His eyes, stormy sea or not, softened a fraction, and I felt a momentary reprieve from the intensity of his gaze. But it was short-lived, as his jaw clenched and his brows drew together in a dark, brooding line, before he smirked, licking his lips. “Oh, you’re going to be sorry. I didn’t get my breakfast in bed this morning.”
I bit my lip, confounded at his choice of words.
Here we were, on the cusp of severing our friendship forever, and he was concerned about breakfast in bed?
“If you’re hungry, I’ll go get you something to eat.”
George took a step closer, his cologne enveloping me in a potent cloud, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I can think of a few things I’d like to eat right now, and none of them are on Beth’s menu.”
I gasped and for the life of me I didn’t know what caused me to do it, but I ran as if my life depended on it. Too bad for me I was never good at track and field because I barely made it two steps before I was once again hoisted into the air and set on the receptionist’s desk as the man wasted no time, lifting my skirt. With determined vigor, George ripped my panties from my body, spread my legs and lowered his head between my thighs, as he firmly cupped my bare ass in his grasp.
“GEORGE!”
My protests were futile. I might as well have been shouting into a hurricane. The blood rushing to my cheeks made myface feel like a beacon, a bright, embarrassed warning signal. George’s breath was warm on my most sensitive spots, and his hands... well, they had a mind of their own. I felt their firm grip through the haze of pleasure, and my knees threatened to buckle.
I wanted to stop him, to put an end to this wild roller-coaster ride. But honestly, who was I kidding? My good intentions didn’t stand a chance against the tidal wave of desire he stirred within me. I was a leaf in the wind, blown this way and that, and George was the storm, sweeping me off my feet and carrying me away. With each swipe of his tongue, he branded me as his, and I was helpless to do anything but cling to the desk for dear life.
My knuckles turned white as I grasped the edge, my fingers curling around it like a lifeline.
As I sat there, wobbling precariously, I felt like a character in one of those over-the-top romance novels. You know, the ones where the hero is absurdly handsome, and the heroine is perpetually swooning? That was me, swooning like a teenager with a crush, except I was pretty sure teenagers didn’t get swoony over tongue-tied tongue action.
At least, I hoped not. Because if they did, I was in big trouble. My kids were going to start giving me the side-eye, and I’d never hear the end of it from my dad. But at that moment, I couldn’t bring myself to care. I was putty in George’s hands, and he was shaping me into something deliciously naughty as I moaned. A strangled moan indeed, and there I was, a spud no more, but a woman on fire. George, with his smoldering eyes and that devilish smirk, had me exactly where he wanted me.
Well, almost. Because despite my best efforts to be swept away, a tiny part of me was still aware of our risky location.
I mean, we were in his office, for goodness’ sake!
?The office of the town’s most revered—and feared—doctor. And I, the town’s—Oh, who cares because I was perched on theclinic’s reception desk, in broad daylight, with my skirt hiked up and my senses being thoroughly, deliciously assaulted by George’s tongue, teeth, and mouth.
George’s hands were a force of nature, and his tongue... well, let’s just say it had a mind of its own. I felt like a fiddle being played by a master violinist. Each stroke and swipe sent shivers down my spine and set my soul alight. My fingers clung to the desk like a lifeline, my knuckles white as I tried to maintain my precarious balance. I was aware of the dust motes dancing in the morning sunlight, mocking my stillness as I sat there, rooted to the spot, a willing captive in George’s expert hands.
As my pleasure intensified, my mind wandered to dangerous territories. I thought of the risk we were taking, the possibility of being caught, and the scandal that would ensue. But instead of fear, a wicked thrill coursed through me. The thrill of the forbidden, of doing something so deliciously naughty in a place that screamed respectability. I felt like a rebel, a rule-breaker, and it only added fuel to the fire that George had ignited. My knees buckled, and I surrendered to the waves of pleasure, trusting that George, my very own Dr. Feelgood, would catch me if I fell.
I couldn’t focus on a single damn thing.
Sitting behind my desk regretting all my life’s choices, mainly I thought about smacking that smug smile right off George’s face.
Because of him, I was in this state.
Every nerve ending in my body was wired and ready to fire. I was in a perpetual state of arousal and not because the bastard was good with his tongue.
Oh, he was. I wasn’t disputing that because when he finished his breakfast, I was speaking in tongues myself! No, I was sexually frustrated because before the smug bastard let me leave his office, he stuck a fucking silver bullet up my hoohaa that apparently contained a titanium lithium battery that could power the Space Shuttle’s next mission!
That bloody vibrator had me walking like a cowboy who’d spent a week in the saddle. Every step sent a jolt of awareness straight to my core, and don’t even get me started on the constant buzz of anticipation. It was like having a hive of hornets trapped between my legs, and the damn things wouldn’t stop buzzing!
I glared at the stack of paperwork on my desk, but the words might as well have been written in ancient Sanskrit for all the sense they made.
My mind kept wandering back to George, that infuriatingly handsome devil.
The memory of his skilled tongue—skilled being the operative word—had me squirming in my seat. It wasn’t just the skill, mind you, it was the smugness that accompanied it. That insufferable grin as he’d sent me off to work with that... surprise. As if my body hadn’t already betrayed me enough, my traitorous mind wandered down a very dangerous path. What other surprises did he have up his sleeve?
Seriously, the man was a walking, talking, incredibly attractive Pandora’s Box.
Screw it!
I couldn’t take it anymore.
My inner goddess of decorum was having a screaming match with my inner, well, let’s just say, my inner explorer. And my inner explorer was winning. I knew what I was about to do was less “ladylike” and more “lady-on-fire-with-a-whole-lotta-pent-up-energy,” but at that moment, societal norms could eat my hat.
