The Doctor

by Nikki Sloane

  He straightened and nodded. “What do you want? I’ve got wine, beer—”

  Breath cut off along with his words. He’d just remembered I wasn’t old enough to legally drink. Yet, this was stupid. He knew college kids drank, and he let us do it at his house as long as we were responsible.

  I wanted Greg to see me as an adult, even if I wasn’t exactly acting like one. “Wine would be great,” I said. “Thanks.”

  He hesitated and tried not to look as if he’d been backed into a corner. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

  Greg was barely through the door when I snatched up the tote bag and scrambled for the bathroom. Coming here had been crazy. Grabbing him and kissing him was crazier, but I was about to do something so insane, it was likely to blow up in my face. As I stripped off my t-shirt, I refused to look at myself in the large mirror over the double sinks. I was sure I’d look back on this moment with heaps of regret, but I pushed forward anyway.

  My hands were unsteady as I undid the button of my shorts, and I fumbled along, hurrying to put the dress on. The thick fabric was the shade of evergreen trees, and I squirmed into the tight bodice. Thank God it still fit.

  The back zipper gave a muted vrrrp as I tugged it up, being careful of the beading, and then I couldn’t avoid it any longer. I lifted my head and stared at my reflection. My hair wasn’t in too bad of shape. I’d pulled it up into a sleek ponytail before coming here, but a few tendrils curled softly at the nape of my neck.

  I’d put on makeup too, but I could have skipped the blush. My cheeks were flushed pink, and as I blinked at my wide-eyed image in the mirror, I saw how quickly my chest was rising and falling. Nerves swirled and rolled in my belly. Was I about to make a huge fool of myself?

  Footsteps grew louder beyond the closed bathroom door, and Greg’s voice was concerned. “Cassidy?”

  “Just a second.” Hopefully, he couldn’t hear how breathless I sounded.

  Had I forgotten how heavy the dress was, or was it what I was about to do that weighed me down? I dug a hand into the plunging neckline and repositioned my boobs into the cups sewn in the dress. I didn’t have much cleavage to work with, but I’d flaunt what I had.

  I filled my lungs with a deep breath, grabbed the doorknob, and pulled the door open. The skirt of the dress was layers of chiffon and stayed quiet when I stepped into the room. In fact, everything was dead fucking silent when Greg’s deep brown eyes turned toward me.

  He didn’t blink. He stood motionless, a glass of red wine in each hand. His gaze was locked on mine, but I somehow felt it all over my body. I sensed it etching over every sparkling green bead that formed the intricate lace on the bodice, splitting into a deep V that showed more skin than I ever had in my life.

  The prom dress had made my mother uneasy. She’d worried it was too mature. Too provocative and revealing, she’d said. But it was on clearance in my size, and after I’d tried it on, I hadn’t wanted to take it off. Ever. My dress made me feel sexy and powerful.

  Maybe too powerful right now. The way Greg was looking at me, I wondered if I might kill him. My mouth felt like it’d been filled with paste, and I licked my dry lips. “This dress—” I said, my voice wavering, “—is the one you said made you think bad things.”

  “Jesus, I remember.” His eyes were so wide, it had to hurt.

  He just stood there, not saying anything else, and the moment stretched between us until it grew uncomfortable. Oh, God, this train was steaming at eighty miles an hour to wreck over the side of Awkwardsville Cliff.

  I clenched and unclenched my fists at my sides, hidden in the layers of my skirt, trying to quell the nervous scream in my mind. I focused on one of the wineglasses in his hand. “Is that, uh, for me?”

  “It was,” he said.

  And finally, he moved, only it was to bring a wineglass to his lips and gulp the entire glass down in five loud swallows. If I wasn’t so mortified with the situation, I might have been impressed. He deposited the now-empty glass on the dresser and switched the full one to his right hand.

  “I’m sorry,” I blurted. “This was so fucking stupid. I’ll change.”

  It was as sharp as a scalpel. “No.”

  His eyes darkened and focused with intensity, and . . . shit, he almost looked mad at me, like wearing the prom dress pissed him off. I swallowed thickly.

