“You’re sneaking me into the doctors’ den?” I asked.
“Mm-hmm,” he said. “Just remember if anyone shows up to act like Chevy Chase and Dan Aykroyd in Spies Like Us.”
This did make me laugh. “Doctor, doctor? Doctor, doctor?”
He waved his badge on the door and nudged it open with his shoulder. “Precisely. Only sexier.” His voice dropped into a low rumble.
I obeyed. “Doctor, oh, doctor,” I said with a smile.
“That’s more like it,” he said.
Now I wondered what he was up to.
We headed inside the lounge. Two sofas lined one wall. In the middle, three large round tables filled the open space. The back wall was all kitchen. A long desk held a couple laptops and charging cables.
A female surgeon in scrubs poured a cup of coffee from one of four carafes near the sink. She gave us a curt nod and headed back out.
“So, this is how the other half lounges,” I said.
“Hardly anybody uses this place anymore other than to grab coffee. Nobody has time to sit around and talk shop.”
“Damn managed care,” I quipped. We’d had this conversation before.
He shrugged out of his white coat. “It is what it is.”
Darion was dressed formally as always, white shirt, dress pants, and tie. But he loosened the knot at his throat.
“You going to change?” I asked.
He pulled me close to him. “Undressing isn’t necessary on location.”
NOW I got it. I glanced at the door. “Are you serious? Right here? In this huge open room where anyone can walk in?”
“They do it all the time on Grey’s Anatomy.” He leaned in and kissed me.
I relaxed into his lips and felt the loosening in my belly, but still. This was an open lounge. Not Surgical Suite B, where nobody ever walked in, well, other than a random custodian.
Still, I didn’t break the kiss. I was willing to go where Darion would take me. I was the wild one. He couldn’t scare me. And I wasn’t convinced he would follow through on this.
Darion slid my bag off my shoulder and dropped it behind him on a table. I could feel everything falling away as I focused on him.
He slid his hands beneath my fuzzy sweater and ran them up my back. “Mmm, braless as usual,” he whispered against my lips.
Now he definitely had me. I turned my head just a little. “Deciding to put your career on the line?” I asked against his cheek.
“If doctors got fired for sex on the job, the patients would run the hospital.”
I pulled back to look into his eyes. “Dr. Darion Marks, what’s gotten into you?”
He shifted a hand around to the front to cup one of my breasts. I sucked in a breath. He said, “It’s really more about getting into you.”
His hands moved down to the backs of my thighs and lifted me up against him.
I allowed my knees to part and wrap around his hips. My arms snaked around his neck so I could hang on.
He nuzzled into the hair over my ear. “That’s it.”
My heart sped up. Darion was not a risk-taker. This was big. He pulled me firmly against him and took several long strides toward the long counter next to the sink. He set me on an empty spot and shoved the sugar and creamer containers out of his way.
His lips caught mine again. I closed my eyes and quit thinking about where we were, just got lost in the spiraling need that was spinning through my body.
Darion’s hands slid up my thighs beneath my skirt. Now the drumbeat was pulsing between my legs, wanting him to move faster, to be bold.
His fingers curled around the lacy strap of my panties. I sucked in a breath against his mouth. “I should ban these,” he growled.
“Are we going to need duct tape again?” I asked. Darion had been forced to repair my underwear during a lunchtime tryst when we were first together.
“My skills are better honed,” he said. In one quick movement, he lifted me and jerked the panties to my knees.
“Just be glad I prefer to wear skirts,” I said.
He tugged the panties down my legs and tossed them on the counter. “I am,” he said.
His thumb made a path up my thigh, and I clutched at his neck. When he reached his destination, I lurched against him, desperate for contact. How had he known exactly how to fix me, exactly what to do?
He massaged my nub, making me writhe against his hand. My hips moved with him, reveling in the attention and care he took with each heightening sensation, my tightening need.
I heard his belt jingle and reached down to help him unfasten the buckle. “Now if you would just switch to kilts, we’d be in business,” I said, jerking down his zipper.
“We are anyway.”
His voice hitched when I found him, lifting him up and out of the boxers.
“Don’t take your time,” I said, sliding forward on the counter so I was perched on the edge.
His hands spread my thighs wider. I found myself calculating the risk. If someone walked in, they’d see his back, my bare knees. Not much else. My skirt covered us.
It was fine.