Page 106 of Dr. Fellow

It takes all of my control to wait until her orgasm dulls before I press forward again. Both of my hands settle on her hips for leverage, and I dig my fingers into the skin at the crease as I watch her come down from her high.

“Ready?”

Morgan’s lips tilt into a satiated smile. “Ready for you to fuck my ass, Sir.”

Satisfaction swirls through me as I give her a crisp nod and press forward. My grip tightens on her hips as I impale her with my cock, feeling her open for me fully. I let out a noise that sounds somewhere between a growl and a purr as I feel her tight muscles clamp down.

“Fuck,” I groan, not daring to move. “Are you trying to come again for me? Does simply having my cock in your ass push you over the edge?”

Her eyes fall to the floor and she nods, dragging her lower lip through her teeth like she’s embarrassed by the truth.

I lean forward and cover her back with my chest, pressing my forehead to the side of her face as a sudden rush of sentimentality hits me.

“I can’t believe I ever thought you were my nightmare, little devil. You are the best goddamn dream that I’ve ever had.”

Sliding out of her halfway, I hammer back in until we both find our release. As I’m holding my wife tight, I know one thing without a doubt—this is a dream that I never want to wake up from.

Epilogue

Morgan

Want to go to the Braves game this weekend?

I laugh, checking my phone as I search the supply room for a pair of XXL grippy socks. The space is well organized, but I swear the people who stock it change the layout every day.

Walker started his sports medicine fellowship two weeks ago, and I’ve already gotten far too many texts like this. I have no idea what he’s doing all day since he doesn’t have a call requirement, but it’s safe to say that it’s way less stressful than residency.

Who are they playing?

He immediately responds back.

The Dodgers.

I literally squeal to myself.

Hell yeah. Fuck the Dodgers.

We want Freddie back.

Walker isn’t as big of a baseball fan as I am, but he’s started to pay more attention to it because of his new job. His hospital is officially contracted with most of the professional leagues in Atlanta, so they handle anything surgical that comes up like Tommy John surgery or . . . other orthopedic things. He’s tried to educate me on the nuances of his role, but it usually goes in one ear and out the other. I love him, but you can only listen to someone drone on about fractures for so long before you tune them out.

I have no idea who that is.

I finally find the socks on the top shelf and have to jump to grab them. I type out a reply before leaving the supply room.

Psh—and you call yourself a fan.

I’ll educate you tonight on the lore of the 2021 postseason.

As I’m closing the door, Marisa calls to me from across the hallway. “Morg—I’ve got an admission for you.”

She looks suspiciously hesitant, and I pinch the bridge of my nose. Today has been such a good day. Why do I have a feeling that it’s about to get a lot worse?

“Nice necklace, by the way,” she says, greeting me with a nervous smile. “I’ve never noticed it, but I love it.”

“Thanks.” I try to look annoyed even though I’m a compliment hoe and appreciate the sentiment.

I think Walker expected me to hate the collar because he’s asked me about it multiple times since the honeymoon. But I keep telling him that it’s perfect.

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