“I think you need a hand.”
“Make it two.”
I press my lips to his, caressing him with the wicked hope he’ll suffer deliciously — and maybe even beg me to kneel at his feet.
“Trying to torture me?”he asks, eyes meeting mine.
“Where did you get that idea?”
“I’m a doctor.”
“So scary…”
“Don’t challenge me.”
“Why?”
He slides his hands down my back, fingers spreading as he slowly massages my buttocks.“I know the human body in every detail.”
He grips firm on my hips as he turns me, guiding my hands to brace against the slick tiles.
“Should I be scared now?”I tease.
He doesn’t answer.Instead, he reaches for a bottle and pours bubble bath into his palms.Warm foam trails down my spine and over the curve of my cheeks.I shiver.His hand pauses there, then begins to slowly circle my opening.
“Doctor…” I whisper, breathless.
“What?”he asks, feigning innocence, before sliding two fingers inside me.
“Fuck,” I gasp, rocking my hips against his hand.His other hand clamps around my hip, dragging me closer.
“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice warm enough to melt ice.
I don’t even think about resisting.With his hands on me, he can do whatever he wants.
The Doctor pushes deeper, and my knees buckle.
“Never play doctor with me,” he says, pressing into me as I brace my forearms against the tiles.I lower my head, eyes falling shut, savouring the pressure of his fingers and that magic touch.
Fuck, Doctor.Play with me as much as you want.I’ll be your patient.
His lips brush my back as I feel the water rushing over me.I feel the pressure, my body surrendering, the Doctor’s breathing, and my cock pulling between my legs without even touching it.
I move my hips toward him as his game grows harder, more intrusive, and so much more fucking exciting.
I let him fuck me like this, with his fingers, in his fucking shower.I don’t touch myself, say anything, think or breathe.
The Doctor is so sure of what he’s doing and certain of the result.
He goes deeper.He understands me completely.He knows exactly how to make me give in.
He knows how to touch me and how to claim me as his.
When the orgasm hits, I slam my palm against the shower wall, bracing myself, certain my knees will give, and I’ll end up sobbing on the floor.
The Doctor measures each of my ragged, stuttering breaths — I’m sure I’m dying — with slow, deliberate thrusts as I come apart against the slick tile.
“Jesus Christ,” I gasp, unsure I’m still on earth.
