“Ah,” she gasps. “Noah, that’s—”
I do it again, with less hesitance this time. My tongue passes through her folds as the taste of her makes me dizzy. The front of my slacks is stiff and uncomfortable, and I flex my hips against the bed for some relief as I swirl my tongue around the little bundle of nerves at her apex. I like the sounds she makes, like the way her fingers card through my hair to tug—all of it only spurring me on, only making me want more.
I grip her thighs tighter as her heels dig into my shoulders, focusing my attention on the swollen bud of her clit even as her slick wets my chin. I close my eyes as I let the soft sounds of her hitched breath heat my blood, teasing her with the back-and-forth swipe of my tongue before I wrap my lips around the most sensitive part of her to suck. She cries out in a quiet, almost wordless way—as if it’s trapped in her throat. Her hands falling to my shoulders and the scratching of her nails against my shirt say more than enough though.
“R-right—right there,” she chokes out. “Can you—a little harder—ah.”
I hum against her core, pulling at the taut bud of her clit as her back begins to bend, her hips jerking as if trying to escape of their own accord. I grip her thighs tighter, sucking at her messily as she softly gasps my name. Her skin under my hands is almost as hot as the softer flesh between her legs, so warm that it almost feels like she might melt against my tongue.
With every pull of my lips there is another trickle of her slick, each little bit only worsening those urges to bury myself inside her and keep her knotted until morning. There is a distant thought that wonders if these urges will just keep getting worse the more I touch her, but there is a more present one that says it absolutely doesn’t care as long as I can keep touching her.
“You taste”—I lick one hot stripe up her center—“as good as you feel.” I wrap my lips around her clit for one long pull that makes a wet sound when I release it. “I want to know what you taste like when you come.”
She lets out a strained laugh. “Well, if you keep doing that, it won’t be a prob—fuck.”
She lifts her hips to press deeper into my mouth when I focus all my attention on her clit, unwrapping one hand from her thigh and bringing it between us to tease a finger at her entrance. I hear her whimper when I press it inside, stroking her inner wall and pressing against it to rub deep circles there as my tongue makes a mess of her.
Her fingers go from tapping at my shoulder to tugging at my shirt and back again—a chorus of whined yeses and mhms ringing out into the quiet of my bedroom. Her thighs press harder against my ears as they begin to shake, and her back bows from the bed as her fingers drop to the comforter to twist in the fabric.
She’s panting my name when I feel her tip over the edge, and there is a satisfying gush of slick that I lap up even as it makes a mess. I can feel it on my lips and chin and even trickling down my neck, and still it’s like I can’t get enough. I want to do this almost as much as I want to be inside her again. I only pull away from her when I feel her hand snake between us to grab for my tie, urging me up from between her legs as I look at her in a daze.
There’s a dreamy sort of smile on her mouth as she winds the silk of my tie around her fist, giving it another gentle tug. “Get up here.”
I come like a puppy being called, with just as much eagerness—crawling over her until I’m hovering with my hands braced on either side of her. My breath is still ragged and I still feel a little wild, but her fingers reach to brush along my cheek, her thumb sliding across my lower lip; I can’t say why it’s so calming.
“Your first consult isn’t until nine,” she says calmly.
I nod. “That’s right.”
“And I’m on mid-shift,” she goes on.
Another nod. “I know.”
Her mouth tilts on one side as I feel her hand sliding over the front of my slacks to give my straining cock a squeeze. Her hands feel just as hot as the rest of her. “How much sleep do you need?”
Before I kiss her, I think to myself that I might be in real trouble.
* * *
Expectedly, I don’t get very much sleep, but even with the workload that I’m facing for the day, I can’t find it in me to be at all put out by it.
I left Mackenzie in my bed this morning, and something about knowing she was sleeping naked and tangled in my sheets as I drove to work had been satisfying in a way I never could have anticipated. Jesus, I even left her a spare key so she could lock up. Everything about it feels like the kind of complications I had told her we needed to avoid.
So why am I sitting at my desk, hiding my smile behind my hand?
I check my watch and note that I need to meet my consult in less than thirty minutes, willing myself to get a handle on my own feelings before then. I reach across my desk for the patient’s chart so I can have a last-minute review, barely getting my fingers underneath it before I feel my phone start to vibrate on the other side of my desk.
It’s embarrassing, how quickly I snatch it up, even more embarrassing how a flicker of disappointment passes through me when I notice it isn’t Mackenzie calling. I really need to get a grip.
Who is calling, however, is effectively sobering.
“Hello, Mother.”
I hear her click her tongue. “Don’t you ‘Mother’ me. Why haven’t you called?”
“I’ve been busy,” I say evenly, my earlier giddiness dissipating. “You know how things are here.”
“Apparently,” she says in that tone that I know means I’m about to get scolded. “They’re even so busy that you couldn’t find time to tell your mother you’re mated?”
Shit.
Mary Anne Taylor is a lot of things, but most of all, the woman is resourceful. I should have known better than to think I could keep this from her until it blew over.
“Listen. About that—”
“And I had to hear it from Regina, of all people. That horrible woman from my crochet club. Apparently, she heard it from her daughter Jessica.”
That name vaguely rings a bell, although I can’t pin down from where.
“Look, it isn’t what you think.”
“How can it not be what I think? How could you get mated without telling us? You didn’t even tell us you were dating anyone. Your poor mother didn’t get to meet her daughter-in-law before you went and—”
“I’m not actually mated,” I sigh.
“—could be the mother of my future grandchildren, and I’ve never even—Wait. What?”
“I’m not mated,” I repeat more firmly.
“Then why is the entire hospital apparently buzzing about you and some woman you’ve been secretly seeing?”
I scrub a hand down my face. “It’s complicated.”
“You think you got all those brains from your father?” She snorts. “Try me.”
“Fuck,” I groan.
“Language.”
“It’s the board,” I say defeatedly. “They found out.”
She immediately discerns my meaning. “Oh no. How? You’ve been so careful.”
“An ‘anonymous tip,’ apparently. It’s utter bullshit.”