Medical Romance July 2016 Books 1-6. Lynne Marshall

in her hands bobbed against her mouth.

      “One night,” he managed, as the heat of her mouth enfolded him. “I want the whole night.”

      She nodded, and she worked him deeper into her mouth, letting her tongue luxuriate in the slick skin and the salty evidence of his need. He slid his fingers into her hair, his eyes on hers, letting her see what every flick of her tongue did to him.

      Right now he was hers, without barriers, and that was enough. It’d have to be enough.

      It wasn’t long before he gasped and gestured urgently, trying to pull himself free of her mouth. But she didn’t want that, she wanted everything she could get from him tonight—her one and only night—and grabbed his hip and drank him down.

      When she finally moved back, he collapsed onto the bed, hands closing on her arms to pull her up to him so that her cheek rested on his chest and he tangled one hand in her hair.

      “No holding back. One night, no holding back,” she whispered against his skin, kissing her way back down to his boot.

      “Okay.”

      A couple of strategic Velcro rips and she had his foot free. “Thank God, you’ve got the bandage too. I don’t think I could control my fingers enough to wrap it.”

      He laughed. “I’m already on the bed and I’m not sure if I can get up to the head of it.”

      She crawled up onto the bed, fetched condoms from the nightstand to have them within easy reach. “For when you’re able.”

      He nodded, and just pulled her back to him, still struggling to catch his breath.

      “Aren’t you able yet? It’s been at least fifteen seconds. I thought you had stamina.” She couldn’t stop herself from teasing. She wanted that too—no holding back meant giving everything, pleasure and passion and the playful side of both. That’s who they were. That’s what she wanted, the real Liam, not the polished celebrity adored by the masses.

      He dragged himself more fully on the bed and reached for her. Soon they lay face-to-face, him on his good side—and she let him as it’d minimize the pressure on his ankle. “Can’t have you doubting my stamina. But in my defense that was a cripplingly good orgasm. I might need a minute to get my mojo back.”

      His humor had returned to match her own. She couldn’t stop herself smiling. “So long as you’re not done.”

      “I’m far from done,” he assured her, running his hand over her hip as if he couldn’t quite believe that he had his hands on her. “I’m going to need at least two more rounds before I’m done. Maybe three. If you don’t fall asleep.”

      “Me?” She laughed and scooted closer so that their noses all but touched. “Let me remind you that I’m the one who worked for this. Seducing you is exhausting, Mr. Carter.”

      He took her tease in the spirit it was offered, and slid his arms around her as she hooked a leg over his hip to keep him close, little adjustments to get closer and closer. She could already feel him growing hard again against her inner thigh.

      His expression sobered a little. “I’m sorry. But you know it’s not because I didn’t want you. You wouldn’t believe how I’ve imagined this. So long. You got me through some dark days, Gracie. Actually, this is probably going to sound pretty creepy, but when I was penniless in LA, doing all those awful jobs that got me from audition to audition, my favorite pastime was thinking of you. Off at school. Standing in front of that apartment door with the trench coat open and sheer black bra and panties...I could still draw a picture with every detail preserved. If I could draw.”

      “You pictured me a lot?”

      “Every day.”

      “Just dark times?”

      “No, of course not. Good times too. When I had some time alone. Going to sleep. Running.”

      “Was I the carrot?” she asked, leaning down to kiss him again, her fingers combing through his hair in a way that was both soothing and arousing at the same time. Increased pressure encouraged him to roll over, and she went with him.

      “Sometimes,” he murmured.

      “Sometimes it was some other woman in her underwear?”

      “No,” he said, pushing her hair back from his face, the tenderness in his eyes making her inexplicably teary. “I don’t think I’ve ever daydreamed about another woman like I do about you. But I don’t always run happy. Sometimes...”

      “Sometimes you run mad? Sad?”

      “Yes. Though that doesn’t always work out well. Running if you’re too distracted can result in a sprained ankle.”

      Sprained ankle? She probably shouldn’t ask, but it was right after he and his girlfriend had split. “Because of Simone?”

      “No. No, not Simone.” He slid a hand around the knee she had hooked over his hip and rolled to his back so that she was on top of him.

      She sat up then, settling herself against him at the wrong end for penetration, but still in a place where she knew he’d enjoy a little friction.

      “What were you upset about? The part?”

      “No. Less talk. More... Where’s the condom?”

      “Not until you tell me what made you fall,” she said, flattening her hands against his chest and grinding her hips down just enough to slicken him.

      His eyes got that unfocused look of pleasure and he grabbed her hips to keep her right there, even as he groaned his complaint. “Not fair.”

      “I don’t play fair.” She usually played fair, actually, but if it wasn’t important, he wouldn’t be trying to hide it. “No holding back. You agreed.”

      He sighed then and stopped her hips. “It was the anniversary of my father’s death. It’s always a bad day.”

      A bad day, he’d said. Like those words were powerful enough to carry all the meaning that went with them.

      When she’d first met Liam she remembered thinking he was different, and the discussion she’d had with her parents about foster care, and why Liam was in foster care. Her parents had told her enough that she’d have been nice to him even if he hadn’t been the most handsome boy she’d ever seen. But Liam wasn’t much for sharing. He minimized things. And she was beginning to understand that the things he minimized most were the things that hurt the most.

      “Did I kill the mood?”

      Grace realized she’d been staring at him a long time and that she had tears in her eyes.

      That no-holding-back rule... “Does that happen on your mother’s anniversary too? Or were you too little when she died to really—?”

      “I don’t remember much about that.” He lifted that tattooed shoulder, minimizing further.

      “But you do remember your father’s death. Were you there?”

      “No. I found him later.” His words were delivered so flatly and emotionlessly...

      Her heart ached, her eyes burned, and she leaned forward to kiss him, unable to say anything.

      Warmth slid up her body as his hands crept to her cheeks, and as he accepted and returned every wet kiss, his thumbs brushed away her tears.

      When she’d kissed him enough to give him a glimpse of all the sorrow she felt on his behalf, she leaned up to look at him again. The tears still came, but his eyes were dry.

      “Don’t cry. I’m okay now. You got me better.”

      “It’s not that. It’s not that you got distracted and fell. Can’t I just be heartbroken for you? Because I am.”

      “I’m not.”

      Lies. Lies he might have even believed.