Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Annika
I pick a card from the deck and hand it to Dr. Cross.
He nudges his glasses up his nose, gives me a rakish grin that should come with a XXX rating, and reads the prompt. “What are you attracted to that you know isn’t good for you?”
The question slaps me in the face. “You,” I blurt out, a little put-out.
He considers me over the rim of his glasses. “Ouch,” he says, rubbing his large hand over his chest.
“Why are you saying ouch?” I demand, popping a chocolate-covered coffee bean into my mouth.
“The question specified a certain quality that isn’t good for you. Not a whole person,” he explains, sounding as attacked as I feel.
The rich dark flavor of the chocolate and the bitterness of the coffee bean hit me slowly, making me moan.
He fidgets, and it’s a struggle for me to stop my eyes from drifting down his chest. “If you don’t answer the question properly, that’s a forfeit too,” he declares.
“Fine,” I say, tilting my head to the right as if to get a better view of him. “Confidence. Authority. Competence. Sex appeal by the buckets. Large hands. Broad shoulders. Intelligent eyes. Rough, gravelly voice. Caring manner. Easy kindness.” I exhale roughly, realizing only as I list them out how many qualities there are to like about him. Not really surprising that I’m here with him. “Want me to go on?”
Chest expanding, he puts the card in a neat little pile on top of the lid. His movements are sharp and jerky.
I bounce my foot on the floor, nerves twisting me into a ball of anxiety. It’s one thing to know that you’re the lesser one—by any number of arbitrary attributes—in a relationship. Quite another to be the one who lists them out.
Not a relationship… I remind myself for the thousandth time.
When he looks up, his pupils are a pure stormy grey. “You can’t see all that in me.”
“Must say it like I sees it,” I say, chewing on my lower lip.
“And it’s not good for you?”
There’s an edge to his tone that makes me straighten. Then it sinks in, and I realize he’s got me good. “The rules say I have to answer the prompt. Not write a thesis on it.”
A line forms between his brows. I want to smudge it with my finger, kiss it away.
He looks like he wants to argue further but drops it. “My turn then.” He picks up a card and hands it to me.
My pulse speeds up. “What instantly makes someone hot in your eyes?”
Those gray eyes hold me captive effortlessly. “Authenticity.”
The word hits me straight in the solar plexus. “I’m not,” I whisper, the lies I’ve told my family crushing me from all directions, making me small.
A hand on my knee brings me back to myself. “With me, that’s all you have been, Ani. Real. Raw.”
I take his hand and bring it to my cheek, knowing I’m crossing a lot of lines in my head. Deciding to sleep with Dr. Cross, knowing I’ll never see him again, is one thing. This neediness for his touch is a whole other.
I turn his hand palm up and press a soft kiss to the center. There’s a faint roughness at the tips of his fingers, but the rest is smooth. They dance at the edge of my cheek, tracing my jaw with butterfly strokes.
I release him, and to my spiraling disappointment, he lets me, then offers the deck to me. My sigh sounds long-suffering even to my ears as I pick up another card and hand it to him.
His voice dips deliciously low. “Kiss a part of your partner you’ve never kissed before.”
Slowly, he puts the card face down in the done pile and undoes a couple of buttons on his shirt with a swagger I lap up like a hungry cat laps milk.
He’s winding me up with the posturing, but I can’t resist. The skin of his throat and chest is lighter than the olive tone of his face but not pale. For a godly surgeon, he clearly spends time outside the operating room. And the corded column of his throat… I want to press my face there and lick up his sweat. Maybe dig my teeth into the hard muscle of his shoulder.
“Is there a time limit for each question?” Dr. Cross points out in an oh-so-subtle tone.
Clutching my lower lip between my teeth, I let my gaze wander down from his wide mouth, down his neck and chest, linger over his stomach, and then stop at his crotch. I gulp at the faint movement of the large bulge there.
God, I want to know how sex feels with a person who is intent on seeing all of me.
And that’s what is at the root of this lightning-fast attraction. Dr. Cross knows me as more than a chaos gremlin, as more than the sum of my lies. Knows nothing about what I am but everything about who I am.
In his eyes, I’m simply a woman worthy of his interest.
The rough exhale of his breath penetrates the din in my ears.
Naked desire makes his eyes glow, making me think of the “faerie smut” I recently got into. “Lean forward so that I can reach your cheek please,” I say in the primmest tone I can manage.
His smile dips. With a heartfelt sigh that makes my lips twitch, he bows his torso.
I bend and rub my cheek against his first. His is bristly with stubble, and the tactile sensation fires up every nerve ending in my body. I grip his chin and turn his face as if I plan to kiss him high on his cheek. At the last second, I drape my fingers over his neck and press my lips to the corner of his.
It’s like lighting the wick of a firework and not running away fast enough before the flame licks at you. He smells of something posh and citrusy, and I gulp it down hungrily.
His shock lasts barely a breath before Dr. Cross grips my neck roughly and nips at my lower lip. “That’s for teasing me.”
The pain is sharp against the new sensations clamoring to be felt.
I open with a gasp, and he sneaks into my mouth, stroking every soft, molten inch of me. Before licking gently at the hurt on my lip.
The kiss goes from zero to a thousand in two breaths. I feel feverish and alien in my skin. His groan, when he breaks for a breath, is feral, and I swallow the sound to examine later. My Dr. Cross database is going to need a server farm.
He tastes like wine and chocolate, and I can’t get enough. Wrapping my hands around his shoulders, I fall into him, barely hanging at the edge of the armchair.
His thumbs move up on my cheeks, and he tilts my face before dipping his tongue again and playing with mine.
I dance the tip against his and run away. He chases me swiftly and when he catches me, sucks at the tip. Breathing is a chore, and I want to give it up, along with any rational thought.
Electricity zaps through me, turning me boneless. I groan and melt, more than willing to disperse into nothing in his kiss.
It’s too much and not enough. My need turns frenzied, growing claws, when he lifts me into his lap and my hip meets his erection.
“Again, Ani,” he says before he ravages my mouth with a hunger that makes me writhe on his lap. The shocking press of his cock, the evidence of his desire for me, is delicious. The possessive way he says my name is… thrilling.
If I let it, it will go to my head, how much he wants me.
I roll my hips back and fall against him, wedging that thick length between my hip and his abdomen. His hand cups my hip and then curves over my ass cheek. “Stop moving,” he says in a tone that’s ragged with lust.
I pout and pull back. Our harsh breaths mingle and dance.
Those hands on my hips dig into my flesh for a moment before he’s lifting me off him and depositing me back in my armchair. The soft nap of its fabric scrapes against my skin, which is too tight to hold all the sensations.
I look around the room in a daze; all the contrasting colors, fabrics, and textures suddenly too much for my whipped-up senses.
Before I can protest, Dr. Cross holds out his hand, the tips of two fingers stained red.
“You’re bleeding. I didn’t even see it,” he says, with a glower that makes me swallow.