Page 157 of Wrong Number Right Doctor

There’s too much in me right now—anger, embarrassment, adrenaline, humiliation—and the only good thing in the room is the way Dalton’s hands feel on me, the way he kisses like he’s not asking permission to take the edge off any of it.

“Maggie,” he says against my mouth.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

He slides his hand up my side and grabs my breast through the dress, palm hot and firm, thumb circling my nipple through the fabric until I swear and bite his lower lip.

That gets a low, rough sound out of him.

“Still want this?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He looks at me once, like he’s making sure I mean it.

Then he yanks the top of my dress down and puts his mouth on my tit. The relief of it is instant and vicious. I drop my head back against the door and grip his shoulders while he sucks my nipple into his mouth hard enough to make my legs shake. My other breast is bare now too, his hand working it while his mouth moves between them, sucking, licking, biting just enough to make my whole body jump.

“Oh my God.”

He lifts his head for half a second. “Sensitive?”

I let out a breathless laugh that dies when he mouths my other nipple. “Shut up.”

He sucks harder.

The room is too quiet. The party is too close. I know there are people down the hall with champagne glasses and cake forks and opinions. It only makes this hotter. It only makes me grip him tighter and pull him closer, my body desperate for one thing that feels like mine tonight.

He slides his hand under my dress, up my thigh, and finds me wet through my panties.

His eyes lift to mine. “Christ.”

“Don’t say that like it’s surprising.”

“It’s not.”

He hooks his fingers into the side of my underwear and drags it down just enough to get his hand where he wants it. The first stroke of his fingers over my clit makes me jerk so hard my heel slips on the floor.

Dalton catches me easily.

His mouth goes back to my breast while his fingers work me faster, harder, exactly the way I need, like he’s been thinking about touching me since Alester’s hand went to my back in front of that room.

I know he has. I can feel it in the way he touches me now.

“Dalton,” I gasp.

“I know.”

He rubs my clit in tight circles until I’m breathing in broken pieces. Then he pushes two fingers inside me, curls them once, and I nearly come right there against the door.

“Oh fuck.”

That gets his attention. His head lifts from my breast, his mouth wet, his eyes dark. “You like that?”

I whimper.

His fingers circle my clit once, slow and deliberate, and I lose the rest of the sentence. It falls apart in my throat into a breathy, helpless sound that I have to choke back because there are people outside and because I will die before I let Alester’s guests hear me coming in some borrowed room at the back of his house.