His slick, gloved finger rested for a moment right at my hole, the slightest pressure making me twitch. Then he slid in. Slow, careful, curling his finger and making my thighs tense.
“Sorry,” he whispered, noting what I assumed he thought was discomfort. But it was the opposite. I couldn’t help but study his face, the intensity on it.
He removed his finger, his jaw twitching, and said, “I’m going to use two fingers and press down on your abdomen.”
I nodded, trying to wade through the thick air and appear coherent.
His two lubed up fingers slid inside me and I moaned without thought, the delicious drag of his gloved digits sending shooting tingles down my thighs and up my stomach. He paused, leaving his fingers inserted, and once again, I caught him looking at my face.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, though my breathing remained a little labored. The weight of him inside me, the slight stretch, the fire behind his eyes… it was impossible to feel nothing.
Our gazes stayed locked for a moment, questions and wars raging in silence. Then he pulled his fingers almost all the way out, before driving them back in. I gasped, and he did it again, observing.
My nipples pebbled and my muscles wavered at the sensation, and he watched, his face near unreadable save for the clenching of his jaw.
His free hand moved over my lower stomach and pressed down, curling the fingers inside me up and pausing to twist them. I was panting, removed from the reality of where we were, what we were doing… my brain ceased function. My hands fisted the paper sheet beneath me. My chest heaved, and he stayed frozen, pressing down and curling up, watching what he was doing to me with an almost vague fascination.
Like he’d detached himself, his entire body stood cold, apart from that burning behind his eyes.
“D- Doctor…” I breathed out, then writhed on his fingers unbidden, rolling my hips to chase the drag. Fuck it, this was already happening. There was no need to hide how wild it was making me. This was a dream come true - one I couldn’t be sure I wasn’t daydreaming - so I was going to enjoy the fuck out of it.
Dr. Sterling lowered his gaze down a fraction, looking as he spread his fingers along the skin of my lower stomach. His thumb brushed against my clit and I groaned, the glorious aches spreading up my body from his touch.
His inserted fingers started pumping back in and out, and he massaged his thumb on my clit, all the time flickering his gaze from my face to his ministrations, and back again. Like he didn’t know where to look, what to focus on.
“I think I’m gonna — “ I had no time to warn him what was about to happen, and as I came with full body shudders, I squirted fluid all over his grey shirt and white coat.
The clear liquid shot from me as I bit down on my hand, only a small rumble of satisfaction from him in reaction. He continued to fuck me with his fingers, drawing out every last pulse of my orgasm.
I didn’t want it to end. I wanted him inside me forever, so when his fingers slid from me and he rose up with a clatter of the chair, I was yanked back into the harsh reality.
Dr. Sterling stood over me, still between my legs, an expression of shock and dread on his face. His reality had obviously slapped him in the face, too. Color washed from his features as an internal battle churned inside him. I could see it, the fear. He didn’t know I would never tell a soul.
I sat up on my elbows, ready to apologize or defend myself or offer any other orifice of his choosing, but he moved abruptly, looked down at his dripping wet shirt, then at me with a look of horror. His mouth opened and closed like he was trying to figure out what to say.
Slipping my legs from the stirrups, I turned to sit up and deal with this like an adult. But he ran.
I watched him turn on his heel and flee the room without looking back.
What the fuck had we just done?
Two
Dr. Sterling
Mycareerwasover.
When that patient — Miss Walton — had let a little moan slip out while I examined her, something inside me had snapped. I’d already thought she was beautiful, but never, never, in my career had I wanted to do that to someone. It had never even occurred to me.
I was disgusting, predatory, a foul human being. So why was I as hard as a rock and gripping my cock in my private bathroom? Why was I debating pulling my cock free and jacking off to thoughts of what had just happened? Debating going back in there and sticking my dick down her throat. Or fucking the pussy I’d just had my fingers buried in?
It was beyond unprofessional, abhorrent, fucking soul-destroyingly sexy. And I’d just abandoned her.
I imagined her at the reception desk right now, telling old Mrs. Waddington what I’d done, demanding the police, brandishing her words to threaten me and my practice, my life. I’d fucked up.
Shit. Shit.
I glared at myself in the mirror, fighting the urge to punch it and shatter the glass, my reflection. Instead, I stared at myself, imagining what the girl would have seen — it had been her moan, her clenching around my fingers encouraging me onwards. She’d taken me to a dark place where all my morals had disappeared. And now I was ruined.
