Page 18 of Beach Reads: Three Summer Scorchers

D r Whitaker is a freaking dream . With those steady chocolate brown eyes; the firm jaw under that stubble; the way his head tilts when he considers me, his gaze roaming up and down my body…

I’ve won some karmic jackpot. There’s no other explanation. I must have done something super selfless in a past life, because it’s late on a Friday and I’m in the doctor’s office for the third night running, perched on his epic thighs.

“It makes no sense that you’d have a lap like this.” I wiggle to make my point, and big hands clamp on my waist, holding me still. “Aren’t doctors all reedy and overworked? Fueled only by caffeine addictions and savior complexes?”

“You’re half right.” His voice is amused in my ear. Deep and rough.

I wiggle again, grinning at the wall. “Oh, poor Whit. Want me to make it all better?”

That exasperated huff is my new favorite sound. Or, no: maybe it’s the ragged groan Whit lets out every time he licks between my legs. Or the shocked inhale he makes every time we kiss. Or the rustle of his white coat as he wraps me in his arms.

Yeah. Dr Whitaker makes a lot of really delicious sounds.

“That won’t be necessary, Poppy.” He grips me tighter, stops me from grinding against the hard line of his cock, and the big, shiny soap bubble of my happiness pops just like that. I wrinkle my nose at his desk.

See, Dr Whitaker may put his hands on me every chance he gets, but apparently it’s a one-way street. I’m not allowed to peel off his white coat. Not allowed to slip down onto the rug and tug his belt buckle open. Believe me, I’ve tried.

That won’t be necessary , he always says, like I’m a waitress offering sugar in his coffee. No blow jobs, thank you, not today.

Does Whit not want me like that? Is it because of what I told him that first time, whispering my confession into his shoulder as he stood between my legs afterward, hugging me against his chest?

“I’m not—I’ve never done this before.”

He’d paused, clearly surprised. But he didn’t push me away, did he? And it didn’t stop him from licking me again every day since.

So. My v-card is probably not the problem.

“Gina Ferris called earlier.” Whit’s chest rumbles against my back as he speaks. His thumbs stroke up and down my ribs. Up and down. “They’re running the story tomorrow. It’s nearly over, Poppy.”

“Vengeance,” I mumble.

His laugh jolts me forward an inch. “Yes. Vengeance. And then you’ll be free to live your own life. In fact,” he leans away, tugging his desk drawer open, “this is for you.”

It whispers against the desk as it lands. A passport application form; one to replace the one my father took from me. So I can finally go on my trip.

I swallow around the lump in my throat.

This is where Whit could say something. Where he could ask me to stay with him. If he said the words, I’d agree in a heartbeat. It was never really about the travel, not at all, it was about having a choice. Deciding my own fate.

I wait, the silence taut in the office.

The words I desperately want to hear don’t come.

“I can help you, if you like,” Dr Whitaker says instead after a moment, tapping a finger on the form. “We’ll get you out of here, Poppy, I promise. Out to see the world.”

Ugh. My fingers are numb as he presses a pen into my hand, his chest so hard and warm against my back. And when Whit brushes my hair over one shoulder, trailing soft kisses down my neck as I write, my chest cracks open. Everything hurts, and tears sting my eyes.

“Good girl.” He bites down gently on my shoulder, and I suck in a shaky breath, forcing my pen to keep moving over the page.

I’ve won the jackpot, alright. Had a taste of heaven. But I don’t get to keep him, do I?

* * *

There are blog articles and TV features. The flash of cameras every time I walk past the Honey Cove gates. So many phone calls, Whit sets up a special filter on the institute phone lines, and a million and one questions from Janice at the poolside.

Is this what I expected from my vengeance? A media circus and an explosion of interest in me online? Endless photos of my father, red-faced and furious as he denies the allegations?

I guess so. And it doesn’t matter what Governor Lennox says now: his political career is ruined, along with all the internships and fancy jobs he once planned for me . I’ll never go home after this. Will never see my family or society friends again.

My life is a smoldering crater, and I’m the one who pulled the pin on the grenade. Cue my cool-guy shades.

“How does vengeance taste, Poppy?” Whit finds me floating on my back in the pool, staring blankly up at the stars.

It’s after midnight, the air crackling with static, and the photographers have only just given up on trying to scale the Honey Cove walls.

The doctor’s voice is teasing, but my mouth twists.

“Bittersweet.”

His feet shift against the paving stones. “Ah.” He’s backlit by an ornate lamp post, and his tall, broad-shouldered silhouette makes my stomach do high kicks. “It’s not how you imagined?”

