"R-Red," I stutter.
He thrusts slowly, admitting, "I'm still deciding how hard you want your treatment."
My lungs sputter. I burst out, "Hard! I want all of it and hard!"
He snaps his hips, fucking me deep and rough, keeping his hand pressed over my chest. The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room, obscene and perfect.
Pink-faced, he growls, "Touch yourself. Play with those pretty tits while I fuck you."
I tug the material from my bra cups down so my breasts pop out. I pinch my nipples, keeping my eyes on Red, feeling so high I might explode.
"That's it. Show me how you like it rough." He angles his hips, hitting deeper.
I tug on my nipples and whimper.
Heat sharpens his features, jaw set hard, eyes locked on mine with a focus that borders on feral. His mouth curves into the kind of expression that says he's already decided how this ends. And he holds me, steady and unyielding, like he wants every reaction burned into his memory. He hisses, "I'm going to fill your cunt up. Mark you from the inside so you feel me for days."
"Yes—God—come inside me?—"
His rhythm stutters. "You want that? You want your doctor's cum dripping out of you?"
I nod. "Yes! So bad. I need it!"
A faint curve tugs at his mouth. He leans forward and kisses me. It's messy and desperate. Then he buries his face in my neck. "Come with me, Bluebird. Milk my cock. Fall apart for me while I hold you through it."
"Dr. Mercer," I whisper, voice trembling as fast as my body.
His thumb presses harder on my clit, circling fast. The pressure builds to unbearable levels, coiling tight.
"I'm—fuck—Red?—"
He growls in my ear, "Now. Come now."
I break, screaming, clenching, pulsing around him as wave after wave rips through me.
He follows on the next stroke, slamming me deep, his cock throbbing as he spills inside me in hot, thick pulses that seem to go on forever.
A galaxy of stars blurs my vision. My frame stays pinned, vibrating between him and the counter.
"Fucking gorgeous, dirty little patient of mine," he grits out, then another groan echoes in the air.
We stay locked together, panting and trembling. His arm reaches higher, his fingers gripping my hair, and tugging my face toward the ceiling. He sucks on the pulse in my neck until I can barely breathe, but I don't care. I want the bruises. I want the proof.
When he's done filling me, his ragged, hot breath moves to my temple. He softly kisses it, then my cheek, and the corner of my eye. He asserts like a vow, "You're safe, Bluebird."
Reality hits me again. I bury my face in his neck, tears mixing with sweat. "I hate what you did."
"I know." He scoops me up, carries me to the bedroom like I'm something precious and breakable.
I curl around him, my face resting on his chest.
He holds me, stroking my hair, and we stay like that for a long time until it turns dark.
I yawn, and he orders, "Sleep, Bluebird. I've got you."
For the first time in what feels like forever, I believe him.
CHAPTER SIX
