Page 35 of Prescription for Sin

"This is…chemistry," she breathed, and his laugh held equal parts joy and desperation.

"Trust you to make 'chemistry' sound seductive." He couldn't quite hide his pride in her cleverness, even now. "Though I suppose we are testing multiple hypotheses tonight."

"Such as?" The word emerged breathless as his fingers found new territories to explore.

"That touch reveals truth better than words." He backed her slowly toward the dining table, each step a dance of advance and retreat. "That when two bodies connect like this"—his hands slid down to cup her bottom, pulling her flush against him—"lies become impossible."

"And what other hypotheses need testing?"

"That perhaps," he breathed against her throat, fighting for control as her body moulded to his, "the fastest way to rebuild trust is through shared pleasure."

"An interesting theory." Her voice shook as he found new ways to make her tremble. Everything in him ached to claim her completely, to prove with his body what his words had failed to convey—that she was everything, that she had undone him entirely, that no deception could match the fundamental truth of how they fit together.

"How do you propose to test it?"

The words emerged half challenge, half surrender, and Everett knew he was lost.

"By seeing if you can maintain your walls when I do this..." His fingers slipped under her skirts and traced a path to her ass that made her gasp. "If you can hide anything from me when we're connected so intimately." He pressed closer, his voice dropping lower. "If either of us can pretend to be anything other than desperately desiring each other when we're skin to skin."

He lifted her onto the table, then gathered her skirts to her hips. She yelped in surprise. “That you’ll forgive my deception when you understand why I had to know you completely.”

Emma wanted to argue, to maintain her anger at his lies, but her exposed stockinged legs made her feel vulnerable and hungry for his touch. She found herself caring less about his motives and more about the sensations he was drawing from her body.

“Evidence suggests…” she began, but he silenced her with feather light strokes in the back of her knee, then traversed to her thigh. His skilled fingers drifted to her inner thighs and drew patterns so tenderly she forgot everything except the feel of him on her skin.

“Christ, you’re so responsive,” he mumbled as he positioned himself between her legs. He pressed his hard shaft against her inner thigh. When his lips trailed over the swells of her breasts, then between her mounds, an unbidden moan left her throat.

“There’s so much I want to do to you, so much I want you to experience, but today’s about light touch. No more clinical observations,” he breathed against her lips. “Just feel.”

His fingers traced from her stomach to her sex without actually touching skin. “The quickened breath.” He trailed a feather-light caress along her throat. “The flutter of pulse.” His lips a whisper against her creamy breasts. “The way your skin reaches for contact, even when I’m barely touching you.”

To demonstrate, he drew his fingers down the apex of her thighs, barely grazing her through the thin fabric of her chemise. Emma bit back a moan, understanding now why they called this exquisite torture.

“The body,” he continued, his clinical tone belied by his rigid member digging into her thigh, “is mapped with paths of sensation.” His thumb traced her lower lip without quite making contact. “Like rivers flowing to the sea, each touch builds upon the last…”

He demonstrated with devastating precision, his fingers dancing just above her skin, his heat creating patterns of want that made her arch toward him, seeking firmer contact. But each time she moved to deepen the touch, he withdrew slightly, maintaining that maddening lightness.

“Everett,” she protested, her voice hardly recognisable.

“Patience, Doctor.” His voice held wicked promise. “Some lessons require extensive administrations.”

Watching Emma come undone beneath his careful touch was the sweetest torment he’d ever endured. Her usual precision had dissolved into something wild and wanting. Upon briefly opening their eyes, he soaked in the vision of her golden hair tumbling free. Her lips were parted, and those remarkable eyes were dark with desire. It took every ounce of his control not to abandon the lesson and claim her completely. They recommenced their sightless lesson.

“The lightest touch,” he demonstrated, trailing his fingers over her nipples, “can be more powerful than the firmest grip.”

Though his own body ached for more substantial contact, he forced himself to maintain that teasing lightness. Her small gasp of frustration nearly broke his resolve.

She reached for him, the sightless attempt stroking his forearm instead, but he caught her wrists gently.

“No, love. Let me show you.” The endearment slipped out involuntarily, making his heart stutter.

“Damn you,” she breathed, the curse shocking and sending blood rushing south. It was making his own control precarious. “This is torture, and I still hate you.”

With a grunt, he squeezed her breasts, then moaned at their suppleness. “These are so impossibly soft,” he said and took one nipple in his mouth. Her moan sounded like a gasp, and she pressed her hip against his erection. Everett groaned with satisfaction. Her like this—proud Dr Brown reduced to trembling need by his careful touch—fractured his control.

“Everett.” His name was a plea on her lips. “Please.”

“Blast it.” His own voice shook.