  “What was the plan?” He might have looked pissed, but his voice wasn’t cold or angry.

  “Plan?”

  Greg stalked over. “Why are you wearing this dress?”

  My gaze dropped to my bare feet. “Because of what you said.”

  “So, you wanted to give me bad thoughts?” He grasped my chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing my attention up to his face. “Because it’s fucking working.”

  Gone was the slow, smoldering tension between us. It broke into a million pieces when his mouth landed on mine. He took and consumed me with his kiss, owning me like I was a possession. It was punishing and dominating. He claimed me exactly like I wanted. I rose on my toes to get closer, only to find myself stumbling backward, blinking in surprise.

  He’d pushed me away so he could sit on the edge of the bed, and his gaze trapped me in place. “Go on, then,” he said. “Show me.”

  I tripped over the confusion in my head. “Show you—?”

  “What you’re wearing under your dress.”

  A sound burst from me. It was a mixture of surprise and satisfaction. This was what I wanted, but I was still anxious. Having distance between us was sexy, yet also unnerving. I moved backward until the dresser was at my back, giving me something to lean against for support. As I balled the skirt into my fists, I stared at the man across from me.

  He took a sip of his wine, turning his head to the side so he could hold my gaze. Like he didn’t want to break the connection with me, not even for a moment. I dragged the fabric up toward my hips, revealing inch after inch of my bare legs. His breathing ratcheted up as I cleared my knees. His Adam’s apple bobbed in a swallow when I exposed my thighs.

  He’d seen me naked before, but it didn’t matter. It was all still new. A different kind of first.

  The dresser creaked as I put more weight on it and lifted the skirt to show him the black satin panties. His eyes heated a thousand degrees, and I melted beneath them.

  “Show me.” His command was rushed and uneven. “Show me what you do when you’re thinking about me.”

  My mouth fell open, and I clenched my fists on the fabric, tightening them into hard balls. What was he asking? He wanted to watch me?

  “Put your hand between your legs.”

  I straightened, and embarrassment drove my gaze away from him. No one had seen me do that, and I couldn’t with an audience. My skirt fell with a swish to brush my toes and cover my legs. “Uh . . .”

  Greg stood, went to the nightstand, and dropped off his half-full glass of wine. As he moved back to his spot on the edge of the bed, he popped the button on his jeans and dropped his zipper. “This is what I did last time you had that dress on.”

  Oh my God.

  I began to sweat as I watched him dig a hand in the front of his undone pants and begin to stroke himself.

  “It’s what I do any time I’m thinking about you, Cassidy.”

  He worked the jeans to sit low across his hips and pulled down the waistband of his boxer briefs. The slow, deliberate slide of his hard cock through his closed fist was sexy and hypnotic. I couldn’t stop watching.

  “Show me,” he commanded again. “You put on that dress, so I’m not the only one with bad thoughts.”

  The wickedness of his order had me trembling against the dresser, and the brass pulls on the drawers rattled quietly. I stared at the glide of his hand over himself, each pass making him harder and bigger. A dull ache inside me burned, and I grew hot and slick between my legs.

  The dress was supposed to make me feel powerful, yet I was powerless to stop the sigh from see
ping from my lips, or the way my hands clawed at my skirt, hitching it upward.

  Greg’s face dripped with lust. His shoulders lifted in a deep breath as I buried my hand beneath my panties and stroked my sensitive skin. When I was alone, touching myself felt good, but it wasn’t close to the same when he watched me do it. Didn’t remotely compare. The sensation now was heightened and acute.

  His lips moved, mouthing some sort of profanity, but the word wasn’t audible. Or maybe I couldn’t hear it over my own ragged breaths. The top edge of the dresser dug into my back. The beads scattered over my skirt bit into my palm where I held the gathered fabric up, out of the way so he could watch my fingers moving behind my satin underwear.

  “Look at you.” His voice was like velvet. “Teasing me like this. You’re so bad.” His fist stroked faster, pumping on his cock. “You know it, don’t you?”

  The answer didn’t require thought. “Yes.”

  “You’re a bad girl.”

  “Yes,” I gasped. I was.