I shrug one shoulder and accidentally dunk myself, coming up spluttering and red faced. Whit doesn’t laugh at me. He never does when it really counts.

Ripples fan out across the inky surface of the water as I swim closer to his edge, coughing to clear my throat.

“It’s fine.” I’m hoarse. The stone is still warm under my fingertips when I grip the poolside, baked all day by the sun.

“But I spent all that time obsessing over Gina’s article and getting the word out.

I never really thought about what comes next. ”

“You’ll figure it out.” The doctor’s voice is so confident, ringing through the courtyard. He has such faith in me, and it makes me want to cry. “You’re so brave, Poppy, and there’s a whole world out there just waiting for you. You’re going to take it by storm.”

Okay. But do I really have to? Without him?

My forehead thunks against the pool wall. “Ow.”

“Hey.” Whit’s alarmed, squatting to pat at my shoulders. He strokes my wet hair and the shell of my ear. “It’ll be okay. Did you hurt yourself? Let me take a look.”

I tip my head back and stare past him at the stars.

It’s too dark to see his eyes anyway. Gentle thumbs probe at my forehead, and my heart is raw, and I’m sinking, sinking, sinking.

My head may be above water, but my soul is curled up on the bottom of the pool.

They’ll fish it out of the filters tomorrow with the drowned bugs and dead leaves.

“Something’s wrong,” Whit says softly. With my forehead? Did I really smack it that hard? “I thought you’d be excited to leave, but you seem…”

Here goes. It’s easier to admit these things in the dark. “No. Well. I’ll never be excited to leave you , Doc.”

There’s a long pause, where the only sounds are the gentle slosh, slosh of pool water and the leathery flap of bat wings overhead. Then Whit gusts out a breath, and his touch on my head gets firmer. He’s stroking my hair; cradling my neck. Patting and soothing.

“This time together has meant a lot to me too.” His tone is so freaking careful, I could scream. “But Poppy, the things you want—the adventure, the travel—”

“ You’re what I want.” For a girl confessing her love, I sound super grumpy. I grumble the words at the wet stone, my sore forehead creased in a scowl. “Dumbass.”

The doctor chokes out a laugh. But he’s not listening to me, the jerk, he’s still petting my hair as he says: “It’s been intense, I know. I feel the same way. But you’re young, Poppy, and in a few months’ time, you won’t even remember—Jesus!”

Whit shoots to his feet, slapping at his now-soaking chest, and I glower up at him, ready to splash the big idiot again.

“I won’t forget. If I got my way, I wouldn’t leave at all.

This is the first time in my whole life that I’ve ever had a real home, that I’ve ever felt l—” I break off, throat tight, because I can’t say that word.

Not now, when he’s sending me away. “The first time that I’ve ever belonged. And now I have to leave.”

That last word comes out as a croak, vibrating with despair. And Whit stares down at me, his shadowed chest heaving like he’s been winded.

“You really want to stay?”

I shrug, anger making my movements jerky. Water sloshes onto the side and pools around Whit’s shoes. “Yeah. Obviously.”

“In your villa?” he presses, like I’d get this worked up over a freaking bungalow. Like the lack of sharp objects and the lukewarm shower is such a dream.

“Whit, I swear to god. Get your head out of your ass, or I will splash you again.”

And aren’t doctors supposed to be clever?

But then his shadow moves, strong hands sliding beneath my armpits, and I’m lifted out of the pool in a shower of droplets.

Like I weigh no more than an angry, wet feather.

The stars wheel overhead, and his chest is already soaking when he crushes me in a hug.

“My towel is back there,” I tell the doctor as he strides away down the stone path, my legs wrapped around his trim waist.

“Poppy? I don’t care about your towel.”

Whit hitches me higher, and then I feel it: the hard length of him, pressing between my thighs. For once, he’s not moving me away. He’s holding me closer, letting our bodies grind together as he walks. Letting me feel everything.

The gears thunk into place in my brain. “Oh my god.”

“Yes. You’re staying with me.” He says it like it’s final: like he’s laying down a command, prescribing a treatment, even though I’ve been trying to convince him, fighting for this for days.

The dark palm trees loom on either side of the path, fronds whispering in the breeze.

“We’ll travel if you like. We’ll go anywhere you want.

But you’re mine , Poppy. Do you understand? ”

My cheeks are on fire, and I’m too frazzled to play this cool. There’s a high-pitched whine in my ears, and my nipples are like bullets against his strong chest. They’re gonna stab right through my bikini top.

