He withdraws his hand in a slow, torturous movement.
I whine from the loss, and his other hand releases my wrists.
He yanks my jeans and panties down in one rough motion, his lips sliding down my leg while he tugs my boots off, and I'm bare from the waist down. The cold quartz quickly turns warm.
He steps between my thighs, still fully dressed except for the open belt and the thick ridge straining against his zipper.
I reach for him, fumbling with his fly. He lets me, watching my face like he's memorizing every micro-expression. When his heavy, thick cock springs free, it's already leaking. I wrap my hand around him and stroke once, root to tip.
He groans, his hips jerking.
Pre-cum slicks my palm. I bring it to my mouth, licking his salty residue while holding his gaze.
He breathes. "Fuck. You're trying to kill me."
"Good." I guide his cock over my entrance, rubbing the head through my folds. "Then die inside me."
He catches my wrist and pins it beside my hip. "Not yet."
I moan in frustration, whining, "I need you, Dr. Mercer. Please."
A small, dangerous smile forms, then he drops to his knees.
The first swipe of his tongue makes my spine bow, and something incoherent flies out of me. He licks broad and slow, flattening over my clit, then points it to flick the underside.
Spasms take hold. I thread my fingers through his hair, holding him against me, my hips grinding shamelessly against his face.
He hums approval, the vibration ripping another moan from my throat. Two fingers slide back inside me, fucking in time with his tongue until I'm shaking so hard, my thighs tremble against his ears.
"Red—I'm?—"
He kisses my thigh, demanding, "Come on my tongue, Bluebird. Give it to me. Let me taste how much you still trust me." He returns to my clit and sucks hard.
The orgasm hits like a sharp and blinding freight train, with every muscle locking as I moan and see stars.
He doesn't stop, licking me through it, drawing it out until I'm sobbing, oversensitive, and still rocking against his mouth.
When he finally pulls back, his chin glistens, and his eyes glaze with lust. He rises, kissing me so deep I taste my arousal.
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Now. Please, doctor. I need you inside me."
He notches himself at my entrance, just the head stretching me open. His gaze pins me in place, pupils blown wide, attention locked on mine like the rest of the room no longer exists. "Eyes on me, Bluebird."
I lock gazes with him.
"Say you're mine," he rasps.
"I'm yours." The words feel like truth and blasphemy.
He finally thrusts. It's slow, inexorable, and fills me inch by thick inch until his hips meet mine and we're sealed together. We both groan, foreheads pressed, breathing each other's air.
He starts moving in long, deliberate strokes that drag every ridge over a new spot inside me. His hand slides between us, thumb circling my clit again.
"You're so tight," he murmurs against my mouth. "So wet. Taking me so perfectly even when you're mad at me."
My pussy clamps down on him, then spasms. "Oh God!" Convulsions overpower my frame.
"Fuck," he curses, his pace faltering just for a moment. Then he pushes me so my back rests on the counter. He tugs my shirt to my chin and splays his palm over my chest to hold me down.
