Chapter 14 #2
I lean in slowly, giving her space to pull back if she wants to. She doesn’t. My lips graze hers, and she exhales shakily, fingers tightening in my shirt. That’s all the permission I need. I tilt my mouth and kiss her, soft and unhurried.
I keep it slow on purpose. This isn’t about getting lost. It’s about staying.
I change the angle of the kiss slowly, easing my mouth over hers instead of taking it. Our tongues lick and our teeth nip. One hand stays anchored at her waist, but the other slides to her jaw, steadying her. I don’t press her closer. I wait.
She moves closer, fingers curling into my shirt, and I feel clarity about what we’re doing. The urge to move faster washes over me, but I let it pass, keeping my hands steady and waiting for her to act.
She finds my mouth again, unhurried. When I pull back slightly, it’s not because I want distance. It’s because I want to look at her. Her eyes have gone darker, more focused.
“Are you okay?” I ask quietly.
She nods, fingers still curled into my shirt. “Yeah.”
I lean in again, kissing her like I’m not trying to convince her of anything. My thumb brushes along her jaw and down her neck, and I feel the way her breath shifts when I take my time. This approach feels right.
She tilts toward me, closing the space. I let my hand slide along her side and under the hem of her dress, warm skin meeting my palm. She exhales and presses closer.
Then she shifts, straddling my lap. I stay steady.
“Still okay?” I murmur.
“Yes,” she says immediately, like she was waiting for the chance to say it.
I kiss her more deeply now, my hands exploring with intention. I feel the curve of her back, the warmth of her body, the way she leans into my touch like she trusts me to be careful with her.
I keep myself slow, even as everything in me wants more. My mouth stays gentle, my hands patient.
When I finally pull back again, her forehead rests against mine. We’re both breathing a little harder now.
I don’t say anything. I just stay with her, letting the weight of the choice settle before we make it.
Neither of us seems in a hurry. Though it would be easy to tip this forward.
Momentum is right there, waiting. I can feel how ready she is, how tuned in her body feels against mine.
But I don’t want to decide for her. She’s in charge.
“You still with me?” I ask quietly.
She smiles, small and knowing. “I’m not going anywhere.” She moves her center over my hardness, and I groan. “Are you sure?” she asks.
“Tell me what you want.”
My need to please her, to give her control, rises above all else. I kiss her again, and she reaches behind her to pop her bra open. I pull her dress over her head and look at her small pink nipples. I brush them to hard peaks with my fingers, and she grinds into me.
“More,” she whispers.
I let the moment stretch, let the awareness build instead of spike. I want to remember this, not just what it feels like, but how it feels different.
I suckle her breasts.
“Yes,” she moans.
“That’s okay?” I murmur.
She nods, and then says it anyway. “Yes.”
But I still don’t rush.
Without speaking, Addison pushes me gently until I’m sinking into the couch. She stands, slips off her panties, and reaches for my belt buckle. I shift my weight, and she helps me out of my clothes. Then I’m naked before her, my cock bobbing.
She pushes me back onto the couch and straddles me. The sight of her—so confident, so sure—ignites a fire.
Slowly, she lowers herself over me, inch by careful inch, her hands braced on my shoulders as she takes me in. I feel every part—the resistance, the heat, the way her body tightens and then gives. I don’t move. I let her set the pace, let her decide how far and how fast.
My breath catches anyway. She’s warm and tight around me, her hips trembling just a little as she settles fully. I have to close my eyes for a second and steady myself. “God,” I mutter, more air than sound.
She exhales against my mouth, her forehead resting against mine. I feel her relax there, the way her weight settles, the way her body seems to recognize mine without hesitation.
I keep my hands at her waist, anchoring us both. I want to feel all of it—the way she fits, the way her breath stutters when I finally shift beneath her, just enough to remind us we’re connected.
I wrap my arms around her, holding her close. Her heart beats against my chest, and for a moment, I don’t want to move at all.
But then Addison’s blue eyes lock with mine, darker now, intent in a way that makes my breath hitch. I lean in and claim her mouth again, my tongue tracing her lips before she opens for me. The kiss deepens without urgency, her hands sliding into my hair as she aligns herself more fully against me.
“Stop holding back and take me,” she whispers.
I draw my hips back, just enough to feel the slide of me leaving her, and then push back in. She moans, the sound low and needy, and her thighs tighten around me.
“Shh,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”
I begin to move, each stroke long and deep.
Her breath starts to break apart beneath me, short, uneven pulls of air that tell me I’m close to pushing her too far or exactly where she wants to go.
I slow anyway. I keep my strokes steady, watching the way her body responds instead of chasing the sound she’s making. Her back arches, hips lifting as if she’s trying to meet me. Her hands slide up the couch cushions, fingers curling tight as she holds on.
I lean down and take her nipple into my mouth, sucking slowly, and then harder, my teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp. Her whole body tightens around me in response, the feeling unmistakable.
“Luc,” she breathes.
I move my hand to her hip, keeping her right where she is as I adjust the angle. The change hits her immediately. She cries out, thighs clamping around me, nails digging into the cushion.
A-ha…I stay right there, repeating the motion instead of chasing speed, letting the pressure build. Her breathing turns ragged, her body trembling beneath me.
When she comes, it’s sudden and overwhelming. I feel it in the way she clenches even tighter around me, in the way her hips jerk once and then go still, like she can’t hold herself upright anymore. I hold her through it, keeping my pace steady until she finishes riding it out.
And then my release is something much different than I expect, though not because of the physical intensity.
It’s the awareness that somewhere in the middle of this, I stopped registering where I end and she begins.
I’m in the midst of a soft, disorienting blur, and that hasn’t happened to me in a long time.
I don’t pull away when it’s over. I don’t create the space I usually do.
I stay inside her, aware of the choice even as I make it, aware that I’m lingering in a way that isn’t about logistics or anatomy. It just feels natural.
Eventually, I lie back against the couch, the fabric warm from our entwined bodies. My chest heaves with the aftershocks of pleasure, and I pull Addison close.
She shifts slightly, fingers brushing my chest, and murmurs something I don’t quite catch. I don’t ask her to repeat it. I just press a kiss to her hair and stay where I am.
I should think about logistics. About boundaries. About how this fits into the version of things I told myself we were doing.
Instead, I’m thinking about tomorrow morning. About whether she’ll still look this relaxed when she wakes up. About whether she’ll want coffee or quiet or space—and realizing I already care which one it is.
But in the next breath, I tell myself this doesn’t necessarily mean anything more than what she told me. She had a physical need, and we already have a physical connection. We didn’t make any promises. This doesn’t automatically equal attachment.
Yet none of that rings true. For me, at least, this wasn’t the kind of sex you walk away from untouched.
My phone vibrates on the coffee table. When I check, it’s a message from Megan at the practice. The rest of the week’s schedule.
I don’t open it, but I also don’t miss what it represents. A reminder of the big picture here. Addison comes in on Friday, and I’ll see her in a clinical room with a chart and a computer. I’ll be expected to be neutral. Professional. Contained.
Tonight, she’s naked in my arms, breathing against my chest.
Those two versions of reality are no longer separate. And I need to tell her I can’t be her doctor any longer.
I crossed a line tonight, and it wasn’t one she had drawn. I did, or at least I thought I had for now. I don’t yet know what that’s going to mean for either of us, only that for me, at least, there’s no honest way to pretend my feelings about her still fit inside anything labeled as casual.