Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“I’m very obedient,” he promises, kissing the corner of my mouth. “You want me to stay in bed?”
I nod, lips parting. “Mmm. Strict bed rest.”
He kisses my jaw. “No strenuous activity?”
“None.”
His mouth grazes my throat. “But what if the doctor initiates it?”
“Then it’s allowed,” I whisper, arching into him. “But only if I say so.”
His mouth finds mine and everything else fades—the room, the day, the worry. It’s just him and me, wrapped up in soft cotton sheets and quiet hunger. The kind that builds with every touch. Every unspoken word. Every shaky inhale.
He takes his time.
My shirt is lifted slowly, his hands dragging up my sides, mouth trailing heat over newly exposed skin. I’m not wearing anything underneath—no bra, not enough time before I stormed out the door—and the sound he makes goes straight to my core.
Fuels my ego.
“Jesus,” Luca mutters against my sternum, like I’ve just performed a miracle. “You really came over here dressed for an emergency.”
“I told you,” I whisper, threading my fingers through his hair, “I thought I’d be tending to a half-dead, feverish, pale-faced man clutching a bucket.”
“Plot twist,” he says, kissing the swell of my breast. “I’m miraculously cured. You have healing powers.”
“Don’t joke,” I murmur. “I take my fake doctoring very seriously.”
He smirks, eyes roaming over my skin like a man absolutely not taking anything seriously. “Should I call you Doctor Nova?”
I hum thoughtfully. “Doctor Montagalo, actually.”
“Oh, that’s hot,” he says, hands still sliding beneath my shirt, thumbs teasing the curve of my breasts. “Wait—should I be faking symptoms?”
“Yes.” I nudge his shoulder until he rolls to his back, eyes wide as I straddle his waist with full medical authority. “Lay back. I need to continue the full examination.”
“Ma’am,” he says solemnly, hands tucked behind his head. “I should warn you, I’ve got a history of being a very difficult patient.”
I nod, clicking my tongue. “I’ll have to note that in your chart.”
“Will there be a punishment?”
I nod again. “Obviously.” I pause. “You probably just have a mild case of horniness.”
He clutches his chest. “Oh no! What will happen to me?”
I shake my head sagely. “We’ll have to administer a very thorough, very hands-on treatment.”
His eyes flare with mock panic. “Is it…invasive?”
“Extremely,” I say, biting my lip. “Side effects may include heavy breathing, loss of clothing—and moaning.”
Lots and lots of moaning…
“This keeps getting worse and worse,” he whispers. “What’s the recovery time?”
“Unknown.” I run my fingers lightly down his chest, dragging my nails over his pec muscles. “Depends on patient compliance, which you already warned is terrible.”
“But…but...I’m a good listener!”
I quirk a brow. “Are you?”
“Yup.” He nods. “Especially when naked.”
“Perfect,” I say, grabbing the waistband of his sweatpants. “Because I’m about to check your reflexes.”
He blinks. “Is that code word for naked?”
“It is now.”
He grins but lets me push the waistband lower. “Wait—shouldn’t you take my blood pressure first?”
I drag my nails down the lines of his abdomen, smirking. “Oh, babe. I already am.”
He makes a strangled sound, which I take as medical confirmation to proceed.
“I’m going to need you to rate your pain on a scale from one to ten,” I say with a stern expression.
“Zero,” he says immediately. “I feel incredible.”
I cock my head. “Not even a tiny ache?”
“Well—my heart hurts a little.”
I pause. “What?”
Is he being serious or are we still in character? Is his heart ache a good thing or a bad thing?
Luca is smiling but his eyes aren’t playing around anymore.
“You know…” his voice trails off. “From all the pining I did for you knowing I couldn’t date you.”
Pining for me. Oh my God.
Mavis tingles.
He lifts one brow. “Years of sexual tension. Sleepless nights. Unfulfilled longing. You know—the usual symptoms. I’m more than just some guy who knows how to handle a puck.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, unsure what to do with my hands or what to say. We went from teasing to be serious in a matter of seconds.
“You are.” I press my palm against his cheek. “And I love that about you.”
Luca clears his throat like he’s trying to pull the moment back from the brink of actual feelings—which is hilarious, because the feelings are already here, setting up camp and roasting marshmallows.
“Well,” he breaks the silence. “As my doctor, I feel like I should mention my shirt suddenly feels super restrictive.”
Oh! “Help a girl out.”
He sits up just enough to let me peel it over his head, and tosses it somewhere over his shoulder without looking. His eyes never leave mine.
“I feel better already,” he teases.
“Don’t get cocky,” I warn, shifting so I’m straddling him. “You could be experiencing a placebo effect.”
“I most definitely am.”
I lean forward, chest brushing his bare skin, and whisper, “You’re my favorite patient.”
His mouth curves into a smile, but it fades a little as he looks up at me—like he’s trying to memorize this moment. The way I’m sitting on top of him. The way my hands are curled against his chest like I never want to move.