Possessive Doctor

by Hamel, B. B.

  “Brent.”

  “Amber.”

  “Please.”

  I look at her. “No.”

  She groans and rolls her eyes back.

  “Come on,” I say. “Are you seriously so spoiled?”

  “I am not spoiled.” She glares at me.

  “I don’t know. You grew up with daddy’s money.”

  “This coming from the guy with parents that are apparently richer than sin?”

  “Okay, that’s a fair point.”

  “I am not spoiled.” She crosses her arms, clearly annoyed now. “I didn’t ask my dad to be a ruthless asshole.”

  “No, I know you didn’t.”

  “I only took what he gave me because… I don’t know, what else was I going to do? I still went to college. I’m not useless.”

  “I never said you were.” I sigh a little bit. “Look, I know what you’re going through, okay? My family is a lot like yours.”

  She gives me a flat look.

  “Okay, well, sort of. They’re not marrying me off, but they are filthy rich, and I have had to… overcome that.”

  “Is that why you became a doctor?”

  I nod once. Billboards flash past. Cattle roam the farmlands all around us. I move to pass a minivan full of screaming children, the father driving the car staring out the front windshield with a dull and dead look in his eyes.

  “Yes,” I say softly. “My parents didn’t want me to. They were pissed, actually, when I went to med school. Can you imagine, being angry your son’s becoming a doctor?”

  “Yeah, that’s a little nuts.”

  “I know. But that’s not what men in my family do.”

  “What do they do?”

  I snort. “Trade stocks. One of my brothers is a really talented day trader. Lives in New York, makes a killing on the exchanges. He’s the favorite.”

  “Sounds like a real winner.”

  I laugh a little. “You’d like him, actually. He’d a good guy. We just chose different paths.”

  “What did your parents want for you?”

  “They wanted me to… hell, I don’t know. My father buys and sells boats, although that’s more of a hobby. I think they’d be happier if I were just some kind of rich gentleman with a ton of hobbies. I think they hate that I’m out in the world… working.”

  “But your brother works,” she points out.

  “Yes, he does, but he works in finance. They’d be okay with that. Or if I went into government. They’d love it if I went into government.”

  “Never too late.”

  “I think that ship has sailed. But anyway, I don’t want it. I just…” I sigh a little. “I don’t need to work, you understand. There’s a trust in my name worth more money than you dad could earn in a lifetime. And trust me, I’m not exaggerating.”

  “So you do it because you want to?”

  “Exactly. Because I believe in the work. I believe it makes me a better person. I’m not just some… asshole that sits around taking advantage of what my parents have given me. I earn my way, more or less.”

  “That’s a good thing.”

  “I think so.” I spot a sign for a rest stop and move into the right lane. “But my family doesn’t agree with that.”

  “I find it so hard to imagine, honestly. My dad would kill to have a son like you.”

  I grin at her. “Most families would. My family isn’t like most.”

  The exit for the rest stop comes up fast. I turn off and Amber groans with audible pleasure.

  “We’re making this fast,” I say.

  “I can’t do anything fast, you know.”

  I sigh and give her a look. “You know what I mean.”

  “I hear you. Don’t linger. Pee and dash.”

  “Basically.”

  “Roger that.”

  There aren’t any other cars in the little rest stop. It’s rundown and looks almost abandoned. I park in a far corner and help Amber out. “In and out,” I say.

  She gives me a look then limps off. I lean against the truck and watch her go.

  I’m trying not to think about what’s coming next. I don’t want to bring her home to see my parents. I don’t want her to see that side of me, to see the family that raised me. I want her to see the man I’ve become, the doctor, the clinic owner. I want her to be proud of that.

  But this man, the one from this wealthy family, well…

  She has no clue how dark it can get.

  I don’t have to wait long. She comes back out and heads over to me. Still no other cars in sight and we’re parked fairly far from the stop itself in the shade of some trees.

  “Come here,” I say.

  She walks over to me. “What’s up?”

  I pull her against me. She looks surprised. “Listen,” I say. “I want you… I want you to remember something.”

  “Yeah?” She stares up into my eyes.

  I kiss her softly. I drink her in, really taste her. I’m not her doctor anymore and I can finally let myself relax and have what I really need.

  She kisses me back without hesitation. There’s a hint of desperate hunger in her lips and I love it.

  I turn her away and open the door to the back seat. I lift her up and she wraps her legs around me, pulling me against her. I kiss her lips, her neck, and unbutton her shorts.

  “What are you doing?” she pants.

  I tug them forward. “I want you to remember this,” I say, and bite her lip. “I want you to think about this when we make it where we’re going.”

  She stares at me, eyes wide. “It can’t be that bad.”

  “You have no clue what it can be like.” I get her shorts off. She lets out a groan as my hand gently caresses between her legs. She seems surprised but her body’s trembling slightly. Her pussy is wet, her underwear already damp with her need. I feel my blood racing, my pulse rolling through my skin. Her legs are gorgeous, lean but muscular, and a thousand yards long. I kiss her lips then push her back so she’s leaning on her hands.

  I pull her legs open wide and kiss her inner thigh. She lets out a little gasp as I make it up to her pussy, moving her panties aside.