  And I was eager to show him. I propelled myself forward, moving so fast, Greg didn’t have time to react. I dropped to my knees in front of him, putting my hands on his thighs, and smoothed my palms up to join his hand pumping on himself.

  There was a quick inhale of breath from him as I licked my lips and made it clear what I planned to do. I wasn’t that experienced with sex, but I was familiar with giving a blow job. The action was easier to understand, and Lilith and I had talked about it recently. We were pretty sure you couldn’t give a bad BJ unless you were trying to.

  Greg moved his hand out of my way and slipped it gently onto the back of my neck. He didn’t force me forward or down. It rested in the hair at the nape of my neck, and his warm fingers felt good. I closed my eyes, parted my lips, and lowered my mouth down over him.

  “Fuck.”

  That word was definitely audible. It resonated through my body.

  He was soft, yet strong against my tongue. I moved cautiously, trying to take him deeper, but he was large and thick. So impossibly thick, and the warmth between my legs flared hotter. I’d wanted to go down on him, but as soon as I started, I longed for him to be moving inside me.

  He wound his hand around my ponytail, subtly encouraging me to pick up the pace. His knees spread wider, but since his pants weren’t down, his undone zipper scraped over my chin, and I pulled back.

  Good lord, his eyes. They were dark and gorgeous.

  FOURTEEN

  Greg’s expression was determined, but as he peered down at me, his face softened. He reached out with his other hand, grazing his fingertips over the line of my jaw. His thumb brushed over my kiss-swollen lips.

  “Is this your fantasy, or mine?” he asked quietly.

  I edged forward, setting my lips against his firm column of flesh. “It’s ours,” I whispered.

  He groaned his satisfaction and grew louder as I took him in my mouth once more. Up and down I pumped on him, sliding his wet dick between my lips. I had to clamp a hand around the base of him to steady myself once his hips began to move and thrust toward me.

  It was hard to breathe hunched over him, especially since I’d been out of breath before we’d even started, but I focused on my goal. If I could give him one-tenth of the pleasure he’d given me, it’d be worth it.

  The connection between us had been tender, but as I spun my tongue over him, things began to shift. His short, shallow breaths were urgent, and tension coiled in his leg beneath my hand. Everything started to feel . . . needier. And darker.

  And raw.

  Had he reached a breaking point? Greg yanked me off him and hauled us both up to our feet. I was dizzy with the abrupt movement, and as I tried to get my bearings, I fell forward, bracing my hands on the bed. Wait, I hadn’t fallen. He’d pushed me.

  Greg’s voice was deep and sexual. “I shouldn’t have let you do that. You’re such a bad girl.”

  Heat licked at my center, responding to his accusation. He was absolutely right. I was bad, and right now? I wanted to be very, very bad. When I tried to push off the bed, he set his hand in the center of my back and shoved, sending me face-down against the mattress.

  “Say it,” he commanded.

  Every muscle in my body tightened with excitement, and I squeezed the words out. “I’m a bad girl.”

  “Yeah, you are.” The back of my dress began to lift. Up the fabric dragged, leaving the backs of my thighs cool in the open air. “Making me want you, when I can’t. When I shouldn’t.” He seemed to be grumbling to himself. “Making me feel guilty when I jerk off thinking about you.”

  I let out a gasp. I knew what that looked like because he’d shown me, and an incredibly sexy image splashed in my mind—Greg lying in bed, working himself over in a furious pace, thinking about me.

  “But I can’t stop,” he continued. The dress was hiked up on my hips, exposing the intricate lace covering my ass. His strong hand fumbled over it, and then dipped down. It lingered between my legs, brushing a single knuckle over my aching center. I moved against it, rocking my hips to try to find relief. It was so sexy the way he just stood there, letting me undulate against his hand.

  “What happens to bad girls, Cassidy?”

  I froze. I hadn’t realized we were playing a game, and now it was clear it was my turn. My move. I could answer any way I wanted. Tell him bad girls got sent home, or put in time-out . . . or fucked.

  I balled the sheets into my fists, closed my eyes, and pressed my cheek to the bed. Hopefully he wanted the answer I was going to give.

