Her answer was hard breathing in his ear.
“And those lip panties, don’t forget those. I want my mouth on your lips, Josie.” Each and every pair, both on the panties and on her.
He didn’t picture Josie in the silk classy bra and panties displayed in the window at the stores. The kind that cost over a hundred bucks for the set. Even on a date, Josie would probably wear the funny little matching sets from the department at Target.
There was no explanation for why he found that such a turn-on, but he had the painful pressure below the waist to prove it.
“Then on top, you’re wearing one of those white shirts, I don’t know what they’re called, but they’re loose. With one of those little ties right between your breasts. And I can see through it.”
First, he envisioned her wearing a bra, breasts spilling over. Then he switched and pictured her with no bra on underneath, pink nipples and darker areola taunting him through the wispy fabric.
Come and get me,she’d say, since this was his fantasy and he could damn well picture her saying anything he wanted. His hand dropped below his waist and covered his throbbing cock, pressing it to stop the agonizing pain.
“I don’t look good in white,” she said. “Make it hot pink. Tight. No bra.”
Shit.His hand squeezed. “Okay, I can do that.”
“And maybe I shouldn’t wear panties at all. That way when your hand reaches under, you can just touch me. I’d like that.” Her voice had gone low again, wispy, sultry.
This wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. She knew how to do this just right. It made him reckless, out of control. Eyes closed, his hand moved up and down without thought. Each stroke made his ache tighten, his desire hotter. He wanted more, her, but he couldn’t stop. She had him ragged, desperate. He murmured, “I’d like that, too.”
“Are you coming?”
His eyes flew open. He saw his hand on his jutting cock, felt the shuddering pulses, and went hot with annoyance. What the hell was he doing?
Her teasing little voice sounded pleased. Like she knew she had him where she wanted him. Pulling his hand back, he said, “What do you mean?”
“Aren’t you coming over? Tonight is now, remember?”
He took a deep breath and blew it back out. “Right. Give me directions and I’ll be over in ten minutes.”
Hopefully by then he would be able to zip his pants. Houston listened to her babble on and on, giving detailed overzealous directions, and had to acknowledge that for the first time since he’d lost his virginity, he was thinking with the wrong head.
He was controlled, hard to rattle normally. But this girl…
She was right.
Houston, we have a fucking problem.
Chapter Nine
She had nothing to wear.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she concluded she shouldn’t have abandoned so many online shopping carts when she got too busy with work. It was a thing she did—realized she needed new clothes, surfed through a site, added a couple things, then never got around to actually buying them.
Tonight she had fashion regrets.
Having tried on every single article of clothing she owned, she was down to the least unappealing, a simple pair of shorts and a blue-and-white striped tank top. And flip-flops.
Any woman with an ounce of sexual sense knew you shouldn’t go on a date with a hot surgeon in rubber shoes. But the problem was, she only had work sneakers, a pair of black heels she wore to any occasion that required a dress, and the flip-flops.
Her hair was charged with static from ripping so many shirts on and off, and her skin was the lightest shade of white on any Floridian under the age of sixty-five. She couldn’t find any bronzer in her sad makeup bag that she almost never used.
Plus, the locker she’d fallen against at the hospital had left a redbruise on her cheekbone, and her attempts to conceal it had her looking like she’d been eating oatmeal and missed her mouth.
It was with a whole lot of nerves that she answered the door when the bell rang.
Houston had on jeans, a navy blue T-shirt, and sandals. She’d never seen him outside of the hospital, and he wore the beach-bum casual look well.