  “Brent,” she groans, grabbing my hair. “Wait. We shouldn’t.”

  I slide two fingers deep inside her wet, tight little pussy. I let out a growl of desire as I push them deep and right inside of her.

  “Shouldn’t? Or you’re afraid?”

  “Oh, god,” she moans, eyes rolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

  I push my fingers deeper then lick her clit with my tongue. I taste it, rolling it around, sucking and licking as I sink my fingers in and out of her tight, wet spot.

  “Oh, fuck,” she says, grabbing my hair. “We’re just… we’re in the open. Someone might see.”

  “Nobody’s here.” I slide my fingers in and out then lean over her and kiss her lips. “And I don’t give a fuck if someone sees.”

  I feel her body tremble and shiver as I keep fucking her with my fingers. I fill her deep with them, going in and out, making her groan and gasp with every new stroke. I push her legs wide and lick her again, pulling my fingers out to tongue her full slit, licking every drop of her delicious honey skin.

  She grabs my hair as my tongue does its work. Fucking hell, she tastes good. I’m rock hard as I lick her top to bottom. I want her to remember this moment when things get strange. When we’re at that house, with my family, and she’s not sure who to trust or where to look… I want her to think about my tongue between her legs and know what I can give her. I want her to remember this.

  I fuck her with my fingers and lean over her again, kissing her lips. She kisses me back, hungry, starving. She’s moaning into my kiss, tasting her pussy on my lips, taking my fingers deep inside. I drop back down as her back arches and she says my name.

  “Brent,” she moans. “Oh, god. Ohh, god. Someone might see. Oh my god. I can’t believe how good this feels.”

  “I know what you need,” I growl. “I know ho
w to make you feel good. Don’t you fucking forget it, Amber.”

  I keep going, faster now. She’s moaning, writhing, moving her hips in time with my tongue. I’m growling my pleasure and needing her taste so badly it hurts. I want to make her come, need to make her come. I want to taste it, hear her voice, watch her body stiffen and gyrate and moan.

  I want her pleasure so badly it almost fucking hurts.

  I keep going, fingers fucking her faster, tongue licking her up. She moans and groans and I know she’s close. She grips my hair harder, digging her fingers down. I growl and push my fingers deeper, fuck her with them, and she lets out a cry.

  “Oh, god,” she says. “Brent, oh, god.”

  She comes and I taste it. She comes hard, her body shaking, the truck rocking on its suspension. I growl my delight and watch her skin turn red, flushed with passion and pleasure. I finish her off and leave her lying back on the seat, panting, breathing hard.

  I lick my fingers off and savor her taste.

  “Come on,” I say. “We’d better go.”

  She crawls further into the back seat. I close the door and get up front.

  “I’ll stay back here,” she says, her voice sounding dazed. “Maybe I’ll take a little nap.”

  “You do that,” I say, a smile on my face.

  “Yeah.”

  I look at her in the rearview as I pull out again. She looks back at me, her pretty mouth hanging open, showing me those teeth and lips.

  “Remember how I can make you feel,” I say.

  “I will.”

  I drive back out into traffic and speed toward the one place in the world where Amber will be absolutely safe… and the one place in the world I don’t want to be.

  9

  Amber

  Brent takes pity on me and we break the drive into three days. We stay in decent hotels both nights. He won’t let me have my own room, but he insists on sleeping on the couch both nights.

  “I don’t trust that your father won’t track us down,” he said.

  “You think he can?” I asked.

  “I think he has money and he’s pissed. So we can’t assume anything right now.”

  I didn’t argue. I just lay in bed, my eyes closed, thinking about his mouth between my legs and how good it felt, my whole body shaking with pleasure, ripped through with it.

  I’ve never felt anything like that before. Never in my entire life. When he said I’d better remember… I believe him. And I know I will.

  Except I can’t help but wonder what that means.

  The closer to Virginia we get, the quieter he becomes. I can feel the tension coming off him in waves. I know he doesn’t want to do this, but he insists it’s the best thing for me, and I’m not really in any position to argue.

  I’ve taken a lot from him already. I hate myself a little bit, but I need him.

  And I want him.

  I could run away on my own. I have some money. I could figure it out. But I want him to come with me. I don’t know how this happened, how we went from doctor and patient to so much more, but here we are.

  Now I’m in his hands. And I love it.

  Midway through the third day, we end up in a small town outside of Charlottesville.

  “What’s this place called?” I ask as the sign speeds past.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  I laugh. “Come on. This is your town, right? We’re close?”

  He nods once. “We’re close.”

  “What’s it called.”

  “Loftville.”

  I groan. “Are you kidding me?”

  He shakes his head, his face dour. “I’m not kidding at all. My great-great-great-grandfather was the founder of this place. I think it’s three greats, maybe it’s four, I forget.”

  “Wow.”

  “I told you.” He shakes his head. “Obscenely wealthy. Historically wealthy.”

  We drive through a town that looks like it never forgot a thing. Historically is the right word. There’s a Main Street with brick buildings and cute little shops, American flags hanging all over the place. Everything looks like it was built in the fifties and then never updated, but kept in pristine condition. People are walking around all over the place and cars are jam-packed along the sidewalk.

