Chapter 9 Doctor’s Hands #4
The hand on my hip slid up my spine, steadying me as my arms threatened to give out. The control was absolute. His mouth stayed locked to my rim, tongue thrusting between my fingers, lapping up every trace of slick and sweat.
“I want you loose for me,” Amir growled, lips dragging across my ass, teeth scraping gentle warning. “Want you so open you’ll remember me every time you sit down. Tell me you want it, Sebastian. Tell me you want to be ruined.”
My voice broke, throat ragged. “Want it. Need it. Please, Amir. Don’t stop—don’t stop—don’t ever stop—”
He laughed softly, dark and fond, pressing a third finger to my rim.
The stretch burned, pleasure edging into pain, but I welcomed it, opening wider, giving him everything.
The fingers curled, finding my sweet spot, stroking it with ruthless tenderness.
My cock jerked, a fresh pulse of pre-come painting the paper, the need to come building with every twist, every thrust.
Tongue flicked over the stretched, fluttering ring, slurping up the mess he’d made, moaning into me, like he was the one being wrecked.
Fingers fucked me slow, then fast, relentless, coaxing the muscle to flutter and yield.
The heat of his breath, the drag of his tongue, the stretch of his hand—all of it blurred into a storm of sensation that erased every thought, every worry, every mask.
Wet fingers pressed deeper, twisting, coaxing me open until I was nothing but nerves and need, my body strung tight, my mind dissolving into want.
My arms trembled, struggling to keep me upright on the slick, crinkled exam paper.
Every inch of my skin burned from the scrape of stubble and the drag of Amir’s tongue, the stretch and thrust of his fingers inside me, the wet, worshipful filth he muttered against my ass.
A shiver raced up my spine as his hands spread me wider, pushing my knees further apart, making sure I couldn’t close myself to him—couldn’t hide anything.
The hunger in his voice sent a jolt straight to my core.
“You’re so fucking tight,” Amir growled, voice nearly guttural, tongue tracing the angry, swollen rim.
“So perfect for me. This little hole’s greedy.
Makes me want to split you open and fuck you full, make you drip with me for days. ”
My cock throbbed at the words, another droplet of pre-come beading at the tip and rolling down, heavy, shameless, a new mess on the paper below. The humiliation and heat knotted inside me, left me shaking. “Please, Amir, need you, need—”
Lips pressed soft and obscene to the base of my spine, then teeth grazed flesh, leaving a burning mark.
In one swift movement, Amir’s mouth slid down, tracing the curve of my ass, trailing open-mouthed kisses to the underside of my cock where it hung, flushed and leaking, between parted thighs.
The heat of his breath made me shudder, hips bucking back in search of friction, desperate to be filled, to be ruined.
A wide, hungry tongue licked up the underside of my cock, catching the spill of pre-come, savoring the taste with a moan that vibrated through every muscle in my body.
His lips closed over the swollen head, sucking softly, then harder, his tongue swirling, collecting every drop.
Fingers never stopped moving—sliding, curling, stroking my sweet spot until I bit down on a moan, my voice muffled by the crook of my arm.
A rough hand landed across my ass—sharp, sudden, the sting biting through the haze and dragging me deeper into need. Another spank, firmer, left a bloom of heat that made my hole clench around his fingers. The sound echoed off tile, obscene and perfect.
“Such a good boy,” Amir muttered, pausing to squeeze my cheeks, thumbs digging in to spread me even wider. “You take every inch I give you. Bet you’d take my cock all the way, beg me to fill you, beg me to breed this perfect pink hole. Is that what you want?”
“Yes,” I gasped, voice cracking with desperation. “Want you to fuck me, want you to use me, please—”
A third slap, even rougher, and then his tongue was on me again, lapping at my hole, devouring the mess, tongue plunging deep while fingers milked the base of my cock. My whole body rocked between pleasure and pain, the ache in my thighs and arms nothing compared to the burning need at my core.
Amir’s lips moved back to my cock, sucking me deep from behind, his nose pressed into the crease of my ass, breath hot and frantic.
His mouth opened wider, taking me as far as he could, spit dripping down, tongue flicking at the slit, then dragging back to the tight rim, tongue fucking me, then sliding up to the head again.
