Page 63 of Dr. Fellow

“Beg. For. It,” I repeat, spitting every word as I stare into her wide eyes. “Because once I get on top, I’m not going easy on you. You’ll feel me so deep inside that tight cunt that you’ll gasp for air. And every time you open that bratty mouth, you’ll be so breathless that you can’t even speak the word friend.”

“Ugh.” Morgan winces like she’s just taken some sort of nasty medicine. “Fine. I want you to take control. God, I fucking need to come so bad. Please take control.”

Pride swells in my chest, knowing how much she didn’t want to submit but chose to anyway. I pull her closer, pressing my lips to hers in a hungry kiss as I flip us so that I’m on top. My hands slide over her chest, ripping the thin fabric of her dress down the middle to finally expose her flawless tits.

She gasps beneath me when I start moving inside her, her fingers holding onto my shoulders for dear life as I slide halfway out and then push deep inside. I trail dangerous nibbles along her jaw, my hands finding her perky nipples and tugging hard. She screams a little too loud, given our friends are right next door, and a rush of her arousal coats my cock as I pull out again.

My mouth replaces my fingers on her tits, sucking and tormenting her sensitive buds. One hand snakes under her head, threading through her messy hair, and I tug her head back, forcing her lips to part so that I can push three fingers down her throat.

“Suck, little devil. Gag yourself on my fingers while your slutty pussy comes all over my fat cock.”

Morgan’s lips close around my fingers, following my instructions like she was born to be mine. I tighten my grip on her scalp, using her hair for leverage as I hammer back into her, thrusting hard.

“That’s right,” I growl against her skin, feeling her pussy start to flutter. “That’s my good little whore. You’re about to come all over my cock, aren’t you? Come for me. Show me how much you need me.”

My teeth graze her nipple, finally sending her over the edge. A muffled moan ricochets through her throat as her core spasms around my shaft. I grunt, her tight grip on my cock spurring my orgasm and forcing me to erupt in pleasure. But the way her fingernails painfully dig into the skin of my shoulders as she rides out her release reminds me of one thing—she needs more too, even if she won’t admit it.

Chapter 25

Morgan

“I’m already sore as fuck,” Beau whines, taking a sip from his footlong strawberry daiquiri as we sit on the edge of the massive hotel pool. “That shit was hard.”

My body is way more sore from the pounding Walker gave me last night than the pole dancing class the group took this morning. But I keep that to myself. Nobody was the wiser when I snuck back to my room at two in the morning after the delicious hell he put me through, and there’s no reason that they need to know.

“I’m not surprised. You’re looking pretty small these days, Buff,” Walker deadpans, knowing it’ll piss off the most muscular friend in the group.

Walker is sucking down a piña colada the same size as Beau’s, though I can’t tell if it’s affecting him because he’s so damn hard to read. He could be blackout drunk or stone-cold sober, and I would have no idea either way because he’s acting completely normal.

It’s infuriating.

Actually . . . what’s more infuriating is the fact that he’s barely given me a sideways glance all day. Every time I say something, he ignores it like he wasn’t balls deep inside of me hours ago. And I know it’s not because I don’t look hot as fuck—I’m wearing a black bandeau that barely covers my tits, paired with the cheekiest bottoms that I own. He should be salivating over me, not bromancing with his friend.

“I may be small, but at least I’m not soft,” Beau counters, reaching across me to pat Walker’s chest. “When was the last time you lifted, bro? I can barely see your abs under there.”

Walker laughs and then replies, “I may have a soft body, but I’ve got a hard dick.”

Okay, maybe he is drunk—that was actually funny.

When they start discussing who their favorite porn star is, I decide that I’ve officially had enough of this boys club conversation and leave to go hang with the girls by the VIP bar.

“Where’s Parker?” I ask Cass, wrapping my arms around my best friend from behind.

I don’t actually care where her fiancé is, but I’m trying to make pleasant conversation. Things have felt slightly off between us ever since I trash talked him at the Mexican restaurant, and I want to get back on track—our friendship is more important than my opinion of her future husband.

Cass tips her head back against my shoulder. “He had a quick work thing to take care of, so he ran up to the room. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

I plop my ass on the cool metal barstool next to her. “Whatcha drinking?”

She’s holding some sort of orange slushie that smells like Everclear, and I’m suddenly feeling far too sober compared to the rest of the group.

“Jetfuel.”

My eyes go wide as a core memory unlocks in my brain. “Like from Flip Flops?”

“Mhmmm,” she murmurs as she leans in and sucks down the sugary alcohol through a long pink straw. “But it tastes drunker.”

Flip Flops is a bar in midtown that we visited once, but never returned to again. Not because it wasn’t a good time, but because we both got plastered from a drink just like this. I don’t know why I thought it was exclusive to that particular establishment, but now that I know it’s not, I immediately order one.

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