Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
ROSE
Dr. Maxwell sat on the office chair, rolled it closer, and massaged my ankle. Hot and cold nipped my skin at the first touch; I never knew ankles could be so sensitive.
“What are you doing?” I asked breathlessly, pulling my knees to my chest.
He wasn’t deterred. With firm hands, he straightened my leg. “Massaging your calf to release endorphins.”
“Why?” I asked between bated breaths.
“Morphine relieves pain by releasing endorphins inside you,” was his unemotional response. “Massages can mimic the same effect to alleviate pain.”
“Oh.”
One of his large hands covered my smaller foot to hold me in place. His composure was infuriating until I saw his heavy-lidded, hooded eyes tracking their way up to my thighs.
Swallowing, I kept the conversation going to distract myself. “What else releases endorphins?” I asked in a trembling voice.
“Everything and anything your body craves, such as…” He paused, building the suspense before saying, “Food.” His thumb kneaded the pressure points to circulate the blood.
“Laughter,” he added, his gaze lifting to meet mine.
Though he sounded detached while listing the suggestions, his eyes were the furthest thing from cold.
They were two glowing embers, blazing hot and smoldering, ready to consume everything in their path as he finally revealed the last option, “Sex.”
My heart stopped.
Once more, we were discussing one of the biggest questions I had encountered.
Did he know the curiosity he had sparked in me?
Since the moment he had touched me, I had wanted to know everything about sex.
He lit my skin on fire with a simple touch.
What he did to me last night… It was so intense it was damn near unbearable.
“Is it working?”
I breathed so harshly that everyone on this ship could probably hear it. Nodding without meeting his gaze was the best I could do to answer his question.
The words hunger and thirst returned to haunt me as his fingers skimmed my bare calf.
He was methodical but thorough, as if he were handling the most prized possession.
His touch branded me with fire. I imagined it was the equivalent of the ship’s hull scraping against an iceberg—sparks flying with every contact.
I had made the wrong choice. His touch was more addictive than the pain medication.
I would be searching the streets for it once he was done with me, not for needles.
For the second day in a row, I was mortified by my inappropriate reaction to the man.
There was only so much I could take before making more embarrassing sounds.
Losing my patience, I blurted, “What did you do to me last night?”
His fingers paused around my ankle. “Are you referring to the sponge bath?” he asked innocently, though I could almost hear the smirk in his tone. “Or are you talking about how I made you come afterward?”
I frowned. “Come?”
“I could explain it or…” He scooted closer, and my knees bumped against his thighs. “I could show you.”
My heart pounded so violently that I thought it might give out. I didn’t have the gall to look at him.
His eyes fixed on my body as he gave me a straightforward instruction. “Look at me, not at the floor.”
My eyes snapped to him, fixing on his blue stare deeper than the ocean. The moment I gave him my attention, his hand reached under my robe, tracing the path to my thighs.
I wasn’t given any underwear, and the ones I woke up in were thrown out. I was bare down there, courtesy of the Brazilian wax. I could feel his surprise because he had felt the soft hair there just last night. He didn’t comment on it, arranging his fingers over my… The street slang was pussy .
He brushed over it several times before parting my lips and pressing his fingers against the same spot as last night. My eyes closed, but they reopened when he tugged at my hair with his other hand.
He wanted my eyes on him.
He pressed against the nub, eliciting a soft sound out of me. He slid lower. The wetness between my thighs had nearly soaked my robe. I knew he felt it, too.
“Fuck.” A low groan escaped his lips, potent enough to make my head spin. “Does that feel good?”
My voice trembled as I tried to answer. It wasn’t audible, and my hips followed his hand. The tension between my legs coiled around my body, just waiting for the moment it could unleash. When I moaned, he glanced at me as if the sound belonged to only him, as if all of me belonged to him.
His lips moved down the length of my neck, trailing soft kisses—sweet and addictive. His tongue darted out—minty and hot—and finally, he latched onto my skin—heady and primal. It activated a response I was unprepared for, lost in the euphoria at the final brink of pleasure.
