My breath hitches.
The hem of my coat shifts just enough to reveal what lies beneath: a flimsy scrap of black lace that leaves nothing to the imagination.
I let out a hoarse groan. “Are thosecrotchless?”
My cock throbs painfully as I feast my eyes on her delicate folds, the lace framing her cunt perfectly.
I try not to stare, try to maintain some semblance of gentlemanly decorum, but it’s a losing battle.
Her soft pink folds glisten invitingly. I want to feel her clench and flutter around me.Needto.
“They are,” she says, all innocence, but the glint in her eyes betrays her. Her fingers toy idly with the stethoscope draped around her neck.
She knows exactly what she’s doing, and worse—she knows exactly what it’s doing to me.
“Do you like them?” she asks, head tilting, voice silky and teasing.
I take a shuddering breath, my cock pressing against the denim of my jeans.
“It would appear,” I grind out, “that I like them very much.If I’d known you were wearing them all through dinner, I doubt I’d have been able to maintain a conversation.”
My gaze drags downward and settles on the most tantalizing sight of my life.
The way her slick, swollen lips peek through. The way her clit hides under its hood, waiting for my touch.
“Your delicious cunt has been exposed this whole time. Naughty little minx, aren’t you?”
She lifts the stethoscope, dragging the metal over her collarbone and breasts. Her nipples were already erect but harden further.
“You said to get comfortable.” She smirks. “That’s what I’ve done.”
Her other hand rests on her thigh, inches away from where I long to touch her.
The room falls into silence, save for our breathing—hers light and measured, laced with quiet confidence, while mine is heavier, strained.
“Come here,” she says.
In two strides, I’m towering over her, standing between her shamelessly parted thighs, hands rigid at my sides, fists clenching and unclenching.
She tilts her chin up, her gaze locking onto mine. She’s toying with me.
My pulse kicks up, sharp and insistent.
She leans back slightly, her fingers drifting down her stomach in a slow, deliberate path, inching closer to the place I want them most.
“Fuck.” I force a breath, willing composure. “Is this how you treat all your patients?”
Her eyes widen and she tilts her head, smirking. “Only the ones who deserve it.”
“Are you going to play with yourself?” I almost growl, my gaze fixed on the slow path of her hand over her stomach.
She reaches for me, fingers curling around the collar of my shirt, tugging me down. Until our faces are inches apart.
“Would you like me to?”
“More than anything.”
I need to be closer. I sink to the floor before her, hands gripping the edge of the chair for support.
