Isabella’s pov

We stayed on that exam table longer than either of us admitted out loud.

His hand kept sliding higher on my thigh until his fingers brushed the edge of my underwear, and every time I shifted he pressed firmer like he was daring me to stop him.

I never did.

The clock on the wall ticked past five without either of us caring.

“You keep looking at my mouth,” he said.

“Because I keep thinking about putting it on you.”

He laughed under his breath, rough and low. “Christ. You’re going to get me in serious trouble.”

“We’re already past that.”

His thumb stroked once right along the...