"You're so fucking perfect," he grunts between sloppy kisses. Then taunts, "Have you had enough?"
"No! Dr. Mercer," I manage between feral sobs, slipping back into my role. "I need more treatment. Fuck the crazy out of me. Make my dripping cunt behave." The words come out slurred, desperate, filthy.
He groans, his hips stuttering for a second before he regains control. "Fuuuuck, baby. You're always so needy, always so wet for your doctor's cock. I'm going to prescribe you daily doses until you're cured."
"Yes. Try to cure me," I moan, knowing there's no cure for me. Not for this. Not for my insatiable need for Red.
His thrusts turn erratic, less controlled, more primal. "I'm going to fill you up so full, you'll be leaking me for a week. Mark you inside and out."
"Please! Do it," I egg him on.
I lose count of the orgasms after that. They roll into one continuous crest, my body no longer my own, just a vessel for sensations on overdrive. Every muscle quivers. All my limbs turn to liquid. I babble nonsense, "Please... More... Yours... Dr. Mercer... Fuck..." while he rails me into the mattress.
Then suddenly he's gone. He pulls out and off me so fast, I whimper at the loss. Cool air hits my overheated skin. He keeps his palm splayed on my back and the creek of the nightstand drawer scrapes into my ear, then the soft clink of metal buckles.
My heart kicks up another notch.
"Can't trust you to stay still, can I?" Dark velvet slithers in his voice. "Look at you shaking. I think it's time I tied you down so I can feast on this dripping pussy properly." He flips me on my back.
A new surge of endorphins kicks in. For the last month, I've lain alone in my bed and taken the cuffs out of the drawer, imagining him using them on me too many times to count.
Leather wraps around my left wrist first, the soft lining against skin, then the buckle cinches snug. A high of anticipation bursts in my veins, and he repeats the process on the right, threading the straps through the headboard slats until my arms are stretched wide above me.
My breath stays ragged. Sweat drips down my cheek. He grabs my legs and pushes them in the air. He instructs, "Stay still, Bluebird."
I taunt, "What if I move, Dr. Mercer?"
His lips curl, and he drags a finger through my soaked pussy, rubbing my swollen clit.
I gasp.
He glides his hand down my leg, then locks a cuff around my ankle, and tugs on the chain until I can't move it. My heart speeds up, and he secures the other one, leaving my legs stretched in the air in a V.
"Have you done this before?" I ask.
He pauses, then dips down to my face. "No. You're special." He kisses me.
My heart skips a beat, and my smile explodes on my cheeks.
He kneels between my thighs, his hands sliding up the insides of my legs and breath ghosting over my swollen clit.
I jerk my hips.
He chuckles, then his mouth descends, hot, wet, and relentless. His flat, broad tongue licks a long stripe from entrance to clit, then sucks my overly sensitive clit between his lips with firm suction.
I inhale sharply, my back arches off the bed as far as the restraints allow. The leather bites into my wrists as I yank against them instinctively.
"Red—fuck—too much—" The words dissolve into another wail as he spears his tongue inside me, fucking me with it while his thumb circles my clit in tight, merciless spirals.
Another orgasm builds impossibly fast, ripping through me before I can brace for it. My hips buck wild. The restraints rattle. Pleasure borders on pain, every nerve screaming.
He doesn't let up, lapping at the fresh rush of wetness, and humming against me so the vibration travels straight to my core.
The convulsions never stop. He goes on and on, then finally pulls back.
My voice is barely audible. "Thank you. God, Red. Thank you."
"Your pretty pussy isn't done," he warns, then rears up, cock in hand, and one hard thrust buries him to the root.