I didn’t care who heard me, and it seemed neither did he. The more vocal I became, the more possessively he sucked on my neck. When I released a strained moan, he sank his teeth into my flesh like he had lost control and was about to suck me dry like a vampire.
“Oh, God,” I cried, my body rigid with a hand on his collar.
I shuddered under him, trembling uncontrollably.
It was more potent than last night, my thighs squeezing to keep myself grounded while he worked me into a frenzy.
I erupted a second time and screamed so loudly, you’d think I was being murdered.
His teeth were locked on my neck, devouring me. The spot throbbed from his attention by the time he finally let go of my throat.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. When he pulled back, I almost gasped. My god, he was beautiful, more like a male model than a doctor.
Amelie and the crew had gossiped about how no one dared to touch him without permission, not even the female companions from those magazines. I assumed it had to do with his OCD; he wanted prior notice to craft the stipulations of any physical contact.
Control freak!
I must have had a death wish because I lifted a shaky hand and placed it on his cheek. I couldn’t help it. I needed to know this was real because his icy exterior made him look like a dream—a beautiful statue—eternally out of reach. Unattainable.
A part of me was also curious about touching the untouchable man, though I fully expected him to shove my hand away and scold me. After all, he had reprimanded people for far less.
What I didn’t anticipate was for him to close his eyes and lean into my palm with a shuddering breath. “Fuck. You have no idea how badly I needed this.” It was low, barely audible, and I would’ve missed it if I weren’t sitting so close to him.
He was what I assumed a classic piece of art would look like. He should be displayed at a museum and never touched by commoners. Yet, he had thawed under my palm, even reveling in my touch.
“Careful, Little Rose,” he said huskily, his ragged breaths drawn in with great effort. “I’m seconds away from finishing what you don’t even know you started. Any more encouragement, and I’ll forget you’re still recovering.”
I snatched back my hand, holding it over my chest with the other. I had no idea what he meant, but the dark promise in his whisper was enough to ward me off.
My eyes dropped to his pants, the hard outline straining against it like it wanted to break free. I knew then, without a doubt, that he wanted me.
I should have fortified my walls where he was concerned.
Hundreds of women—women much more beautiful than me—wanted him.
I had seen the evidence of his fan club on and off this boat.
The staff were kind enough to point out the women vying for the doctor’s heart from my window.
They were on display, sunbathing on the deck, their perfect, scarless bodies taunting me.
I was nowhere in the same galaxy, let alone league, as those women.
However, at this moment, he only wanted me.
With great effort, I met his eyes and caught them fixed on my lips. Those eyes, generally devoid of emotions, were no longer empty. They were darkening by the second, and once more, the words hunger and thirst rang in my head.
Lost in a daze, my rapid breathing matched his, though I hadn’t done anything to reciprocate. I wanted to, but I didn’t know how and didn’t have the guts to ask.
It didn’t matter. He wasn’t the type to let others take charge. With a swift move, he lowered the adjustable backrest. He stretched out on top of me and made a space for himself between my parted legs.
A rough hand traced my thigh. I sucked in a breath as he brought a million nerve endings to life with a simple touch. His lips were on my neck once more, trailing down to my stomach. I didn’t know where he was taking this, only that my breathing was labored.
Fluids glided onto the table, my core pulsing like it wanted to explode as he moved toward the lower region of my body.
He licked my thigh, then moved lower still until reclaiming the office chair and spreading my legs.
His lips advanced toward me, gradually, leisurely, until I felt his hot breath on my sex.
What was he doing?
Rising to my elbows, I glanced at his face between my thighs. He inhaled deeply, breathing me in remorselessly. The way he looked, he seemed practically drugged by my smell.
Was he getting high off my scent?
“Dr. Maxwell?” I questioned, my heart racing.
“Think of it as another massage,” he breathed. “One with my tongue instead of my fingers.”
My breath came out in short bursts as he tasted my skin. I closed my eyes against his lava-like tongue. A whimper escaped my throat when it flitted inward, closer and closer, until he…
My eyes snapped open. “What are you doing?” I screamed, horrified. I pulled on his hair frantically. Oh God, why was his mouth…down there?
