Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“I won’t tell anyone.” I grin at him. “Just use me. Come inside my mouth and I’ll be your little pet.”
He swallows audibly, his throat shiny where I licked him. “Fuck, Sydney. Don’t tempt me.”
It’s as if he doesn’t know that I love to rebel against authority.
I reach into his pants and pull out his cock. It’s so hot under my fingers, and I struggle to grasp the size of him, long, thick, and hard. The candlelight reflects on his swollen crown, a drop of precum glinting.
I lean forward and lick it up, sliding my tongue through the slit, pushing in slightly until he lets out a gasp. He yanks my hair, swearing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
God, I’ve never felt more powerful than I have here on my knees. I’m undoing this calculating and controlled—obsessed—doctor, and I can bring him pleasure that he’s trying so hard to deny.
Obsess over me, I think. Please. I need your obsession.
I want his possession.
I open my mouth wide to take him, but now he’s in control, forcing himself past my lips, holding my head down as he hits the back of my throat. I immediately force myself to relax, avoiding the gag reflex as he pushes in past the point of no return.
He’s swearing again, quiet, rough remarks about how well he fits, how good I take him.
“I want you to choke on it,” he says through a groan. “Dirty little slut.”
Fuck.
The pulse between my legs is sharp now, a painful knot of pressure that screams for release. He knows exactly what to say.
Somehow I bring him in deeper, and his pace begins to quicken and quicken until suddenly he gasps and pulls back, his dick sliding out of my mouth.
“I can’t,” he says, though it’s apparent he’s struggling for breath, struggling to stay in control.
He tucks his cock back into his pants and zips himself up.
I can only stare at him, mouth open, shocked by his willpower coming through at the last possible minute.
He gazes down at me, that cock straining against his fly, begging to be free, and I watch the fight in those shadowy eyes, a battle between desire and the need to fuck, and duty and the need to stay professional.
“Crawl over to the desk,” he commands.
I blink at him. “What?”
His jaw is tense as he repeats himself. “I said, crawl over to the desk, my little pet.” He pauses. “That is what you wish to be called, isn’t it?”
Oh fuck yes.
“Yes, doctor,” I say, pouting slightly, as if he’s inconveniencing me. Inside I’m fucking thrilled that he’s actually asking me to do this. I don’t think I’ve ever been so giddy and turned on in my life. It’s making my head spin.
I crawl over, hands and knees on the hardwood and the rugs, and he walks backward in front of me, as if I’m trying to catch up with him but can’t.
He stops in front of his desk and holds out his palm, commanding me to do the same.
I pause mid-crawl, dropping my upper body so that I’m on my elbows, so that he has a good view of my tits under the neckline of my top. I’m not sure if it helps that I’ve dreamt about being with him before, but there’s something so natural about all of this. He runs his palm over his dick, giving it a squeeze through the fabric of his pants, his smoky eyes glued to my cleavage. He inhales sharply, the muscle in his jaw ticking, his neck corded as if he’s bracing for something.
“Get on the desk,” he orders.
I straighten up, about to ask him in which way, but he grumbles, reaches down and grabs me by the arms, hauling me roughly to my feet. Before I can do anything but gasp he puts his hands around my waist and picks me up, placing me on the desk.
He doesn’t say anything else, just places his palm on my chest and pushes until my back is on his desk, my head hanging off one side, my legs hanging off the other.
Then he parts my legs with a bruising grip and reaches up to my hips, fingers curling over the waistband of my underwear. He starts bringing them down over my thighs, his movements urgent, like he’s afraid he’s going to change his mind.
“I’m going to hell,” he murmurs.
But he doesn’t stop.
If he’s going, I’m going too.
He pulls my underwear to my knees then suddenly straightens up.
Leans over me. Reaches for something on the desk.
I raise my head up just in time for him to shove a pencil in my mouth.
“Bite down on that when you feel like screaming.”
I smile, tasting the wood. Guess he already figured I’m a loud one.
Then he moves back into place between my legs, grabs my hips, and lowers his head.