“Please.”Lord, help me. I’m already begging.
He slips inside, and I grin, suddenly sixteen again and sneaking behind my father’s caravan. Preston shuts the door and locks it, all without a sound. He’s a ninja in low-hanging pajama pants, an old T-shirt, and socks. Socks. I bite my lip to stop the snort. If someone had told me I’d be hyperventilating over a gray-haired man in socks, I would’ve howled in their face. But right now, my pussy’s doing the giggling.
“We’re finally alone,” he says,breathless.
He closes the distance between us, arm sliding around my waist, the other cupping the back of my neck. He breathes me in like this is where he gets his air supply. It’s deep, kind of possessive, and I melt into him.
His nose traces the slope from my shoulder to the base of my ear, his beard scratching my skin.
Another inhale. Deeper. And when he exhales, my whole body shivers in response.
I’m way out of my depth here. And I’m right where I want to be.
“Mia.” He says my name like a plea, and I want to inject it straight into my bloodstream.
“Say it again.” I feel his smile on my skin, and I smile back.
“Mia?” This time it’s teasing, and I decide I love all the ways my name sounds coming from him.
“Yes?”
“We’ve skipped something very important.”
“What?”
He’s going to have to spell it out, because my brain clocked out the moment I felt his cock harden against me. His arm is a steel bar behind me, pinning me to his chest, while his other hand alternates between stroking my scalp and grazing my skin with his fingertips, detonating goosebumps.
“I need to kiss you.”
He doesn’t say want. He says need. And I believe him. I’ve been played a lot. There’s no part of me that feels that way with Preston. I believe every syllable he gives me. It's dangerous territory, but I do. It makes me feel braver. Wanted. Whole.
“What are you waiting for?”
“Permission,” he murmurs into my ear, then nips the lobe. “Say you want it too.” He sucks it into his mouth, and I nearly combust.
“Doctor, I want you to use, train, and possibly ruin my entire body. I think my mouth is a solid place to start. Kiss me.”
“You won’t be needing lessons in dirty talk, will you, Miss Thorne?”
Oh, if only he knew… This is all him. I’ve never felt braver. Never felt safer. I’ve never spoken like this before, and God, Ilovethis version of myself. The one who says what she wants. The one whoknowswhat she wants.
And yes, I absolutely want dirty talk lessons. More than that, I want to hear every depraved thing this man can say. I want him to show me how filthy he can be—and find out just what it does to me.
“We’ll get there when we get there,” I tell him, already breathless. “Now shut up and put that smart mouth to work, Dr. Jett.”
He does.
It starts rough, desperate. All the tension from the day erupts between our mouths, but somehow, it’s never messy. Never out of sync. We fit from the first press of lips, a perfect collision of want and rhythm. Tongues tangle in sync, as if we’ve done this a hundred times in another life. The kiss sears and soothes at once, a paradox I want to drown in.
I want more. I want everything. I want hungry, I want tender. I want ruined and worshipped in equal measure.
And somehow, he delivers it all.
He gets me there, while my hands slip from his hair, greedy to explore the rest of him—shoulders, arms, back—pulling him closer, fusing us together.
I decide then and there that I’ve never been kissed before.
Not really. Not like this.
