I try not to think about why he keeps it there, how often he uses it, or whether he always has it ready.I don’t want to know if he expected me tonight or planned to use it with someone else.
I can’t dwell on these questions, or I’ll never escape, and I won’t be able to purge him from my life once I’m finished with him.
He releases me to open the bottle, lets a few drops fall onto his fingers, then tosses it onto the mattress.His magic hand returns to me.I feel him move slowly, circling my opening before a finger finally slips inside.
“Fuck,” I blurt out as I feel him slide inside.
“Yeah, that’s it.”I push harder into his hand, showing him he doesn’t have to go easy on me — that I want all of it, fast, that I need him to empty me before the voices in my head start screaming again.
I move in time with his hand as my cock rubs against his abdomen, staying lifted on my hands to allow him to penetrate me without difficulty.When I feel him go deeper, I hold my breath and lean over him, resting my head on his chest as he continues to torment and pleasure me with the magic of his fingers.I push and take them, hoping they’ll slide deeper and strip me of speech and reason, because I don’t want to say or think about anything anymore except him and what he’s doing to me.He tilts his head, searching for my mouth.When his teeth catch on my lips, my moans turn into a tangle of pain and longing, aching for release.
Take me away, Doctor.
Anywhere you want, as long as you’re with me.
I pull back from his mouth, my stomach twisting with anxiety as I look at him, pleading.
“I want you to fuck me.”
The Doctor stills, and with him, the whole world stops too.
His eyes widen in surprise, and I can see he’s about to ask, to dig, but I won’t let him.I hush him again, kiss him deeply, and hold him there, keeping him from questioning me, from prying into my thoughts and my fucking life.When I pull away, I say it again, this time almost like a command.
“Fuck me.”
He just looks at me.He seems worried and tense, maybe even more than I am.
Don’t think, Doctor.Just do it.
I have to silence mine and his voices now.
“Fuck me.”
My voice drops a tone, turning strange and distorted.Despair takes over because the Doctor is not like the others.He has always known I’m a mess; he saw it from the very beginning.
He is the one who keeps looking when he should turn away, still searching for an answer he will never get from me, even now.
He kisses me so eagerly I tip over to the side.Maybe he wants to swallow my words, ease my embarrassment, or maybe he finally understands.His hand moves over my face, down my neck and along my side, then quickly back up.
His hand trembles as it rests on my jaw, his eyes wide.
“Are you sure?”
I nod.
He exhales heavily, then turns away.
The bedside table again.Those same restless thoughts again.
He grabs a condom and fumbles with the wrapper, his hands shaking.It’s my fault.I’ve thrown my anxiety, my torment, my guilt at him, hoping he can carry them for me, if only for a few minutes.
“Pass me the bottle.It’s there beside you.”
I reach out an arm and press down on the mattress, searching for what he asked for.I find it and hand it to him.He presses it to his fingers again, then throws it aside and rubs them together before running it over himself as well.
“Do you want to…?”
“No,” I say, stopping him as I lie on my stomach.
