Chapter 9 Doctor’s Hands #7
My hand cupped his jaw, thumb tracing the shadow of his beard, fingers tangling in the dark, wavy hair at his nape. “Don’t stop,” I whispered, mouth brushing his, hips rolling up to meet every thrust. “Want you to break me. Want you to fuck me open, fill me up.”
His answer was a growl, hips snapping forward, cock driving so deep I thought I might split apart on it, pleasure cresting so high it threatened to drown me.
His hands never stopped moving—palming my chest, thumbs brushing my nipples, rolling the peaks until sparks raced down my spine and my cock pulsed helplessly, leaking mess across our bellies.
“Perfect. So fucking perfect.” Amir’s voice broke, lost in the storm of sweat, skin, muscle.
His mouth was everywhere at once—biting my throat, sucking my collarbone, licking sweat from my chest, teeth dragging across my shoulder. My tongue found his armpit again, tracing the dark, wild hair, the taste of his body imprinted on my tongue, grounding me even as the world spun out of control.
A sudden shift—a growl at my ear, teeth dragging the shell—Amir’s grip flexed tight on my waist, and in a single, breathless movement, I was spun and pressed to the cold exam table, belly scraping the slick paper.
My knees slid apart, thighs trembling as he shoved my ass up, hands bracing me open, fingers digging deep into the meat of my hips.
The air was sharp against my sweat-drenched skin, every nerve lit and jangling, every muscle screaming for more.
Amir’s palm slid over my lower back, forcing an arch, his weight pressing me down until my chest flattened to the table.
I felt the tremor in his body, the pulse of his cock grinding between my cheeks, wet and thick, leaving streaks of slick along the seam.
“Stay just like that,” he growled, voice unrecognizable—hoarse, hungry, dangerous.
“Want you helpless. Want you open and begging.” A cold squirt of lube splattered across my ass, Amir’s fingers spreading it roughly, then pushing inside, scissoring me, stretching me wider, prepping me with the frantic care of a man about to lose his mind.
My face pressed to the paper, breathing hard, feeling every scrape, every sound, every obscene squelch as he slicked me up, cock and fingers working in tandem. The sound alone was enough to break me: the messy, relentless slide, the slap of his palm, the low curses torn from his throat.
“You ready?” Amir spat, lining up, the head of his cock thick and unforgiving at my rim, pushing forward, stretching me to the limit. “Ready to be bred, Sebastian? Ready to take all of it, to be so full you forget your own fucking name?”
A whimper clawed up my throat, fingers clutching the far edge of the table, legs spreading wider, everything in me screaming for him. “Yes—God, yes—fill me up, Amir, breed me, don’t stop, want it, need it—”
One brutal thrust, and he was inside, balls-deep, the force of it slamming the air from my lungs. I choked on a gasp, the pain and pleasure tangled and raw, stars bursting behind my eyes as he ground in, cock pulsing, hips flush against my ass.
“Perfect,” Amir rasped, voice trembling as he pulled out halfway, then rammed back in, setting a vicious pace. “So fucking good, Sebastian. So tight, so hungry. You were made for this.”
Every thrust knocked me forward, the table creaking, my body jolting, sweat and lube and spit painting my thighs.
His hands slid up my back, one locking around my throat, the other pressing between my shoulder blades, holding me in place as he fucked me open, every inch of him searing itself into me.
The slap of skin on skin, the sound of my own wrecked moans, the sting of his grip—every sense overwhelmed, every thought reduced to want, to need, to the filthy, glorious stretch of being filled and owned.
“I’m gonna fill you,” Amir groaned, cock jerking, pace turning ragged, frantic, wild. “Gonna pump you full, make you leak, make you wear me for days. Breathe for me, Sebastian. Take all of it.”
A hot rush—Amir’s cock driving as deep as it could go, body tensed, then the sudden flood of heat, his seed spilling inside, thick and endless, pulse after pulse as he emptied himself into my trembling body.
The world narrowed to that: the heat, the fullness, the brutal claim of being bred and used, Amir collapsing over my back, mouth at my ear, breath ragged and desperate.
He didn’t stop there. Fingers smeared the mess leaking from my hole, spreading it over my cheeks, then down between my legs, working it into my skin. “Push it out for me, prince. Show me how full you are. Breathe for me.”
