. Evin chuckles along with him. I glare at him in warning, then fling the glower to my doctor.
“Did we fly across the country for you to toy with me?”
“Yes,” he answers audaciously. “Been looking forward to this all week.”
“Glad to entertain.”
“The progress over the last seven weeks is impressive.”
Relief, warmth, and happiness all wash through me at once, and I smile. “That’s a better assessment.”
Evin sits on the side of the exam table, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me to him. “You’re a fighter. We all knew you could do it.”
“I had to hear it from him.”
“You surpassed my expectations. I’m proud of you, Poppy.” Rexwell’s praise makes me want to do a victory cheer.
“Proud enough to let me out of this boot?”
His smile falters. “One more week. Your tendon recovery is exceptional and the calf is fine. But you have some natural atrophy. No need to damage the progress you’ve made.”
“I wanted to be out of this boot by Thanksgiving.”
He seems to mull it over and give a quick nod. “We’ll make a deal. Thanksgiving is in six days. You can lose the boot and go with a compression wrap. Move to one crutch full time. Now we focus on the knee mobility.”
“I’m ready.”
“As is every health professional involved in your medical care.”
“My eagerness shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone.”
“As long as you don’t confuse eagerness with arrogance.”
“She knows her limits. If she doesn’t, I’ll remind her,” Evin speaks up.
“I know about that. Never have I overseen a case where the husband is as much a topic of conversation as the patient.”
“Warned you he’d be a problem.”
He smiles. “I enjoy the updates. As my first official dancer, you don’t disappoint.”
“Told you,” I reply, pleased with myself. “Aren’t you glad you kept me around?”
“Oh, yes, delight is the first thing I think of when reading over the weekly progress in your files. Evidently, your stubbornness supersedes that of your mother-in-law.”
“It’s not stubbornness, it’s goal setting. If it wasn’t for my knee, I’d have been out of this boot weeks ago and been your best success story ever.”
“So you’ve told me, repeatedly.”
“They’d spotlight me in one of your achievement articles.”
“It’s not too late.”
“You just wait. When I blow all expectations out of the water, it’ll put your other patients to shame.”
“This isn’t a competition, Poppy. Every injury is different. You can’t force it,” Evin says softly. “Your determination is infectious, but let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.”
I roll my eyes and ignore him, speaking to Rexwell. “He’s obsessed with your work and read almost every article written. This makes him an expert.”
My tone is more condescending than intended, but I’m not letting his overprotective streak influence the next steps.
“He’s not the only one that considers themselves an expert,” the doctor replies, pinning me with his eyes.
“I’m ready to move this along. Get on with my life post crutches and surgery.”
“It’ll happen. We estimated six months.”
