Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“You have an appointment.”
He scowled, but I smiled as I cupped his cheek with one hand and pecked him on the lips.
“I know, you’re a busy man, and there are lots of people for you to help.”
“I love that you came by today on your lunch break,” he chuckled, kissing me before he growled again. “I just hate that you have to leave now.”
I grinned, biting my lip and blushing. Aiden’s brow went up.
“I know that look,” he purred, his look turning hungrier.
“What look?”
“That one,” he growled. “The ‘my wife’s up to something’ look.”
I giggled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Aiden shook his head. “Well, I’ll just have to pin you down and tease it out of you later when I get home.”
“You might not have to wait that long.”
He arched a brow, and as I grinned, my legs tightened around his waist. I could feel his big cock — still completely hard and still deep inside of me.
“You know how we have to be quick because you’ve got another patient?”
He nodded.
“Well,” I wagged my brows, drawing it out.
“Natalie…”
“Your next appointment is me.”
The hungry grin spread across his face, and I whimpered as I felt his hands tighten on me.
“I used a fake name.”
Aiden growled.
“And what seems to be your problem, miss new patient?”
“Well the thing is, doctor,” I purred, my voice low and husky as I slid my hands over his chest.
“I need you and that big beautiful cock of yours to make me come again.”
Aiden groaned, his cock throbbing as he moved in to brush my lips with his.
“You don’t think my wife will mind?”
“Oh, I think she demands it.” I grinned back before I kissed him slowly. “I love you, you know.”
“I love you too, you know,” my husband purred into my lips as his hands slid over my hips. “Now be a good girl, spread your legs, and let me make you come for me.”
* * *
The End.
The Hitman’s Doctor
The Hitman’s Doctor
The doctor will see him now…every freaking inch of him.
He’s gorgeous, cocky, tattooed, and hung like a freaking horse. On paper, he’s a the dreamboat I’ve been waiting my whole life for. There’s just one teeny, tiny problem:
…He’s also currently bleeding out from two bullet wounds on my operating table that he’s handcuffed to.
Yeah.
It turns out, my dream guy is a mob hitman on the run. Turns out, he’s dangerous, deadly, and has everyone from the FBI to the mob he ran from looking to ask him some questions or put him in the ground.
It also turns out, I turn to fucking mush when he looks at me like I’m already his. It turns out, I can’t say no to him, at all.
Dangerous, off-limits, inappropriate, and completely freaking irresistible. It’s my job to save his life. But it might just be his to save mine…
Chapter One
Aria
This is bad. It’s not lose-my-license-bad, but it’s definitely “what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you” bad. It’s “go-home-pour-two-glasses-of-wine-and-get yourself-off-because-girl-you-are-thirsty” territory.
But just the same, my cheeks burn, and a heat teases through me as I stare down at the man lying on the bed in front of me. He’s out cold—I mean, he did just get out of surgery an hour ago, but just the same, and in spite of every single professional bone in my body, I can’t stop drooling over him. Because the man is gorgeous and built like a freaking Greek god of sex.
There is a lot wrong with this scenario.
For one, he’s a patient—worse, he’s my patient. I’m the one that just spent five hours in an operating room over him, pulling out bullet fragments from the two wounds to his shoulder and his torso and patching him back up. I’m the one that stitched up the gashes that look like he got them in a fight with a chef wielding a butcher’s knife.
Yep, that makes me standing here with my eyes dragging over his bare, muscled, inked torso and down to the way the folded-down sheet hugs the grooves of his hip muscles bad enough. But then we could talk about the fact that he’s handcuffed to the hospital bed, and it gets ten times worse. Yeah, he’s not just a patient. He’s not just my patient, though that is pretty bad.
He’s also a person of interest, and a suspect in a criminal investigation. Also, he arrived here by crashing a stolen car into a light post in the parking lot outside the ER and promptly passing out on the ground.
Like I said, there’s a lot wrong with this situation.
I swallow, and my pulse quickens as my eyes tease over him. I want to tell myself I’m just checking in on my patient and examining the dressings on his wounds to make sure my work was my best. But, it’s more than that, and I know damn well any attempt to tell myself otherwise is a lie. My gaze moves lower, and my cheeks burn hotter.