Shame and pride collided—my body obeyed. Muscles flexed, hole fluttering, and Amir’s spend dribbled out, sticky and warm, running down my thighs, pooling beneath me.
A filthy, reverent moan from Amir. His mouth was suddenly there, tongue lapping at the spill, licking up every drop, worshipping the mess, spreading it over my hole, then slathering it back in with slow, deliberate strokes.
“Open,” he commanded, and I turned, mouth falling open, tongue out. Amir’s fingers brought the mess to my lips—cum and lube and sweat—and I swallowed it down, desperate for every bit he’d give.
He kissed me then, mouth hot and punishing, tongue fucking into me, sharing the taste, his breath wrecked and grateful. His cock pressed to my ass again, softer now but still heavy, slick with lube and release.
A wild, hungry gleam lit his eyes. “My turn,” he whispered, and before I could catch my breath, he was straddling my hips, slicking himself up, guiding my cock to his hole, impaling himself with slow, greedy precision.
Amir took control, riding me hard, ass grinding down, hands braced on my chest, head thrown back, sweat dripping down his chest, mixing with mine. His muscles flexed, squeezing, taking every inch, milking my cock with desperate intent.
My hands splayed over his thighs, holding him steady as he fucked himself on me, the table rocking, our bodies locked together in a filthy dance. Amir’s voice broke into moans and curses, chanting my name, begging for more, demanding I give him everything.
A growl tore itself from my chest, wild and animal, as Amir rode me with the reckless abandon of a man unafraid to be seen falling apart. My hands locked around his waist, fingers digging into sweat-slick skin, guiding him down, holding him open, forcing him to take every inch I had left to give.
Every bounce, every grind, every twist of his hips dragged pleasure up my spine like fire.
The tight heat of his body clenched around my cock, squeezing, milking, pulling me in deeper with each frantic motion.
Sweat dripped from his chest onto my belly, the room thick with the scent of sex, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the sterile hush.
Amir’s head fell back, throat bared, dark stubble shadowing the column of his neck—a sight so filthy, so holy, it made my vision swim.
“Fuck, Amir—can’t—” Words failed, mouth dry, the taste of his come still hot on my tongue, my mind reduced to want and hunger, need and devotion.
Amir’s hands slid up my chest, palms finding my nipples, pinching, rolling, driving me higher, making my back arch off the table.
His ass ground down, working me mercilessly, using my cock for his own pleasure, owning me with every brutal thrust. “Harder,” he demanded, voice hoarse, ragged, nearly broken.
“Don’t hold back, Sebastian. Want to feel you lose control. Want to feel you fill me up, ruin me—”
My body answered before my mind could catch up.
I slammed up into him, hands gripping his hips, driving him down, impaling him over and over.
Each thrust rocked the table, my vision blurring with the force of it.
My nails left crescents in his flesh, claiming him, worshipping him, begging him never to let me go.
He met every move, riding me with reckless hunger, eyes rolling back, mouth open in a silent moan as I fucked up into him, the rhythm desperate, savage, built for nothing but ruin.
Sweat ran in rivulets down his chest, pooling in the hollow of his throat.
I chased it with my mouth, tongue lapping salt and heat, tasting him, branding him from the inside out.
“Give it to me,” Amir hissed, nails dragging down my stomach, leaving welts that would burn for days. “Come inside me. Breed me. Mark me, Sebastian. Make me yours.”
The words broke me. My grip tightened, hips snapping, the drag and pressure and heat spiraling me out of control. I felt the world contract, tunnel to nothing but his body and mine, the wild, filthy pressure of being claimed and claiming in return.
My cock swelled, every muscle tensing, my mouth found his jaw, biting down as I drove up hard, hips stuttering, balls drawn tight.
The first pulse ripped through me, shattering everything.
I came deep, cock throbbing, flooding him with everything I had left, every spasm another desperate plea, a vow etched in sweat and heat and need.
Amir moaned, the sound raw and sacred, his body milking me for every last drop, never letting me escape, never letting me hide. My vision blacked at the edges, stars bursting behind my eyes as my body jerked, spent, surrendering everything.
