He lifts me into his arms without breaking the kiss, carrying me down the hallway toward the bedroom.
He eases me onto the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight as he kneels beside me. His eyes stay on mine, dark and intent, like he's memorizing every flicker of my expression.
His fingers hook into the waistband of the sweatpants—his sweatpants—that hang loose on my hips. He tugs them down slowly, inch by inch, watching my face the whole time. The fabric slides over my skin, cool air brushing my thighs as he pulls them free from my ankles and sets them aside on the floor.
No rush. No demand. Just gentle care, like he's unwrapping something precious.
He pauses, his hand resting lightly on my knee, thumb tracing a small circle there.
"Still good?" he murmurs, voice low and gravelly, laced with that possessive edge that makes my stomach tighten in the best way.
"Yes," I breathe, nodding. My heart pounds, but it's anticipation now, not doubt.
He leans in, pressing a kiss to the inside of my thigh, his lips warm and firm. Then his fingers slip under the edge of my panties, easing them down with the same unhurried patience. He peels them off my hips, down my legs, exposing me completely.
The air feels charged against my bare pussy, and I feel the first stir of wetness there, my body already responding to him.
Doc doesn't dive in right away. He settles between my legs, his hands gripping my thighs gently but possessively, spreading them wider.
His breath ghosts over my skin, hot and teasing, before his mouth finally descends. His tongue flicks out, tracing the length of my slit in one long stroke. I gasp, my fingers twisting into the sheets.
He groans against me, the vibration humming through my core as he licks again, deeper this time, parting my folds with the flat of his tongue.
The wet sounds of his mouth on me are filling the quiet room. There's tenderness in how he savors me, like I'm his to worship, not just to take. His lips close around my clit, sucking softly, then harder, drawing a moan from my throat.
One hand slides up my thigh to hold me open, his thumb pressing just right against my entrance, not pushing in yet, just circling, building the ache.
"Fuck, Carly," he mutters against my pussy, voice muffled and rough. "You taste so goddamn good. Mine."
That word—mine—sends a shiver through me, possessive and raw, but he tempers it with the slow swirl of his tongue, lapping at my juices like he's starving for every drop.
I arch into him, my hips rocking instinctively as pleasure coils tight in my belly. He alternates between long, languid licks that cover every inch and focused sucks on my clit that make stars burst behind my eyelids.
My breaths come in short pants, fingers reaching down to tangle in his hair, urging him closer.
He doesn't let me rush it. When I start to tremble, so close to the edge, he pulls back just enough to kiss the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, his stubble scraping deliciously.
"Not yet," he says, eyes locking on mine, dark with hunger.
Then he's back, tongue thrusting inside me now, penetrating me with it in shallow, teasing strokes while his thumb rubs firm circles over my clit.
The pressure builds fast, overwhelming, until I shatter, my pussy clenching as waves of heat crash through me. I cry out his name, thighs quivering around his head, and he doesn't stop, licking me through it, drawing out every pulse until I'm boneless and gasping.
He rises then, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze fierce and satisfied.
"Beautiful," he says, voice thick.
He stands to strip off his shirt, revealing the ink and muscle of his chest, the possessive way he moves like he owns the space, and now, me.
His jeans come next, unbuckled slowly, shoved down with his briefs in one motion. His cock springs free, thick and hard, veins standing out along the length, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.
He climbs back onto the bed, hovering over me, his weight braced on his forearms so he doesn't crush me. One hand cups my face, thumb brushing my lip.
"You ready for me?" he asks, even though he knows.
"Yes," I whisper, reaching down to guide him, my fingers wrapping around his shaft. It's hot and heavy in my hand, pulsing as I stroke once, twice.
He groans, low and guttural, then notches the head of his cock at my entrance.