“Never seen anyone this hungry,” Amir whispered, words muffled by my flesh. “Never tasted anyone so fucking sweet. I want to bury my cock in you, ruin you so bad you won’t walk straight for a week. Want to see my come leaking out every time you move. You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
A whimper spilled from me, hips rolling, every muscle straining for more. “Want it—God, want all of it—”
His hand, slick with spit and lube, wrapped around my shaft again, squeezing, milking more pre-come from the tip.
The other hand worked at my hole, three fingers plunging in, stretching me with every brutal thrust, the sting and fullness making me gasp.
The mouth on my cock never stopped—sucking hard, tongue swirling, savoring the mess, the need, the ache.
Another slap, a little to the side this time, sent me arching, back bowing, ass shoved higher in the air. Amir’s laugh rumbled against my thigh, lips dragging up the length of my cock, teeth scraping gently at the ridge before swallowing me whole again.
Another slick, obscene sound echoed as Amir sucked me in deep, lips sealing around the head and dragging down, slow, relentless, his throat working greedily.
My vision blurred, the world reduced to sensation: the heat of his mouth, the rough burn of his stubble against the underside of my cock, the soft drag of his hair against my thigh.
The paper beneath me stuck to my knees, the whole table creaking with every shudder and roll of my hips.
The suction intensified, tongue swirling, flattening, teasing the slit, then plunging down again.
His hand squeezed tight at the base, fingers wet and relentless, holding me on the edge of disaster and denying any hope of escape.
The sounds coming out of me weren’t words anymore—just raw, broken pleas, animal and honest.
“God, you’re leaking for me,” Amir rasped, mouth barely leaving my cock as he spoke, voice reverent and raw. “You’d let me drink every drop, wouldn’t you?” Lips closed around me again, milking, tongue flicking, tasting every trace of my desperation.
His grip shifted, hands strong and sure as he yanked me up, flipping me onto my back in a single, fluid motion.
The chill of the exam room hit my skin, and then Amir’s weight settled over me, looming, hungry, caging me in with a single knee pressed to the table between my legs.
That dark, amber stare devoured every inch of me—bruised, shaking, sprawled and open.
A slow, deliberate strip tease began. Amir’s hands slid down the buttons of his shirt, popping each one open, revealing bronze skin stretched over hard, lean muscle.
That chest, dusted with the faintest line of black hair down the center, led to a taut, defined stomach and those long, graceful arms—every movement precise, controlled, betraying the runner’s build that made him dangerous in any room.
Collarbones caught the light, sharp and elegant, leading to the deep hollow of his throat.
That silver watch never left his wrist. His fingers worked the fly of his trousers, pushing them down over hips made for both speed and power, thighs flexing as he stepped out of them.
Black briefs clung to his hips, the outline of his cock impossible to ignore—long, thick, heavy, straining the fabric.
A bead of pre-come darkened the cotton at the head, marking the spot where he wanted me most.
The scent of him hit next—clean sweat, salt, the faint trace of that spiced cologne he wore. My lungs burned with the need to breathe it in, to bury my face in every inch of his skin, to taste the proof of what he’d become for me.
“Knees,” Amir ordered, voice gone dangerous and soft. “Worship me.”
The command undid me. I slid off the table, dropping to my knees on the cold floor, hands braced on his thighs.
My nose pressed to the line where muscle met fabric, inhaling deeply—chasing the warmth, the musk, the intimate proof of his hunger for me.
Fingers traced up the backs of his legs, memorizing every line and dip, every muscle carved by years of running and late-night stress.
My mouth brushed the bulge in his briefs, tasting sweat and the first salt of his pre-come through the cotton.
Amir’s hand tangled in my hair, guiding, possessive, his body vibrating with the effort not to grind against my face.
I mouthed at his cock, nuzzling, licking the outline, letting my tongue trace the thick vein through the fabric, nose buried deep, inhaling his heat.
“Such a good boy,” Amir crooned, hand tightening at the back of my neck. “You want to taste me? Want to see if you can take all of it?”
“Please.” My lips brushed the waistband, tongue flicking over the bare skin at his hip, savoring the heat, the salt, the sharp edge of stubble where his abs met thigh.
His body responded—cock twitching, the head pushing harder against the wet spot at the front of his briefs. That scent—salt and sweat and male—filled my lungs, made my head spin. My hands slipped up, cupping the backs of his thighs, kneading the muscle, worshipping every inch, every tremor.