Whatever He Desires (In the Arms of the Billionaire)
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, or events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to persons, alive or dead, is completely coincidental. ©2012, Synthia St. Claire
“Do you want me?” He asked, breaking our kiss and running his hands all over my body, sliding them easily over the thin material of the dress. My skin felt alive at his touch; it was like some magic spell had been cast and what I wanted most was finally happening.
“Yes, I want you,” I whispered as our kiss broke again. “I need you.”
His fingers found the zipper on the back of my dress, and in one quick movement, I felt the naked skin around my shoulder blades exposed to the air. He caressed the delicate flesh there and moved his passionate mouth down to my neck, brushing against me with his bristly five o’clock shadow.
The overpowering sensation of tingling heat settled in my loins, and the craving I had felt before to have him inside me rushed to the surface. I could feel his thick hardness press up against me, and I was aching to have it.
The air felt chilly enough for a light jacket as I walked down the quiet main corridor of Stony-Grayson hospital’s east wing. I rubbed my hands on the long sleeves of the plain white shirt I’d donned under my royal blue scrubs. The patches sewn onto the shoulders were like badges, informing anyone with even a hint of casual observational ability that I am just a student nurse.