I stand before him in a matching lace set that I put on that morning for no good reason. His gaze devours me from across the small space. His hands fist. Relax. Fist again. Then his mouth curls and he starts to strip off his white coat.
“What a coincidence, Daisy. I’m only using you,” he declares.
He tosses his coat onto the back of his chair and my stomach dips.
“I want to fuck with you. Make you fall in love with me.”
He steps toward me.
“So that when I break your heart, you’ll leave and give me the practice.”
My heart is pounding in my ears. My knees are shaking. His hands cup my neck and he tilts my head back so that his next few words are delivered right against my mouth.
“And believe me, I really want to fuck with you.”
My knees give out at the exact moment Lucas turns me around and hauls me against him. I’m a toy in his arms. Pliable. Bendable. His hands wrap around my chest and caress my breasts through my bra. He’s rough. Possessive. I reach up and string my hand through his hair as he tugs the cups down and takes my bare breasts in his hands. They’re heavy in his palms, filling up his grip, and he groans in satisfaction, so very pleased.
He kisses my shoulder and circles his palms, tightening on my nipples so that when he drags his hands lower, the evidence of his touch lingers behind.
If he appreciates the size of my breasts, I appreciate the size of his hands. They grip my waist like I’m nothing. They press me in, caging me between him and his desk. His left hand reaches back up for my breast and his right hand flattens against my navel. He dips lower. Steady. Gentle.
My lace panties are thin, nothing against him. His hand slips around and covers my warmth over the lace. My belly clenches. My nerve endings sizzle.
I’m not aware of any sound escaping from my lips until his left hand leaves my breast and covers my mouth.
“You’ll get us caught,” he warns. “Then nobody wins.”
The warning should scare me, but I left reality the moment I stepped inside his office. Maybe he knows it because he doesn’t remove his left hand as his right one glides back and forth between my legs. The heel of his palm passes over my center, right over my bundle of nerves, and I buck against him. He whispers in my ear.
“Should I try that again?”
I’m nodding like a fool.
He smiles against my neck and drags his hand back and forth, back and forth. Each region of his palm provides a different texture. Hard. Soft. Abrasive. Smooth.
I think he’s going to make me come like this until his hand hooks inside my panties and he tugs them to one side of my inner thigh. One finger becomes two and he’s fucking me like that, against his desk.
I try to fall forward, to rest my upper body on the cold wood, but he keeps me pressed against him. I shiver when he slips two fingers in, and again as he slowly drags them out. My desire seeps from a place of primal instinct, of intuition. My neolithic brain is reduced to basic impulses. Moaning. Gasping. Clenching.
“I’m going to make you come like this, Daisy. Just like this.”
Sounds like a fucking plan, I want to shout at him.
But then his fingers pump faster and my retort sounds a lot like, Yes. Please. God, Lucas.
A ripple of desire travels from the base of my neck to the very tip of my spine and he feels it. He uses it as an excuse to go harder, faster. I’m sweaty against his chest. My fingers are tugging strands of his hair hard enough to yank them free. I’m close and I need him to know it. I’m feeling those first few tendrils of pleasure, such an intoxicating promise of what’s to come in a few seconds. If only he keeps going. If only he touches the exact right spot. If only his left hand slips up to circle my nipple and the added sensation is a catapult.
I.
Am.
There.
His mouth captures my earlobe and he gently bites as I grind my hips against the palm of his hand. Again and again, I shake and shudder against him. One wave carries into another and eventually my soft cries turn to panting, and then my breathing starts to steady.
“We have another patient,” he reminds me, amused.
My eyes pop open and I’m back at work. Dr. McCormick is right on the other side of the door, talking to Mariah in the kitchen. I step out of his reach, hit the desk, step back into him, and then sort of volley around like a short-circuiting robot. I’ve yet to regain my motor skills.
“Right, the patient.”
I feign calmness as I run in small circles, gathering my clothes. My blouse is so wrinkled that a few shakes won’t cut it. I tuck it back into my pants and then try to conceal as much of it as possible under my white coat. I don’t even dare think of what my hair and makeup must look like now. And Lucas? My eyes avoid him by any means possible.
“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Lucas says, reaching out to straighten my white coat and then tucking a few strands of my long hair behind my ear.
“Yes.” My voice is shaky. “My thoughts exactly.”
As we slip stealthily back out into the hallway, I realize I have no clue what page that is, or even which book I could find it in.
The 7 Habits of Highly Dysfunctional Enemies?
Chicken Soup for the Horny Soul?