The Monster (Boston Belles #3) - L.J. Shen Page 0,80

his massive palms. I nodded, satisfied.

“I’m new at this,” he feigned an apology, his grin turning sinister again, “so you’ll have to excuse me in advance as I conduct this pap smear, Miss Fitzpatrick.”

“Please, call me Nix.”

“Sorry, I don’t treat Knicks fans,” he deadpanned.

I bit down on my lip, suppressing wild laughter. I didn’t know many men who knew about pap smears, let alone how to conduct one. I let the hair in my ponytail spill over the edge of the examining table, blinking at him innocently.

“My name has nothing to do with the basketball team. It’s after an enticing female monster. Does that put you at ease?”

“Definitely.”

To my surprise, Sam wasn’t completely off. He settled himself between my legs and pushed me open so wide I felt the delicious pain of being stretched to my limit.

“You might experience some discomfort here,” he groaned, pushing two fingers deep into my core. I clenched onto them immediately, letting out a soft moan, rolling my hips to meet more of his hand.

“Miss Fitzpatrick,” he tsked, “control yourself, please.”

“S-sorry,” I mumbled, half-opening my eyes to watch as he pulled his hand away, only to drive it in again, this time using three fingers, curling them upward until he hit my G-spot, his free hand still stretching me wide open.

“Oh!” I cried.

“Still can’t get to that right angle. Better try again.”

He thrust again, fucking me with his fingers—with his entire fist, almost—in and out, in and out. I lay there on my back and took it, wet and turned on like I had never been in my entire life, chanting his name under my breath, not caring if he knew how much of a goner I was for him.

“H-how did you learn how to do this?” I asked, bucking my hips upward. Every time I did, he pinned my waist down, his way of telling me to behave as he fingered me. “You look like you know what you’re doing.”

“Got accepted to premed after high school.”

I let out a piercing laugh at that, but when I looked up, he seemed completely sober.

“You’re serious.” My smile dropped, and I felt the cloying feeling of an orgasm tingling through me. He didn’t even touch my clit, and I always needed clitoral stimulation to come. Huh.

“Dead fucking serious.” He sent me a nonchalant smirk as he fucked me with one hand and spread me with the other.

“You thought about becoming a doctor?” I wheezed.

“Hell no. I made a bet with a friend I could get into premed. Didn’t study for it either. But I read a gynecology book on one of my train rides to New York City while attending an arms deal and got the gist of it.”

I had a million questions to ask him, but all of them had to wait as my climax washed over me, shaking me to the core and making me cry out, grasping onto the edges of the examination table.

“Always so dramatic,” Sam muttered. Instead of getting on top of me like I thought he would, he grabbed me by the ankles, tugging me until my ass perched on the edge of the table.

“Sorry, Miss Fitzpatrick, but I couldn’t find what I needed. This might be a little unorthodox, but I think I know how to finish this exam.”

I was all boneless desire and satisfaction. I couldn’t even lift my head to see what he was doing before he squatted down between my legs, his tongue finding my clit and swirling around it slowly, teasingly, putting delicious pressure on it. I grabbed his hair and groaned so loud I thanked my lucky stars Dr. Doyle wasn’t upstairs in his apartment because I could probably be heard in neighboring cities.

“Merde,” I panted.

“I fucking love it when you say that,” he murmured between my legs, and I felt the wetness of me coating my inner thighs and his face as he began to eat me out, literally.

Eat. Me. Out.

Nibbled and bit and licked me thoroughly. My eyes rolled back inside their sockets, the pleasure so poignant, so intense, the oxygen rattled in my lungs. I was close to a second, violent orgasm, I couldn’t help but buck my groin, thrusting it into his face.

“Please. Ohhhhh.”

I stopped breathing, every muscle in my body clenching as intense pleasure coursed over me. I reached the highest point of la petite mort—my own little death, as the French referred to an orgasm—just when I felt him plunging into me, heavy and thick and long, in one