The Doctor Will See You
Page 9
Andrew is shifting the exam table and lowers it to a level equal to the plastic seat.
James bites the juncture of my neck and shoulder before commanding me. “Take him back in your mouth.”
I lean forward for Andrew again. James needs to move me as I can’t concentrate to both suck and rock between the two of them.
“I can’t take it,” Andrew warns, and I release him, saliva dripping from my mouth. His dick glistens with what I’ve done, and James pulls me off him.
“Andrew, perhaps you’d like an internal exam of your own.” James lifts me from his lap, and holding my hips, he turns me so my backside brushes over Andrew. Andrew reaches for the drawer with condoms and shakes as he covers himself. I rest a hand on his forearm.
“I want this,” I tell him. “We don’t need to rush.”
“I’m just so close. I don’t know that I can hold back.”
“Perhaps she needs an anal exam then,” James offers, and my face turns to his. He guides me to lean forward, hands on his thighs. Lube is poured over my seam, and Andrew teases me, squeezing my cheeks together and then spreading them apart.
“How often do you fuck her here?” Andrew asks of James, so direct.
“It’s been a month,” James admits.
“It’s begging for attention,” Andrew states and slips a finger past the pucker. I lurch forward, and James takes my mouth with his, hands cupping either side of my face. He quickly releases my lips.
“More, Andrew,” James commands, and Andrew adds a second finger to stretch me. My legs tremble, and I whimper.
“You’re so beautiful,” James states as my pussy throbs with want. He reaches for me, sliding fingers into my weeping channel while Andrew works his fingers in the other hole. “You’re so ready for this,” he says to me and speaks to Andrew over my shoulder. “She’s making a fucking mess.”
“Lean forward, please,” Andrew directs, and I lower, my elbows on James’s thighs, my mouth taking him. He flinches under me, not expecting me to take control. At the same time, Andrew slides slowly into my backside, and I suck harder.
“Fuck,” they hiss in unison.
“I need inside her,” James says, and I release his stiff shaft with a pop. Still attached to me, Andrew leans us back, him lying beneath me on the lowered table.
“I’ve got you,” Andrew assures me as he rolls back, and James stands over us. His eyes meet mine; the blue nearly eclipsed with black. His hand absentmindedly strokes the side of my face and travels over my breast, down my body to my weeping core.
“I need to fuck you,” James warns as he slowly positions himself at my entrance. He pushes forward while Andrew holds still under me. My knees fall as open as they can, and I lean into Andrew while James enters me. I’m fully at the mercy of these two men, whimpering mixed with moaning. James’s eyes roll back as he slides inward until he’s fully sheathed, allowing me to adjust to both of them. I’ve never been so full, so out of control, so overstimulated.
“She’s so tight,” James strains, not a trace of the doctor but a man filled with desire.
“Give her all she can take,” Andrew says, his voice trembling, his body holding still as James pulls back and then creeps forward.
Oh. My. God.
“James,” I warn, and his eyes open as he watches himself drive into me. He looks up, recognizing something in my eyes and the sound of my voice.
“Come, baby. Come all over us.”
Andrew pulses first, my ass squeezing convulsively around him. I feel ripped open but somehow pieced together. I never knew it could be like this, this…incredible, and I scream with a touch of laughter as I come. James follows me, the pressure too much. A vein on his neck strains. His face pinches. His arms quiver as he holds himself over me but releases inside me. The warmth. The stream. The pulsing.
I’m lost in an abyss of indescribable sensuality and heavy breathing all around me.
Then, I’m in James’s lap, inhaling his scent at his neck.
“How do you feel?” James asks me, kissing my temple as I melt into his chest. Andrew has left the room, and we’re given a few minutes to collect ourselves.
“Outside of myself,” I admit, as I can’t believe the experience I’ve been given, or I’ve offered.
“You’re amazing,” James tells me, lifting my chin for a brief kiss. “I love how alive you look. How you glow. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I say, scanning his face, absent of the serious doctor and more relaxed himself. We’ve said these words on numerous occasions, but I feel the depth of them like I felt the depth of both men inside me.
“Let’s go home,” he mutters.
I won’t soon forget what we’ve done. The images returning to my head will make me hot and insatiable for James, and it will tide us both over until the next time the doctor will see us.
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When the Handyman Comes (excerpt)
“Harden Handy,” I announce, holding out a hand to introduce myself. The woman who answers the door is built like a pin-up girl: hourglass shape, pert breasts, and eyeglasses, but the tightness of her smile gives away her age as does the stripes of gray in her hair. I’d place her just above forty like myself.
“Nice place you have,” I say noting the layout is open concept. Clean lines, water-tone colors, a real beach house minus the beach. It’s Florida but not every home is on the coast. This is an older neighborhood, meaning the majority of residents are old. I’m talking retirees and geriatrics, but not her.
