Drew had to fly home for work, but I decided to stay in England to watch the rest of Wimbledon. Sarah lost in the semi-finals, to an up and coming Brit who went on to win the tournament. It was a painfully close match, but she took the disappointment pretty well. She’s already looking ahead to the US Open, and she’s back in the States training hard.
And I’m back in Somerset with Drew. He’s working late tonight, but the sound of a key in the lock tells me he’s finally home.
“Hey, Ally,” he says when he comes through the door. He’s changed out of his scrubs into a black knit shirt and jeans, and he’s sporting a five o’clock shadow.
He looks good enough to eat.
I walk over and greet him with a kiss on the cheek. “Long day, huh?”
“Yep,” he says with a tired smile. “How are you?”
“Actually,” I tell him, “I’m feeling a little feverish.”
His forehead creases with concern. “There’s Tylenol in the bathroom cupboard,” he says. “Do you think it’s the flu or something?”
“Not the flu, no,” I say. “And I don’t think Tylenol would help. You might have to examine me, Dr. Malone. In the bedroom.”
He sucks in a sharp breath, and his expression turns hungry. “Is that right? You think you need to be examined, Ally?”
“I think so. Unless you’re too tired?—”
“No,” he interrupts. “I’m not too tired to take care of you.”
He follows me to his bedroom—our bedroom now, actually. I’ve been sleeping here ever since I came home from England last week. Somehow, most of my clothes were already in his closet, so that was convenient.
“Sit on the bed for me, please, Ally. You said you felt feverish?” Drew’s voice is rough and deep, and liquid desire pools in my belly.
“Yes.”
“We should take this off, then,” he says, slipping a hand under my shirt.
I obediently lift my arms so he can pull my shirt over my head. He smells so good, clean male sweat and woodsy soap.
“You do feel very hot,” he agrees, cupping my breasts through my bra. “This needs to come off too.”
He unclasps my bra and tosses it to the side, then pauses to stare at my breasts. Even though I’m naked from the waist up, I feel a lot hotter than I did five minutes ago.
His hands find my breasts again, and he takes his time with them, stroking and playing with my nipples.
“Well, your breasts seem pretty perfect, so we’ll have to look somewhere else,” he finally says. “Any other symptoms? Besides the fever?”
“I have an ache. And . . . I’m wet.”
Drew’s breath hitches. “You’re wet,” he repeats roughly. “When did this start?”
“When you walked in the door.”
“Hmm.” He likes that, I can tell. “Lie down for me, please.”
I swing my legs onto the bed and lie on my back.
“Where do you ache, Ally?” he asks, running a hand lightly over the fly of my jeans. “Here?”
“Yeah,” I say hoarsely.
He unbuttons my fly, and his big fingers start to tease over my panties. He deliberately avoids my clit, staying just a little too high. I start to squirm, trying to get his fingers where I need them.
“Try to stay still, please, so I can examine you properly.”
