Chapter Twenty-Six #2
“You make this so fucking hard.” His voice cracks through my mind. “I really need to take you, my sweet Doctor,” he whimpers and it’s almost my undoing. “I need to ram my cock inside of you. You’re so tight. So inexperienced. I’ll probably break you.”
My cheeks burn. I try to squirm away.
“Hopefully, it’ll kill you.”
I writhe. The fear bleeds through my body like a cold sweep, burning every nerve.
A tear slips free. He moves fast, predatory, tongue slashing at it before it can slip further down my cheek.
He holds it between his lips and groans.
The sound vibrates the hot air between us, and I shrink in on myself.
“Would you like that?” he groans. “I could ruin you. I could make you forget what you are.”
His finger returns to my clit. Gentle. Light. Not enough pressure to bring me to my release, but enough to drive me fucking crazy. The world around me spins violently, and no matter how many breaths I drag in, I still can’t seem to send oxygen to my head. I blink back the tears.
“Come on,” he presses. “Answer me. Stop with the silent treatment.”
“Get off me,” I finally spit out through gritted teeth. “I don’t want you. I can’t keep doing this.”
His head cocks to the side. “You don’t?”
I shake my head firmly. The words fail me.
But I immediately regret my protest because before I can stop him, something hard presses against my folds.
In one hard swipe, he drags himself through the wetness.
I hate it. I hate him. And I fucking hate myself because I can hear the juices my body have provided him. It sings out my betrayal. The truth.
“Liar.” He chuckles and the noise sends shivers through me. “I ought to punish you for that.”
I shrink. “Please don’t.”
“You’ve been a bad little Doctor, today,” he breathes. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to train that out of you.”
He moves himself against my clit and flicks it three times. I swipe at him and finally, my hand connects with his face. My nail catches on his cheek.
The blood blisters immediately. Pockets of red rise to the surface angrily and I know I’ve fucked up.
I regret my actions immediately. He moves fast, and before I can fully comprehend what’s happening, he flips me onto my front.
Within seconds, his hot body is over mine, pressing me into the sheets.
I flail, arms reaching around to desperately scratch at him, but it’s futile. Sleep makes my body compliant.
He laughs at me, cold and taunting.
“Stupid bitch,” he sneers. “Apologise now.”
“Sorry!” It’s fast, too fast. It’s something caught between a whimper and a scream. “I’m sorry!”
But he doesn’t release me. He pushes his cock between my thighs and slides between my folds.
“No!” I scream. “No, not that! Please!”
I bite down into my lower lip to catch the sob. My face falls into the pillow. I sob. It feels so good. So, fucking good. But, I can’t. I won’t let it happen.
If he does this, if I allow this, then it’s already gone too far. There can be no coming back from him ravishing my virginity. Sleep or not. It’s too much.
“I need to hear you, Doctor. Start begging.” he sneers, fingers fisting into my hair. He snatches my head up.
My body moves on autopilot. The fear forces me to obey, before my mind can stop me. “Please! Please, Deogal.”
“Please what?” He thrusts forward through my lips, and my mouth falls open instinctively. The pleasure slams into me.
I can’t stop the way my legs shake. He tortures my bundle of nerves so sweetly.
“I need to—” I stop myself before I can go too far. My eyes slam shut. I try to block it out. Stop him. Stop the rising pleasure. But I can’t. It creeps higher and higher, and I can’t stop fucking shaking for him.
“Beg for your orgasm.” He demands.
My lips stay tightly shut.
His hands snake around my body, fingers locking around my nipples.
I scream. It hurts so fucking bad; it tortures me so devastatingly.
I buck against him, thighs squeezing shut desperately to keep the friction hard.
But no matter how much I move, how desperate I am, I can’t seem to tip myself over the edge.
He chuckles and the noise goes straight through me.
“Oh, sweet, Doctor,” he taunts. “I could keep you like this all night, sweetheart. On edge. Desperate, but never giving you the release I know you fucking need.”
“Please,” the word is so small, so weak, and yet it already feels like I’ve let myself down.
“Beg for it.”
He twists my nipples and the pleasure blisters out violently. I can’t hold off any longer.
“Okay! Okay!” I cry out, “Please let me cum!”
“Good girl.” He praises, and the sound is my unravelling. I explode hard. My orgasm sweeps me through violently, the waves of pleasure smashing into me repeatedly. My toes curl. Head smacks the pillow. I feel him fuck me between my folds.
He roars, his thrusts become faster, angrier, and I feel the heat suddenly splash between my lips. Hot, spurts of semen assault me, and my pleasure only intensifies.
I scream.
No sound comes out.
My body shakes. I can’t stop it. I can’t control myself. I’m wild, crying as the ecstasy undoes me. God, I can’t come down for what feels like hours.
The spell breaks when he flips me over again like I’m nothing more than something for him to move and play with. Oxygen floods my lungs. The fog clears.
I reach for the duvet, but my body doesn’t follow.
There’s a delay at first, like the signal hasn’t travelled properly. Then nothing at all. My arms stay where they are, heavy, unresponsive.
A tear slips free before I realise I’m crying. It tracks slowly down the side of my face, warm against my skin, a small, helpless thing I can’t stop.
His thumb catches it before it reaches my ear.
“You did very well, Doctor.” His voice settles over me, soft in a way that doesn’t match anything else about him. It’s deceptively sweet. “I’m proud of you.”
The words really shouldn’t do something to me.
I really shouldn’t melt into his praise, have the longing for more.
But something in me reacts anyway, something instinctive and quiet that leans toward it before I can pull it back.
My chest tightens, not just with fear now, but something else tangled underneath it. Want. The awful, creeping pull of it.
I hate it.
I don’t stop it.
“If you want more,” he murmurs, “turn the sound off tomorrow.”
The meaning doesn’t land straight away.
“What?”
His gaze drags over me one last time, slow and deliberate, like he’s committing something to memory. A faint smile touches his mouth.
“You’ll know,” he says, voice low. His eyes hold mine for a second longer than necessary. And then, he’s gone.
I wake with a sharp inhale, my hand fisted in the sheet, fabric twisted so tight it aches in my grip. The room is dark and empty. But my body...isn’t.
Between my legs, heat lingers in slow, dull waves, unwinding through me like it hasn’t realised the dream is over.
My throat tightens.
No.
No, no—
I squeeze my eyes shut hard enough to hurt, like I can crush it out of myself. It doesn’t go. It lingers, heavy and humiliating.
Turn the sound off tomorrow.
The words come back clearer this time. Sharper. A command.
My stomach drops.
I drag my hand down hard over my face, like I can wipe the feeling away, like I can get rid of the evidence of it.
And the worst part, the part that makes something cold settle in my gut, is that I don’t know where it ends.
The dream?
Him?
Or me.
I stare up at the ceiling, wide awake, pulse refusing to settle. Because I know I’m not going back to sleep. I don’t trust what happens if I do.