“Um. Yes, I understand. I—yep. Ten four. Roger that.”

* * *

Doctor Whitaker tosses me onto the bed in my villa like I’m a horny sack of potatoes. I sprawl over the mattress, legs akimbo, red-faced and spluttering.

“Fuck.” My bedside lamp clicks on, and Whit stares down at me, an avenging angel in a white coat. His shadow stretches up the wall. “I want to be gentle, Poppy. I know it’s your first time. But this is…”

He trails off with a ragged sigh.

“I know.” My thighs squeeze together, and the ache between them is so sharp already. I’m all slippery and swollen. So needy and throbbing, and all he’s done is carry me to my villa. “It’s okay. I want it rough, too.”

I mean, I think I do. Let’s call it an educated guess, because what I really want is for the strain to leave Whit’s face. I want all of the doctor, and I want him unfettered. Unleashed. I want him ravenous for me . But first—

“Can I suck your cock?”

Whit pinches the bridge of his nose. His chest rises and falls, and the lines on his face are stark. Then, when I’m ready to give up all hope of tasting him, he finally says, “Yes. Undo my belt.”

God, I love it when he gets all bossy. It sends hot shivers racing over my skin; it makes my stomach flip and tighten. Makes me want to misbehave.

My knees sink into the bed as I crawl toward the doctor. I want to make this sexy, but my bikini is riding up my ass and pool water’s trickling from my wet hair into my eyes, and my fingers are clumsy as I wrestle with his belt.

Whit doesn’t seem to mind. He’s breathing hard, petting my hair again. “Fuck. Yeah, take my cock out. Wrap your hand around the shaft. Good girl. Try moving—” he cuts off with a hiss as I drag my fist up and down his thick length, wriggling my ass as I play with my new favorite toy.

“Hmm.” A hum vibrates up my throat as I suck the head past my lips, swirling my tongue around the tip. He’s salty and clean. Hot and hard. Delicious. “This is better than the popsicles we get at dinner.”

“Poppy,” Whit says, and he sounds pained.

His grip is tight in my hair. He guides my head up and down, bobbing over his shaft, and I suck and slurp and touch him like I’ve been longing to. Hands roaming, owning him. Touching his belt; his stomach; those magnificent thighs. Claiming the doctor the way he’s claimed me.

“Mine,” I mumble around the head of his cock.

Whit hisses. “Obviously. But mind your teeth, please.”

Ha . Okay, I can’t keep going after that, not when I’m dissolving into giggles on the bed. And Whit’s chuckling too, moving me up the mattress, arranging my limbs and brushing my hair across the pillow.

“Take your clothes off,” I beg when I finally catch my breath. His tie is tickling my belly, and I’ve waited so long for this.

When that white coat hits my bedroom floor and his shirt follows, heavenly trumpets blare in my brain. Dr Whitaker is tanned and strong; muscled and lean. Brown hair dusts his chest and snakes down the center of his belly.

My sodden bikini hits the wall with a wet slap.

“I thought this would never happen. Thought for sure you’d hold out and I’d die a virgin.

” I’m babbling, clutching at Whit’s heated skin when he crawls over me, both of us bared at last. We’re ready , and his bronze hair glints gold in the light of my bedside lamp.

“God. Okay, okay. This is it.” I wriggle beneath him. “Wow, I really hope I’m a good lay.”

“Poppy.” Whit’s teeth scrape over my throat. His stubbly chin rasps over my shoulder, and his hand is stroking up and down my side. “Relax, sweet girl. You’re already a dream. My dream.”

Aaaaaah.

Likewise.

“You’re tickling my ribs,” I tell him. He pinches my nipple instead, sending an arrow of heat between my legs, and nerves are knotted tight in my chest, my palms sweaty against his back.

But when Whit traces two fingers through my folds, I melt against the bed with a sigh.

“That’s it.” He knows me well by now; knows the exact ways to drive me mad with his touch. I buck and moan beneath him, nails digging into his shoulders, and my head spins in a technicolor whirl. “Good girl. Open up for me.”

“Uh-huh.” I steal a doubtful glance between our bodies. His cock was so thick and heavy on my tongue. “Though you’re, um. You’re really big.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” Two fingers curl inside me, arching my spine, and Whit is so huge looming over me. So broad and manly, watching me with those scorching brown eyes. “It will fit, Poppy. Relax.”

Relax. Okay, I can do that. I can.

The broad head of Whit’s cock lines up with my entrance.

“Deep breath.” He sinks into my body with a groan.