My Not-Yet Mate and the Thirty-Day Trial novel · Chapter 13 of 24

Chapter 13: The Exam Table

The clinic barn is quietest after seven, when the last dog has gone home and the heat lamps tick.

I stayed late on Thursday, day sixteen, on purpose.

Dena had gone at six with a grin and a promise to feed the boarded horses herself.

I had scrubbed the exam table and pulled the lamp down low.

I had also not told him about Colorado for another whole day, and my body wanted to be busy with something true.

His truck turned into the yard at five past seven, one headlight dimmer than the other.

He came down the aisle with a paper sack from the diner and found me in the exam room.

"Dinner," he said. "You said come hungry."

"I did."

I took the sack from him and set it on the supply cart.

"Sit."

He looked at the table.

It is stainless steel, waist high, wide enough for a full-grown Great Dane, with a drain at one end.

"On that?"

"On that. Jacket off."

He hung the green canvas jacket on the door hook.

He turned and sat on the edge of the steel in his jeans and grey henley, and he flinched.

"Cold," he said.

"It will be warm soon."

"The door's open, Laney."

"The door is unlocked. It is not the same thing."

"Anyone could walk in."

"Dena is gone. The clients are in bed. The only things that come in here at night are barn cats."

"That's a lot of ifs."

"Then be quiet and make them come true."

He laughed, low, and put both palms flat on the steel on either side of his hips.

I stood between his knees in my coveralls with the sleeves still knotted at my waist.

I took his face in my hands and kissed him slow and deep.

I had wanted to all day, and my thumbs moved along his stubble.

His mouth was warm and tasted like the coffee he had drunk in the truck.

His hands came up to my waist.

"Wait," I said. "Hold the table."

He put them back.

I undid his belt, and the buckle clinked in the quiet room.

I opened his jeans and pushed his boxers down just far enough, and he came out hard into my hand.

He was heavy and hot, and already wet at the tip.

I ran my thumb through it, and his head fell back.

"Laney."

"Look at me."

He lifted his head.

His hazel eyes were dark under the lamp, and a pulse ticked in his jaw.

I held his gaze and stroked him once, root to head, with a slow turn of the wrist.

"You have been sitting on this table for a minute and a half," I said, "and you are already leaking on my towels."

"That's your fault."

"I know. I like it."

I let go of him and unzipped my coveralls from the collar to the hip.

I slid one arm out, and then the other, and let the top fall to my waist.

I wore the white tank top underneath, and no bra.

His eyes dropped to the thin cotton and the shape of my nipples under it.

"You planned this," he said, hoarse.

"All day. Every call. I thought about this table in a cow's uterus."

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