“The issue’s in the bathroom.” I’m not a plumber by trade. I was in construction, but the market in southern Florida is either feast or famine. To make ends meet, I began working odd jobs, handyman style.
I’m here as a favor, and I can see I’ve walked in on a mess. Sink cabinet open, faucet handle missing.
“I was able to shut the water off myself yesterday,” she says.
“Looks good,” I lie. It looks like she broke the faucet. As I begin assessing the damage, she stands by the door jamb.
“You know, I was surprised when Lana told me about you. You really are a legit handyman.” I’d like to say I don’t know what she means but I do. I helped out a friend a time or two and met Lana Blasen, her friend. I try not to flinch. Is she accusing me of something?
“I’m the real deal,” I tease lowering for the base cabinet.
“So you’re a gigolo?”
I pause, the term startling but I’ve been called worse.
“The sixties called. They want their word back,” I tease. She’s silent a second and when I look up, I feel bad, as if I insulted her instead of her insulting me.
“I was just curious,” she says quietly, and now I feel extra bad. Slowly, I stand to my full height. I’m taller than her by half a foot.
“It isn’t called that, or maybe it still is, if I were a male hooker or a player, or whatever, but I’m not like that.” I don’t know why I’m defending myself to this woman I don’t know, even if she is a friend of Lana’s. Maybe it’s been the most recent events. I’d been with the same couple a few times. They called me. James warned me to take on only the most stable of married couples or recommendations from others, and this couple was on shaky ground.
I’m a swinger. The third party at the table set for a threesome. But recently, I’ve been in a funk. The last scene broke me a bit, especially after the guy broke my nose. I
don’t blame him. No husband wants his wife to say the other guy in the room is better than him.
“I didn’t mean to offend you.” She pauses, reflects on something near her feet and then her expression changes like she’s changed her mind about what she would say. “I’ll be down the hall, if you need anything. My son is at his father’s this weekend so there’s no rush here. Take your time.”
She wears a hip-hugging skirt and a loose blouse, open to a button close to her cleavage. I’m curious about her, but she didn’t call for the handyman special, only this job.
An hour later, I have things temporarily fixed but she needs a new faucet.
“If I could show you what I did,” I ask interrupting her as she sits at her dining room table. She nods, removing the glasses and I gaze down at them.
“Getting older sucks,” she teases. “They say the eyesight is the first thing to go.”
“You aren’t old.”
“I wasn’t fishing for a compliment,” she states, good natured but still self-deprecating.
“So if I tell you you’re beautiful, you’ll take it.”
She tilts her head as she stands to follow me to the bathroom. “If you aren’t a player, you are charming.”
Once back inside the bathroom, I explain, “You’ll need to turn the handle only this far or it will snap again. If you pick out a new faucet I can come back and install it another day.”
She reaches for the handle to test it and without thinking I reach for her hand as well, covering it as we collectively work the knob. Like a toaster dropped in a full tub, electricity ripples up my arm, the connection stronger than I’ve ever felt. We look at one another at the same time, and I’m certain she felt it as well, but she draws back resting her body on the doorjamb again.
Her eyes search mine and I know that look. The hungry curiosity of the forbidden.
“Tell me how it works.” She doesn’t mean the faucet.
“This isn’t why I’m here,” I warn her.
“I know.” The sadness shifting into her eyes squeezes at my chest.
“And Lana told you?” I question.
“She only mentioned a few things. No details.”
“And you aren’t married? Boyfriend who can kick my ass?” Her eyes widen taking in my size. I’m six feet one, solid and stocky, or so I’m told. I’d hold my own in a fight. The broken nose caught me off guard.
“Are you upgrading to the handyman special?” I ask.
“Does it cost more?”
“Not a thing.” I laugh. “And that’s the first difference,” I joke.
She slowly smiles. The sadness still in her eyes and her expression anxious.
“I start with an assessment of your needs. As this is a plumbing job, let’s start with this scenario.” My voice lowers but I wink to relax her.
“I’m going to ask questions and you answer, guiding how far we go.”
She nods.
“I need you to verbally agree.” I typically have consent forms for legalese and understanding on both sides but I’m making an exception here. She isn’t a regular at this.
“Yes, Mr. Harden.”
I smile at the formality. “You can just call me Andrew.”
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When the Handyman Comes
About the Author
Lana Brazen is the alter ego of a best-selling author specializing in sexy silver foxes and feisty vixens eager for sexual experimentation and happily ever after in a consensual environment. Love has no age limit…neither does sex.
Let this be your disclaimer. It’s hawt! in these books.
Look for Lana Brazen exclusively on Amazon.
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue
Keep in touch with Lana Brazen
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