He gently pushes me back and stretches out over me, his weight both comforting and arousing.I grab his buttocks with both hands, feeling the firm muscle beneath denim, and guide him along my body; his erection pressing against mine through layers of fabric, his body sliding over mine, his mouth claiming mine, and his tongue forcing its way past my lips.
I might come at any moment now, and I still have my jeans on.
I push him aside and take control.I sit on him and, with trembling hands, begin to undo the buttons of his trousers.The Doctor covers my hands with his, and they instantly stop shaking.
I don’t look at him, or I won’t be able to go on.
With his help, I pull off his trousers and toss them onto the floor.Undoing my own is even harder.
The Doctor rises and helps me again.He unbuttons them for me, and I stand to take them off.I stay in front of him while he sits on the bed, watching me.Then he reaches out his hand, and I take it.If he hadn’t, I probably would have run to my closet to hide.
I kneel on the bed and lean over him.My breath reaches him first, then my mouth, as I savour every inch of him.His fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer; he rises to meet me, asking for — and taking — exactly what he wants.I move down his chest, reach the waistband of his briefs, and slowly slip them off, revealing his erection just waiting to be released.I return to him.My hands travel along his thighs, over his hips and chest, finally up to his face.I lie on top of him, smothering him with my need to feel him.For the first time in my life, I feel truly bound to someone.
The Doctor moves me on top of him, his hands firmly on my buttocks; his moans, his eagerness.His fingers slip under my undies, squeeze again, then move quickly, seeking a way to speed things up.
When he starts to torture me, pressing against my opening, I curl up against his neck and push my hips back to meet his hand.
“I need something,” he whispers in my ear, his voice rough.
I lift myself just enough to rest my elbows on either side of his head.I meet his eyes, and finally, the words come.
“Ineed something.You.I need you.”
This doesn’t feel like freedom.It feels like a sentence.
His hands slide up to cradle my face.He holds me still, as if he can keep me from breaking his gaze.
“Do you want to fuck me?”
“I want to make love to you,” I say, my voice tight with anxiety.
Saying it out loud hurts even more.
The Doctor lifts himself just enough to press his lips to mine.He doesn’t speak, doesn’t ask.
It takes everything from me — all my anguish, all my torment, all my pain.
My guilt.
In return, he gives me calm, sweetness, peace.
Forgiveness.
He moves me gently to the side and breaks contact to slip off my underwear, then returns to my face.
“Are you sure?”he asks, his fingers stroking me softly.
The Doctor knows everything, even though I haven’t said a word.
“And you?”I whisper.
His answer is a kiss.A kiss that melts my soul — a kiss I’ll remember whenever I try to kiss someone else and feel nothing.
Because I am his, and I will never be anyone else’s.
I leave him waiting on the bed while I reach for my bedside table.Yes, Doctor, I have one too.It’s just like yours.I bet it has the same effect on you.
I grab a condom and a bottle of lube, then go back to him.When he takes my hands in his, I realise I’m shaking.
