Medicine Man (Page 38)

“It doesn’t make sense.” His gray, almost black, gaze flicks back and forth. “You’re my patient. You’re my responsibility. I’m supposed to fix you, not think about your lips. I’m not supposed to think about your mouth or the taste of your tongue. If you really taste like you smell.”

“How… How do I smell?”

His chuckle is short and harsh as he moves his hand and grabs my face. “Like lemons. Like you’ve been sucking on lemon wedges all day long with that pink mouth of yours.”

I feel the heat of his hand on my flesh. He’s burning up, slowly boiling over. “I-I… It’s the lime jello,” I reply, as if that’s the most important thing in the world right now. Explaining the source of my smell and possibly my taste too.

His grip on my cheeks increases. “That was for me, wasn’t it? That whole lie about getting kissed in a dark alley.”

Oh God. Why’d he have to bring that up?

Again, I don’t know what I was thinking. I was so overcome by this urge to show off. To tell him without telling him that I’ve been thinking about him. Dreaming about him. And that I’m not ashamed of any of it.

My cheeks are possibly the same temperature as his fingers now, all heated up with embarrassment and lust. Even though I want to look away, I don’t. I stare into his passionate gray-black eyes and nod. “Yes.”

He shakes his head once. “Is that how you want to be kissed, Willow? In a dark alley, pressed up against a wall?”

I know I’m panting. Probably even salivating right now. My thighs are trembling. There’s a buzzing inside my stomach because yes, I do want to be kissed like that. I do want to be devoured, eaten up, swallowed in.

By him.

“Yes. Like that.”

“That’s what you want, don’t you? For a man to go so fucking crazy for you that he can’t afford to be a gentleman. That instead of dropping you off at your front door and walking away with a chaste goodnight kiss, he pushes you against it and fucking kisses the breath out of you.”

Yes. So much yes.

He’s gotten closer to me with every word out of his beautiful lips and I go on my tiptoes to bring our mouths even closer. “No. Not just any man. You. I want you, Simon.”

A shudder ripples through him, like a shock wave. It ripples through me, as well. Why did I wait so long to say his name? It was stupid. I’m not going to be so stupid anymore.

Well, aside from what we’re doing right now. It doesn’t feel stupid, even though it should, for all intents and purposes. Especially after his whole moral and ethical argument.

“You’re not my type,” he growls, pushing his forehead against mine.

“I’m sorry?”

 “You’re young. You’re reckless. Inexperienced. You believe in happy endings, don’t you? Fairy tales and fucking magic.”

His breaths are wild, frustrated. Like believing in good things is a bad habit. Believing in something bigger than you is silly.

I frown, pressing harder against his forehead. “Of course I do. If someone like me doesn’t believe in magic, then there’s no hope for anyone else. There’s no hope for me. And it’s not a bad thing, you know. It’s not a bad thing to believe in something. In fact, it shows that you’re brave and –”

His mouth pulls into a humorless smile. “And you don’t know when to shut the fuck up.”

“Hey –”

“Willow.”

He flattens my cheeks with his hands, asserting all his stupid authority over me. Too bad it only makes me hornier and I have to clench my thighs against the shivers running through my lower body.

“What?” I somehow manage to squeak.

“Shut the fuck up.”

I gasp; how dare he?

But it gets swallowed up by his mouth.

I freeze. It’s happening.

He’s kissing me.

Simon Blackwood, the ice king, my psychiatrist, is kissing me. His lips are on mine and they are moving. Slowly, thoroughly. They are so warm and alive and wet.

So wet. Maybe as wet as I am, down there. In my pussy.

Clutching his wrists harder, I lean against him, both restless and in relief. I’ve been dying all this time. To feel him like this. For him to cross the line that I’ve already crossed ages ago.

Moaning, I press harder against him, plastering my body over his, almost draping it, and he groans into my mouth.

“You do taste like lemons,” he rasps, licking the seam of my lower lip.

My hands sink into his hair, then. All soft and velvety and dark. They make me smile. “It’s the lime jello,” I repeat, looking into his hooded eyes.

“Fucking hate lime jello.”

“Me too.” I lick my lips and his nostrils flare. “B-but you should try the ones here. They taste good. Like, so good.”

His fingers move from my face to my hair, undoing my loose topknot. “Yeah.” Burying his hands in the strands, he whispers not to me, but to my lips, “And that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

I don’t get what he means, but I don’t have the time to think over it before he covers my mouth again. This time his rhythm is not as slow. It’s thorough though. So thorough that I feel his lips all over my body. I feel them on my throat, the back of my neck, my stomach, my thighs.

I have a feeling the earlier soft and slow kiss was only the beginning. He was sampling my lips, getting a taste of them. Warming them up. So he can do more. So much more.

And he does.

He thrusts his tongue inside my mouth, taking me by surprise, and I fist his hair, going up on my tiptoes. My lips open wide as I take him in, as I take a part of his body inside mine, and something clicks into place.

I feel like I needed that, his tongue inside my mouth, tasting, sweeping, licking. Hungry. I needed to be his food, his sustenance, like he’s become mine.

Latching on to his tongue, I suck on it like my life depends on getting his flavor, filling my belly with it. It makes him go wild. It makes him growl inside my mouth like he’s more than a man. He’s an animal. A carnivore.

Simon maneuvers my face so he can go deeper, and so I open my mouth wider. Like a receptacle of some sort. For him. For his rainy, fresh taste. For his tongue.

Even his teeth.

They nip at the seam of my lips, sending sparks down to my pussy that’s just getting sloppier and sloppier with every second.

Drenched. That’s what my core is. Like the grounds outside. It’s a stormy day and the rain is coming down hard, like Simon’s mouth on mine.

Grunting, he’s slamming it over and over, his fingers fisted in my hair. He’s feeding on my mouth like I’m feeding on him. I’m sucking and swallowing, eating him up.

But his sucks and pulls and tugs have a purpose. They are selfless, unlike my selfish ones. They are curing me.

Yes, my medicine man is curing me, purifying my blood, vacuuming the illness out of me.

With his mouth, his kisses, he’s drinking down all my poison. That thing inside me that gives me blue eyes. He’s making me cleaner, healthier. He’s purging me.

He’s making me happy.

The thing that’s as elusive to me as love.

I feel myself getting lighter, more pliable, until all I can feel is him and his ridged, sculpted body. I arch my spine. I push my breasts – restless and heavy with engorged nipples – into his chest and clutch his shoulders.

“Simon…” I whimper when he lets me come up for air.