  “They get punished,” I breathed.

  It was immediate. There was a whoosh of air, and the smack of skin registered before the sensation of his spanking did. The sting radiated up my backside, rippling outward. I bit down on my bottom lip. No one had ever hit me before. Not Preston, not my mom, and certainly not the father I’d never met.

  “You deserved that,” Greg said in a seductive tone, “didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” I panted.

  It was like my body knew what to do, and I surrendered to it. I arched my back, jutting my ass up, wordlessly demanding more. I tugged at the sheets, clenching them to my face, and stifled the urge to beg for it.

  His second strike had no warning and stole my breath. It hurt, but only for a moment, and then sweet relief washed over me. When he spanked me, it drove all the guilt away, and I craved the release from my emotions as badly as I did an orgasm.

  Greg was breathing hard, and I pictured him looming behind me, my green dress billowed around my waist and my legs trembling against the bed.

  “Do you need another?” His voice was uneven and hard to interpret. Was he nervous he’d gone too far, or desperate for more like I was?

  I couldn’t find words, so I bobbed my head vigorously. I pushed back toward him, eager to receive it. It didn’t escape me how twisted our actions were, him spanking me like I was a disobedient child. Was I one, in Greg’s eyes? Preston and I were the same age.

  I didn’t want to be thinking about my ex. Only the need that had me bursting at the seams. I swayed my hips, inviting Greg to lay his hand on my skin and make me burn. Only I had to wait a lifetime in agony before he delivered the blow.

  Finally, it came. A whimper of pain escaped from me and was followed by a sob. “Again,” I pleaded.

  “This is . . . fucked up,” he said, but then his palm seared across my ass with a loud slap. And another. My skin was hot and irritated under the lace panties, but it felt weirdly good and really fucking turned me on. I moaned my approval.

  The spankings slowed yet grew more intense. In between the slaps, his hands smoothed over my heated skin, massaging and teasing. He raked his fingernails over the lace, and I wiggled against the sensation. It felt good, but also balanced on a knife’s edge of being too much.

  He tugged the waist of my panties up, forcing the fabric deep into my cleft and giving him more skin of my bare ass as a target. His spank
ings were sharp, but he struck me right in the center of my cheeks, and it didn’t hurt now. At least, if it did, I was too far gone to care.

  I groaned and rolled my hips, rising to meet his tempo, and I didn’t recognize the throaty voice as my own. “Whose fantasy is this?”

  He exhaled loudly. “Ours.”

  I moaned my agreement and pushed up to rest on my forearms, so I could straighten out my back. What would it feel like in this position?

  There was the sound of rustling as he moved, but no slap came. His fingers dug into the sides of my panties, wrenched them down until they were stretched between my knees, and his breath rolled over the backs of my legs.

  One deep, quick lick of his tongue made me jolt. “Oh!”

  He did it again. A lightning-fast pass of his tongue over my clit and it detonated fireworks. I flinched at each staccato lick he gave me, and whimpers poured from my lips. It was too much and not enough. Teasing me to the point of being mean.

  It was a new form of punishment, and my head spun. I loved it and hated it.

  The spankings had built me into a frenzy, and all I needed now was one long push to make me fall over the edge. His tongue slashed at me while his palms ran up and down my legs, tracing every goosebump he’d created on me. I moved, gyrating against his face, but he kept perfect control and drew away when I tried to get what I needed.

  I reached a hand back behind me and clenched a fistful of his hair, desperate. “Oh, please,” I begged. “Make me feel good.”

  He went after me then like a man dying of hunger, and I cried out, my supporting arm giving way as pleasure rocketed through my center. My chest slammed against the bed as Greg braced my hips and closed his lips around my clit.

  The explosion was instantaneous.

  Our moans mixed together, although mine overpowered his. I quaked beneath his mouth, shuddering through the blistering orgasm and lingered in the fog of the pleasure, barely aware of anything happening around me.

  Noises registered. A thud, the crinkle of foil ripping. Greg’s t-shirt, still warm from his body, dropped onto the bed beside me. And then he was there, nudging. The tip of his hard dick pushed and intruded, one delicious inch at a time.