More Than Words: More Than, Book 3 (7 page)

It makes that hollowness between my legs even worse. Makes me wish your erection was in my pussy, not my mouth.

But I’m not letting you go now. How could I? I’ve tasted tiny drops of your excitement, and I want the whole thing. I want a mouthful of your desire for me.

Oh, Jesus. He wasn’t going to last. Didn’t have a prayer.

My hand moves inward, finding your testicles. They’re taut, Sam. Hard. And when I run my palm over them, you jerk, shoving your cock even deeper into my mouth.

The tip touches the back of my throat, making me suck a little harder as I release you and swallow you down again. You’re moaning, and the sounds echo through my ears, vibrating down my spine. Your excitement is reaching fever pitch. So is mine. I can’t help myself. I need…relief. Need to touch myself.

I press my free hand over my clit, apply pressure. I have to push hard. While you’re all beautifully naked, I’m still dressed, and if my touch is going to have any effect, well, it needs to be a little forceful.

The touch helps, but only for a second, and then I want more.

Your thrusts are becoming jerky, your groans louder. You’re pumping your hips faster. You’re close. There aren’t a few drops of your come now, it’s more like a light, steady stream. The saltiness is an aphrodisiac. Your arousal is heady.

I tickle that strip of skin behind your balls, and your groan sounds different this time. Deeper. You thrust once more, filling my mouth. Your hands clamp down on my head. I’m powerless to move—but then why would I want to? You’re not moving either. It’s like that one thrust was all it took to throw you over the edge.

Your cock jerks.

Oh God, Sam. It’s carnal. So damn sexy. You’re coming in my mouth. You’ve given up all semblance of control and lost yourself to the passion.

I push my palm hard against my clit as your orgasm belts through you.

Your release spurs me to new levels of excitement. I can’t hold back my own climax, not when yours is this good. You cry my name, and as it echoes through the room, as I swallow my first mouthful of your come, my pussy convulses too.

We’re coming together, Sam, only you’re so lost to your pleasure, you don’t even realize what you’ve done to me, what your excitement and release have spurred me to do.

Sam gave a low shout and his hand jerked to a stop. As Molly’s orgasm took her, his own, very real one ripped through him.

It feels naughty having a secret orgasm, one you don’t know about.

He came hard, strings of semen spurting from his cock and landing on his towel and stomach, making it difficult to read. Hard to concentrate, but Molly’s words spurred him on, prolonged the delicious spasms until there was nothing left.

You jerk one more time then collapse back, utterly spent.

Inch by inch, I free your cock, knowing how sensitive you are. You groan, as if in delicious agony. When finally my mouth is empty, when I’ve swallowed every last drop of your come, you look at me with a lazy, sated, smug smile.

Sam’s viselike grip on his cock slackened. His breath came in short, sharp bursts.

And just like that, I know I’m wrong.

You knew all along what I was doing with my free hand, didn’t you? You knew I touched myself, knew your orgasm spurred mine. And when you crook your finger and beckon to me, I realize you know exactly what I want now.

Sam knew what he wanted now. Molly’s body pressed close, her mouth molded to his.

A kiss. On the lips.

One more before this fantasy ends.

He wanted that too. Wanted to taste her breath on his tongue.

You know I’ll always long for your kisses, Sam. And anything else you have to give me. But perhaps we’ll leave the anything else for another letter—or ten.

Until then, I’ll sit here and imagine.

All my love,

Molly

It took Sam a very, very long time before he could reply.

Dear Molly,

After reading your second email, I believe I may have jumped to conclusions about your condition becoming an epidemic. Although both your and my symptoms seem to have escalated, I now believe the outbreak could prove to be endemic to us alone.

So long as no one in the wider population gets to read these emails, the situation can be contained.

Don’t be misled. Although the symptoms may not spread to anyone else, they have increased in my body.

While your first letter induced shivers and a plethora of dirty thoughts, this one incited me to…greater heights. Merely writing this response is difficult. My hand is shaking too damn hard to keep it steady. Autocorrect is having a field day with my typos, and I have to keep stopping and correcting the errors.

My hand is also cramping. It was wrapped so tightly around my dick while I read your email, it’s forgotten how to relax.

I apologize if that image is too graphic for you, Molly, but it’s the truth.

You might have been constrained by your chair and office while writing, but I was free to sit in the privacy of my flat and concentrate on the letter while wearing nothing more than a towel.

After reading your first paragraph even the towel was gone.

Hell, yeah, Molly. I was naked—and long and hard. And like you imagined your mouth on my dick, so I fantasized. Only the fantasy was too real, the ache too intense. I had to touch myself. Had to use that hand I’d wrapped around myself to relieve the pain.

Make no mistake. I wished it were your mouth, wished I could feel the wet heat of your lips and tongue wrapped around me. Even imagined my hand was your mouth…

Then I stopped imagining. Didn’t need to. Your words were so evocative, it was like you were there. And when you touched yourself? It sent me over the edge. Between your mouth and your hand and your words, I lost all semblance of control.

That was me done for. Just like you’d written, I came. I came so damn hard, imagining you coming as well, I almost dropped my iPad.

Only now, long, long moments later, do I have the strength of my mind—and hand—to reply.

Know what I wanted to do after I’d come, Molly? Know what the first thing I thought about was? Kissing you. Pulling you into my arms and kissing you. It’s a huge turn-on, imagining how I’d taste on your tongue.