With a hand on my stomach, he held me against the table. I had no choice but to be spread wide for him, writhing with humiliation.
“Stop, stop, stop!”
Planting another possessive kiss between my lips, he withdrew and gazed at me. I couldn’t believe he kissed me down there…twice. What the hell was he thinking?
“Don’t do that again!” I begged, breathless and shaking. “I-it’s dirty.”
He snapped out of the madness with a dark chuckle. “Then let me clean it up.” He latched onto my lips with his teeth, sucking on them the way he had my neck.
“What?” I squeaked.
I watched, stupefied, as he rubbed his nose between my lips and licked my inner thighs.
“You really shouldn’t do that,” I whispered.
He paid me no mind, his tongue drifting out to connect with my pussy. A shudder roiled through me at first contact. I stopped protesting, consumed by his touch, and gave in to whatever he wanted to do to me.
“Shit,” I murmured when he prodded my lips open.
Plunging two fingers inside me, he flicked his thumb against the sensitive nub. With a deep growl against my sex, he sank farther into me, spreading me wide open so that he could penetrate me with his tongue. I gazed at him, catching him looking back at me with eyes just as awed.
For the first time, I wasn’t self-conscious about what he thought of the scars, even though they were on full display under the bright, ugly LED lights.
It was impossible to be insecure when he watched me the way I looked at food, as if he would never be full, no matter how much he gorged.
As if it were my face plastered across magazines, not his, and he was my biggest fan.
He had nothing in common with the zombies from the streets.
He was well-bred, educated, and a literal genius.
Yet he looked at me like I was his drug and he was about to plunge the syringe straight into his veins.
I never thought I would cherish anything more than food, but the admiration in his eyes was better.
Was that why I let this stranger do this to me? I was wolfing down every scrap of attention he threw my way, because when else would a man like him be interested in someone like me?
This area was not meant to be kissed or licked.
It was a heinous act, and I should fight harder to make him stop.
It felt so good when his tongue lapped my sex, the obscenity only making me feel hotter.
His mouth explored my pussy, massaging it with his tongue.
He licked the wetness seeping out of me until I was ready to explode.
My mortification had long subsided, and I wanted nothing more than for him to continue.
Taking full advantage of my euphoria, he flicked his tongue over my sensitive spot and then sucked.
My hips jerked, thrusting upward as he pushed his face farther inside me.
I struggled against him while he buried his face deeper still between my thighs.
Drenched in me, he unleashed himself, devouring me like a man who had been deprived for years, savoring every last drop.
He pushed me higher and higher until I let out a primal scream.
He tightened his grip on my ass, following my movements as my thighs clenched around his head.
Once I stopped writhing and shuddering under his mouth, he finally gentled his lapping, though he didn’t retreat.
He stayed there, his mouth nestled between my thighs.
It felt like hours had passed until he finally pulled away.
I watched with bleary vision as he advanced toward me, plucking me off the table like he would a toothpick.
He carried me to the bed and climbed under the blanket with me.
There were no more pretenses. I had suspected he had slept beside me last night, and tonight, he confirmed he planned on doing so again.
He watched me intently as if waiting for something. A reaction?
The moment was anticlimactic as nothing happened.
He moved on to tracing a calloused thumb over the bite mark on my neck.
Whatever he saw—probably the first hint of a bruise—drew out a groan and a possessive look in his eyes.
Grabbing my face roughly with his large hands, he crushed my lips with his.
Delirious, I surrendered to him like a ship being pulled into a raging sea.
I was clumsy in my efforts, entirely new to this, but he didn’t seem to mind or even notice.
He dominated my mouth, forcing my tongue to move alongside his.
If a kiss could pitch a flag, that was what he had done with it—staked a claim.
He stretched out on top of me, his hips moving in rhythm with his mouth, igniting another bout of heat between my thighs. His lips moved with intention, like they needed to consume me, and I let it happen.
By the time he settled against my side with an arm wrapped around me, I was out of breath. Lethargy dragged me to the center of the earth, but something else played louder in my mind, keeping me awake.
The kiss, the feeling of being consumed, I had experienced it before.