  “Crowded,” I say. “This place is really cute.”

  “We live on the edge of town,” he says. “We don’t really come in here much.” He glances at a building. “We own most of this.”

  “Wait— what?”

  “We own most of these buildings,” he says. “Most of the town rents from us.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “I know. We give them reasonable rates. I don’t think my father has raised them in like twenty years, unless he did it recently.”

  “I guess people love you guys.”

  He laughs at that. “No. Not really. But they like the low rent and all the money we dump into the town so they don’t complain.”

  We keep driving. More cute little houses, more little shops. Families smile and laugh. The trees hang above the streets and sidewalks, casting shadows and green-dappled sunlight along the clean paths. Dogs bark, sprinklers spray.

  White picket fences around nearly every house.

  It’s like the image of a dream of American life. It’s like this place reached the pinnacle of the American Dream in the fifties and just decided not to move on. It’s a cute town, but there’s something off about it, a little bit odd.

  As we move through town and into the residential area, the houses become more and more spread apart. Some are large Victorian-style houses with little round ramparts and peaked roofs. Tile and slate are everywhere and the wraparound porches are absolutely gorgeous.

  Eventually even those houses begin to thin and we’re in what seems like a big forest. There’s green everywhere, so green it almost hurts. Texas has trees, but not like this, not so densely packed that there’s not enough room for anything else.

  Brent slows the truck then stops. I don’t even see why until he points. Back from the road, nearly swallowed by the dense foliage, is a large black gate with two large brick pillars on either side. A fence disappears into the woods, camouflaged by the leaves.

  He pulls the truck forward and stops. He presses a button on an intercom. I don’t expect it to work, but it clicks to life.

  “Lofthouse Manor. How may I help you?”

  “Is that Archie?”

  There’s a pause. “Mr. Brent?”

  He gives me a look and rolls his eyes. “Archie, yeah, it’s Brent. Open up.”

  There’s a pause. The intercom clicks. Then the gate slowly slides open.

  The truck moves forward.

  “Archie is the butler,” he says. “Yes, we have a butler. He’s a good man, you’ll like him.”

  I don’t say anything. I’m too busy marveling at the view.

  The trees are incredible. They’re blossoming white and gorgeous, little explosions of white flowers all over the place. Some of them shed petals all over the ground, coating the driveway in white, making it look like a pool. The truck rolls forward and up an incline. The grass is manicured and gorgeous and I swear I can see some random statues standing out in the trees, little clusters of them staring at nothing.

  We reach the top of the incline and begin heading to the house. My jaw drops.

  There’s a fountain around which the driveway curls. The house itself is enormous and Victorian, but really only slightly. There are columns all over it, columns all over the front holding up a second-story porch above the first-story wraparound. The house itself is brick, yellow and gorgeous, almost shining gold in the sunlight. The railings are white, crisp white, and the shutters are all pristine and perfect.

  The details are unreal. There are little reliefs, mosaics above the porch, around the windows. The slate roof is incredible and looks brand new. There are multiple chimneys, all of them brick. It’s easily as big as five of the biggest houses we passed back there com
bined, and I can only imagine how many people it would take to maintain a monstrosity like this. It’s more like a hotel than a family house.

  Brent parks the truck out front. “Listen,” he says. “I know it’s a lot. Just be polite. Smile. Don’t speak unless you have to. Okay?”

  I blink at him. “What?”

  “Let me do the talking.”

  “Uh—”

  But my protest dies out when I see a man wearing a literal butler’s uniform come walking out of the front doors.

  He’s a tall man, thin, gray on top. He has a small distinguished mustache and the pale skin of one used to staying indoors, though freckles splashed across his cheeks. I bet he used to be a redhead when he was younger.

  Brent gets out. “Hi, Archie,” he says.

  “Hello, Mr. Brent.”

  “Stop with the mister stuff, please,” Brent says. “Don’t make me keep asking you while I’m here.”

  “Yes, of course, Mr.— I mean, Brent.”

  “Archie, this is Amber.” I climb out of the truck and smile. I extend my hand to him. Archie looks momentarily surprised then shakes.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say.

  “You as well, madam.” He looks to Brent. “Was this a scheduled visit? I wasn’t aware of anything. Perhaps your father forgot—?”

  “No,” I say. “This wasn’t scheduled.”

  “Very well. I’ll have two rooms made up right away.”

  “One room,” he corrects.

  I stare at him, but I don’t say anything.

  “Very well.” Archie inclines his head then walks back into the house.

  “One room?” I ask him.

  “Better that way.”

  “For who?”

  He smirks a little. “For both of us. Come on.”

  He walks to the steps and pauses, holding out a hand for me. I limp after him and he helps me up, one step at a time. My legs are tired from sitting for so long and my bad leg aches, but I get up without issue. The door is still open and we walk into the grandest entryway I’ve ever seen in my life.

  Twin steps rise up along the walls. A marble floor is dominated by a single table with what looks like an ancient urn in the center. A huge chandelier sparkling in the natural sunlight dangles in the air.