Page 116 of Wrong Number Right Doctor

She makes a frustrated sound because she can’t deny it.

I work her slowly, deeply, thumb at her clit, fingers curling until she grabs my wrist with both hands. Not to stop me. To hold on.

Her orgasm tears through her. She buries her mouth against my coat, muffling the sound as her whole body tightens around my fingers. I hold her through it, my hand still moving until she’s trembling and boneless against me.

For a few seconds, neither of us speaks.

Then she lifts her head. Her eyes drop to my mouth. Then lower.

I should get out of the car. Walk her inside. Find a room. Find a bed. Find anything that is not this cramped, reckless space with steamed windows and her dress rucked up over her thighs.

Instead, I undo my belt. Her hands are there immediately, clumsy with urgency, helping me free my cock. When her fingers close around me, I suck in a breath through my teeth.

A small smile touches her mouth. “Still smug?” she whispers.

I grip her hip. “Careful.”

She rises onto her knees, positioning herself over me. I hold her steady, one hand at her waist, the other guiding myself against her.

Before she lowers, I stop her. “Tell me.”

She knows what I mean.

“I want this,” she says. “I want you.”

I let her take me in. Slowly, because we have to. Because the space is tight, because her body is sensitive, because the first slide of her around me nearly knocks the breath out of both of us.

She sinks down inch by inch, eyes locked on mine. When I’m fully inside her, she goes still. Her mouth opens, but no sound comes. I kiss her before she can make one.

The first few movements are careful. Testing. Her hands on my shoulders, mine at her hips, guiding her rhythm. Then she finds it. Her body remembers. She starts to ride me in slow, deep strokes that make the leather creak beneath us and the windows cloud completely.

I press my mouth to her throat.

She grips the back of my neck. “Dalton.”

“Quiet.”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

She clenches around me, and I groan before I can stop myself.

Her eyes flash. “You too.”

I almost laugh, but it breaks into a curse when she moves faster.

There’s nothing elegant about it. Nothing composed. It’s cramped and desperate, her dress bunched at her waist, my trousers open, both of us breathing too hard in a car parked outside her building like we’re old enough to know better and too far gone to care.

She comes again with her face pressed to mine, mouth open against my cheek, body pulsing hard around my cock. I hold her down through it.

That finishes me. I come deep inside her with my hands locked on her hips and my forehead against her shoulder, fighting to keep from saying something I have no right to say.

Afterward, she collapses against me. For a while, there’s only our breathing and the soft tick of the engine.

Then she lifts her head and looks at the fogged windows. “Oh my God,” she says.

I follow her gaze. The glass is completely misted over.