“Have you seen how tight this dress is?” She opens my jacket to reveal her curves, and I gladly accept the invitation to peruse her body again.
“Oh, I’m well aware,” I reply, my eyes glued to her thighs. She scoffs, but I can tell she takes it as a compliment.
“Fine. I guess the jacket will shield me,” she concedes after a while, and I turn and crouch down for her to hop onto my back. Her first attempt is unsuccessful, and we both giggle when she slides down unceremoniously.
“I’ll have to hike my dress up over my ass. And I opted for a thong tonight, so you’d better keep looking straight ahead if you don’t want to get flashed,” she jokes before she tries again, this time hooking her legs around my waist and draping her arms over my shoulders. My stomach practically bottoms out at that mental image, and I barely manage to catch my grip just above her knees.
“Good?” I ask as I stand and adjust our position, trying to ignore the warmth from her body pressing against mine.
“Yep,” she confirms. She settles in, holding her purse with one hand and dangling her shoes over my chest with the other. Then she wiggles and kicks her feet out as she adds a “giddy up,” making me chuckle.
I begin our trek to the pharmacy a couple blocks ahead, and she wordlessly reaches out to press the button when I stop at a crosswalk. I take a second to acknowledge how comfortable this feels, how well we seem to fit together when we have no business even hanging out right now. I guess I’ve never thought of a piggyback ride as a form of physical intimacy, but there’s definitely an affectionate undercurrent to it, even if it’s not overtly sexual. Although, I’d be lying if I said my hands weren’t having the time of their lives right about now.
She squirms behind me when my thumbs stroke the soft skin of her thighs. “Getting a little handsy there, Doc,” she whispers beside my ear.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“Don’t be,” she replies, shifting her things to one hand and reaching up to run her fingers through the hair at the base of my neck. I struggle to hide the way it makes me shiver.
“I bet you’re just dying right now, aren’t you? Have you ever wanted anything more?” she poses, her tone deep and heavy with desire.
My mouth runs too dry for me to respond, but she goes on. “It’s been so long since anyone’s satisfied that urge, since you’ve felt that sweet release …”
“Yes,” I rasp before I can stop myself.
“I can take the edge off for you, Rowan.” She rakes her nails over my scalp again, laughing seductively when I whimper. Then she brushes the tip of her fingernail over one of the raised welts on my neck.
“Aren’t you going to beg me to scratch that itch?” she asks, barely getting through the question without breaking character.
A loud groan escapes, which draws a cackle out of her. “You’re killing me,” I protest, and she obliges by scratching the rest of my hives, laughing again when I wiggle my shoulders and let out anexaggerated exhale. Suffering has never been more fun, and that’s a bold statement coming from an overly scrupulous Catholic.
“You can set me down,” she directs me once we reach the pharmacy’s sliding doors, and I pause to pluck the high heels she’s been holding.
“What are you?—”
“Hang on tighter.”
I pull her right leg in and slip the shoe back onto her foot. Sensing a change in her breathing, I decide to give her a taste of her own medicine and take my time with the other side, watching a trail of goosebumps line her skin before loosening my grip on her calf. And the idea that I might affect her anywhere near the same way she does me might be the most thrilling thing I’ve ever experienced.
She clears her throat and mumbles a thank you, and I dare to slide my hands back up her thighs under the guise of helping her down, still high off our exchange.
“I think it’ll be easier if you just let go of me,” she says quietly.
“Sorry,” I murmur, my cheeks reddening again as I try not to think about all the parts of her brushing against my back. But the moment is lost to a loud rip when she hops down onto her feet.
“Well, shit,” Claire curses. I turn to find her opening my jacket and inspecting a new slit up the side of her dress. We both cringe when the seam continues splitting all the way up to the armhole, leaving her hip completely bare save for a thin strip of dark lace. “I knew I should have worn the damned shape wear,” she adds, struggling to reunite the two sides of her dress and inadvertently exposing more of her soft curves.
I cough, unable to look away. It’s not like I haven’t seen a woman’s body before. Getting up close and personal with the female anatomy is literally a job requirement for me. Less so now that I’m a MFM specialist, but still. Catching a glimpse of a butt cheek shouldn’t be enough to evoke the kind thoughts I’m having right now, and seeing this much of Claire’s skin shouldn’t make me feel more like a pervy teenager than the mature, professional I am, much less the respectful, chaste Christian I strive to be.
“Uh, maybe button the coat?” I offer, my voice cracking.
She nods and gives it a try. “Better?” she asks once she turns around and shows me her backside again.
I blink, every cell in my body taking notice of the fact that she’s wrapped up inmyjacket. “I think you’re … fine,” I choke out after a while, drowning in my own testosterone. Before long I’ll be forced to reclaim that coat in order to hide some body parts of my own.
“Great. You done checking out my ass or do you need another minute?” she asks, smirking when she cranes her neck to peer back at me.
I squeeze my eyes shut and scratch my chest. “Sorry.”