I sagged back, chest heaving, muscles limp, cock still twitching inside him. Amir didn’t move, didn’t let me go. Instead, he rolled his hips, slow and sweet, savoring every aftershock, drawing out the pleasure, keeping me locked inside until I was shaking, ruined, lost.
Finally, he eased off me, sliding slow, our combined spend leaking from his hole, painting my cock, my thighs, the table. His hands were gentle now, reverent, coaxing me out, laying kisses down my chest, across my ribs, whispering quiet, soothing words in the language of touch.
A soft cloth appeared, warm and damp, wiping the mess from my skin.
Amir’s fingers worked carefully, tracing every bruise, every mark, cleaning me with a devotion that made my heart ache.
He pressed a kiss to the head of my cock, sucking up the last drops, licking me clean, tongue worshipping, eyes locked on mine.
Silence settled in the room, thick as fog, broken only by the whisper of Amir’s hands moving gently across my skin.
He dabbed at my hip, wiping away the last traces of mess, working with a tenderness that made my chest ache.
The heat between us ebbed, replaced by a raw, aching clarity—every bruise, every lingering throb, evidence of a line crossed that could never be uncrossed.
Amir’s eyes lingered on my face, searching for something in the tired, battered wreckage of my expression. “You alright?” His voice was low, rough, edged with something like regret.
I nodded, still catching my breath, fingers twitching with the urge to reach for him again. “Yeah,” I managed, voice hoarse. “More than alright. But—” The words stuck, thick as blood. “You know this can’t… We can’t—”
He cut me off, a bitter laugh twisting his mouth. “I know. If your father ever found out, I’d be out on my ass before I could pack a bag—if I’m lucky.” He glanced away, jaw clenched, staring down at his own trembling hands. “If he didn’t kill me first.”
The words sat heavy between us, truth and warning all tangled up together.
My throat closed, anger flaring at the thought of anyone hurting Amir, even if the threat came from the man who raised me.
“I’d never let that happen,” I said, softer than I meant, conviction burning through exhaustion.
“No one’s ever going to hurt you because of me. Not if I can stop it.”
He met my eyes again, softer now, sadder. “You can’t protect me from everything, Sebastian. And you shouldn’t have to. This…” He trailed off, gesturing between us, a shaky hand running through sweat-damp hair. “This was reckless. Maybe even stupid.”
“Yeah,” I said, voice catching on the edge of a laugh. “But I needed it. Needed you.”
A silence, almost fond, almost mourning. He stood, stretching out sore muscles, reaching for a white towel to wipe himself clean. His body was marked by what we’d done—red fingerprints on his hips, teeth-marks at his throat, sweat drying in the hollows of his chest. Beautiful, ruined, real.
“Go shower,” Amir said, voice all business now, slipping the mask of the professional back on with a practiced ease. “Use the shower room down the hall. Hot water will help your ribs, and you’ll want to get cleaned up before you run into anyone on the way back.”
A flicker of mischief touched his eyes, just for a second. “And if anyone asks, you were here for a routine exam and the prince is always a bit dramatic about pain.” A quick wink. “No one will question it.”
I slid off the table, legs shaky, collecting my scattered clothes. Just as I turned to leave, he caught my wrist, gentle but firm.
“One last thing,” he said, reaching for a sterile Petri dish and a pair of gloves.
“Need a sample for the lab. I want to check for any sign of infection after last night’s mess at the cathedral.
And…well, it’s standard after this kind of trauma.
” The tiniest smile ghosted across his lips. “And yes, I know what it looks like.”
I didn’t argue. I watched as he slid a finger inside, collecting a milky strand of what we’d left inside each other, sealing it in the dish with a snap.
His hands moved with all the precision of a surgeon, but there was something reverent in the way he worked—something that said this was more than just a test.
He set the sample aside, meeting my eyes one more time. “You’re good to go. Get cleaned up, and try not to do anything that gets you back in here tomorrow, alright?”
“Can’t make any promises,” I said, forcing a crooked smile. “But I’ll try.”
I started for the door, then paused, glancing back one last time. “Thank you,” I whispered.
Amir’s eyes warmed, but his voice stayed steady. “Go. Before I forget why I’m supposed to keep my distance.”
I slipped out, heart pounding, every nerve alive with the memory of what we’d done—knowing it could never happen again, and already aching for the impossibility of wanting more.