I frown, leaning back in my chair. It occurs to me that we haven’t exactly . . . defined what we are. I would like to think that we are more than just pretend now, but given my lack of experience in the matters of dating—I can’t be entirely sure. Maybe that’s something we should talk about as well. Even if the thought of doing so ties my stomachs into knots, because what if she thinks it’s too soon? What if she isn’t interested in entertaining the idea of a real relationship with me after only one date and a handful of intimate encounters?
It’s a question that’s been plaguing me since the night I took her out.
I blow out a breath as I sink down further in my chair, closing my eyes and wondering how I’ve allowed myself to fall into such a predicament. Attachments have never been my thing, and Mackenzie is the last person I ever would have pictured myself with—so why is it that everything about her has me on a constant edge, counting the seconds until I can hear her voice again, enjoy her scent again, touch her again. It’s all I can think about anymore. A steady beat pulsing through my brain of Mackenzie Mackenzie Mackenzie.
“Dr. Taylor to room 807. Dr. Taylor to room 807.”
I sit up, my brow knitting together. The eighth floor is currently undergoing construction, which means they’re barely using it at the moment. What could they possibly need me for up there?
I push up from my desk with a sigh, thinking that it will at least distract me from texting Mackenzie again. The elevator is blessedly empty, and I ride it up to the eighth floor with mild curiosity as I wonder what could have happened, hoping that someone on the reno team didn’t have an accident. Then again, if something did occur, I would have to assume they would bring them down to my floor, not the other way around.
I step off the elevator to more empty space, noting the scattered equipment and tools but the distinct lack of workers. Half the hall lights are off; the overheads seem to be missing several bulbs, giving the entire floor a creepy sort of feel. I wonder idly if I’m being pranked somehow, which irritates me. I huff as I pick up my pace to room 807, preparing to give someone a piece of my mind if they’re wasting my time as some sort of joke at my expense. I know I’m not flush with friends in this place, but really, this is just—
“Mackenzie?”
I grip the handle and cock my head, lingering in the doorway I’ve just opened as I take her in. She’s lounging in one of the medical chairs, one arm resting above her against the headrest and the other twirling one of her scrub pant strings.
“Hello, Doctor,” she says slyly, her mouth turning up at the corners as she flashes me a smile. “I was waiting for you.”
I’m still very confused. “Mackenzie, what are you—”
“They told me you come highly recommended,” she barrels on, cocking an eyebrow at me expectantly. “And I’m feeling so bad.”
I can feel myself frowning as I try to make sense of what’s happening here, but then her scent teases under my nostrils, warm and thick and aroused.
Oh.
Oh.
I swallow, shutting the door behind me and locking it. I’ve never done anything remotely as reckless as what she seems to have planned. The old me would have scolded her for even suggesting it, but right now . . . Right now, all I can think about is the look in her eyes as they roam over me. Like she’s been thinking about me as much as I’ve been thinking about her. Like she wants me. It’s still a novel thing for me, being wanted by someone like her.
“Hello . . . Ms. Carter. What brings you in today?”
Her smile brightens, looking pleased with herself. “I have this . . . ache that won’t go away.”
This is so ridiculous, like something out of a bad porn movie, and yet I can already feel my cock stiffening in my dress pants.
I take a step closer, fisting my hands at my sides to keep from outright pouncing on her, something that is extremely difficult with the way her scent blooms in the air, making my blood heat. “What sort of ache?”
“Mm. That’s the weird thing. I can’t seem to pinpoint it. I was hoping you could help me find it.”
Dear God, this woman is going to be the absolute death of me.
“I would—” I clear my throat, my tongue feeling almost too thick. “I would need to touch you to make a proper diagnosis. Would that be okay?”
“Of course, Doctor,” she practically purrs. “You’re the expert.”
I close the distance between us, my fingers teasing over her ankle bone lightly as I let them slide higher underneath the pant leg of her scrubs. “How does this feel?”
“Fine,” she says, only slightly breathless. “Nothing hurts there.”
I reach tentatively with my other hand to let my fingertips graze the sliver of skin exposed between her waistband and the hem of her scrub top, circling her belly button gently. “What about here?”
“Maybe a little,” she breathes, her lashes fluttering. “I think you’re getting warmer.”
I press a knee on the chair to half cover her, leaning in until my nose can skirt the length of her throat so that I can breathe her in deep. Just the scent of her is enough to make my mouth water. “And here?”
“That’s . . .” I hear her gasp when my lips touch her pulse. “That doesn’t hurt at all.”
“It doesn’t?”
She shakes her head lightly. “It actually feels good there.”
“I see.” I flick my tongue against her skin, reveling in the way she shivers. Knowing that I made her do that. “I’ll have to keep looking.”
“Please, Doctor, make me feel better.”
I smile against her throat, unable to keep from breaking character. “You know someone could come up here, don’t you?”
“This is a hospital, Doctor,” she says coyly. “There are people everywhere. I didn’t think this would be a . . . long exam.”
“Are you telling me to hurry up?”
“I just want to make sure I get the full treatment before your next appointment.”
A breathy laugh escapes me. “I’ll make sure that you do.”
I push her scrub top higher to expose her stomach, watching it rise and fall with each heaving breath. I can’t even decide what I want to do with her—whether I want her on my tongue or my cock or even just my hands. I only know I want to hear her make those sweet noises she makes when she falls apart.
“I’m going to suggest something a little . . . unorthodox.”
She bites her bottom lip. “Oh?”
“I’m going to need you to turn over for me, Ms. Carter.”
“Turn over?”
“That’s right. I want you to get on your knees for me. Put your hands on the headrest.”
I watch her pupils dilate, her scent growing thicker, and I can smell the way she grows slick with the suggestion. “I can do that.”
I help ease her up on her knees, holding her steady as she turns, and when she arches her back to grab hold of the headrest, the perfect curve of her ass pushed out like an offering, I almost lose all my control.
She turns to look at me over her shoulder, the tip of her tongue flashing to wet her bottom lip. “Like this?”
“That’s perfect,” I rasp, my hands sliding over her hips. “So good.”