On that note, I may go to bed. I suspect it’s going to be a long time before I can fall asleep. But that’s okay. I have lots to think about. And my hand has finally stopped cramping—which is just as well. It’s going to be very, very busy tonight.

Sam

Chapter Five

Sam arrived in his rooms a couple of minutes after his first patient the next morning. Which allowed Molly the opportunity to breath a massive sigh of relief. Honestly, she hadn’t been sure she’d be able to maintain a professional distance from Sam after his letter.

Sam greeted the five-year-old girl sitting on the floor with a coloring book and some pencils, smiled at the mother then turned to Molly. His shoulders were taut, telling Molly it had not been a good start to the day.

“Morning, Miss Molly.”

“You okay, Doc?” she asked softly.

Sam shook his head. “It’s been quite a morning.” He motioned with his head, and Molly followed him into the kitchen.

Two Tim Tams were wolfed down before Sam said anything else.

“Greg’s blood pressure plummeted about an hour ago. I thought we might lose him.”

Her heart thumped, and she shook her head sadly.

“We stabilized him, but then I had to deal with his dad, who’d been there the whole night and looks worse than Greg. Finally insisted he go home to shower and change while Greg goes to radiology for another MRI.”

“Has the swelling subsided?” If so, Sam could cut down on the sedatives.

“I’d hoped so. But with his BP crashing like that, I can’t take any chances.” Sam wolfed down a third Tim Tam. “That’s not all. The stepfather was arrested last night after an extensive police interview with the mother. Turns out Dad was right. He’s been beating Greg for months. When this incident occurred, Greg was awake. He’d had a nightmare and come to his mother for comfort. The bastard hauled him back to this room, and when Greg cried out, he backhanded him. Greg lost his footing and tumbled down the stairs.” Sam’s expression was thunderous.

Cold chills hit her skin. “You’d think the mother would have said something before now. Would have tried to protect her son.”

“Yeah, you’d think, wouldn’t you?” He shook his head in disgust. “She only phoned Triple Zero when she couldn’t wake Greg up after the fall.”

“Yet she still didn’t tell anyone what her husband had done.”

“Not until the police took her in for questioning. Human nature at its sterling best, huh?”

“I hope DOCS awards full custody to Ethan Avery.”

“Me too. He’s spoken to his lawyer and asked for a restraining order against the stepfather and limited, supervised visitation rights to the mother. I have no idea how fast the police or DOCS will work on this, but in this instance, I hope they put his requests in motion soon.” Sam replaced the almost-empty packet of biscuits in the cupboard and washed his hands.

Sensing he was ready to start consulting for the day, Molly took the opportunity to prepare him for his third patient. “Doc?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re seeing Jeremy Marks at ten.”

Sam stilled. Water ran over his hands unnoticed. He took a deep breath, then another one. Then stilled again.

Molly’s chest ached. Didn’t matter how many times she warned him, Sam’s reaction was always the same. Dead silence for a good few seconds while he breathed steadily and readied himself mentally.

It wasn’t just Jeremy who affected Sam this way. It was all his muscular dystrophy patients. Especially the children with Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy, or DMD—an inherited degenerative disease of the muscles, affecting only boys.

Sam had once told her he’d had a fifty percent chance of developing the disease himself. Fortunately for him, he hadn’t inherited the gene.
 

Molly didn’t say anything. She placed her hand on Sam’s arm and left it there. Generally speaking, she wouldn’t have touched him. Especially not now, after the letters they’d exchanged. The air between them was too fraught with sexual tension to chance the contact.
 

But DMD was Sam’s Achilles’ heel. His personal heartbreak, and he was hell-bent and determined to help the children who suffered from this horrible illness.

She squeezed his very solid biceps, giving him comfort.

He placed his hand over hers, acknowledging her touch. “I’m okay, Miss Molly.”

“I know you are.” Of course he was. He dealt with trauma and tragedy every day. Seeing a child with muscular dystrophy wasn’t going to break him. Still, Molly couldn’t help but notice he’d left his hand on hers. He hadn’t thought to move it.

She couldn’t help herself. Didn’t try. She stepped up close behind him, pressed her cheek against his shoulder and hugged him. Wrapped her free arm around his waist and held on.

“Still okay,” he insisted, but for long seconds he leaned into her.

“I know.” She held him a little tighter anyway.

When he straightened and switched off the tap, Molly let him go. Without saying a word, he dried his hands and turned to face her.

The air between them seemed to shimmer with possibility.

Then Sam smiled and nodded his head, and everything was back to normal.

How he managed to pull himself together in the space of a few seconds, Molly had no idea. But he did it every time. Today’s routine, however, was slightly different than usual. She’d never hugged him before. But it had felt right, and she’d gone with it.

Sam rubbed his hands together. “Right, give me five minutes and then please send the Sebrilskis in.”

Molly gave him ten. She took the extra five to make him an avocado and tomato sandwich, a far more nutritious breakfast than the chocolate-covered biscuits he’d wolfed down.

Dear Sam,

Last night, when I read your response to my last email, I had to sit down and take deep, steady breaths so I didn’t pass out from excitement. My heart pounded and raced at the same time, making me dizzy.

You did that? While reading my email? You touched yourself, made yourself come? The image alone raised my body temperature by about a hundred degrees.

I know we agreed that I would write you these letters—I just never dreamed you’d write one back to me. I read it last night before I fell asleep, and let me tell you, I had
incredible
dreams. Then I read it again this morning and once more a few minutes ago.