Page 56 of Doctor Enemy

There are nails on the curve of my back, and teeth nipping at my ear. I respond in kind, thrilled with the fact that now that her injuries have healed, I don’t have to treat her like glass. Instead, I grab her by the waist and spin her around, pressing her against the wall. She moans in response.

“Spread your legs,” I tell her, voice low and husky, my lips brushing to the bare stretch of skin on her back. “And pull up your dress.’

Lori does as she’s told, spreading her legs and hiking up the fabric. I shove a hand between her thighs, pressing fingers to her soaked panties.

“Don’t you have something to ask me?” I request, tugging at her panties, pushing them down.

Lori kicks them off her feet and then spreads her legs again, one hand keeping her dress rucked up around her hips, exposing her perfectly round ass, and the other braced to the wall by her forehead. “Please.”

She sounds embarrassed. I goad her on, stroking her wet slit.

A shudder runs through her. “Please fuck me.”

I groan against her bare skin, pressing my finger up into her but only for a moment. Then I’m pulling my hand back, shoving at my jeans and pushing them down around my knees. It’s easy then, lining my dick up and pressing inside of her.

Lori’s a tight, wet heat to get lost in. My teeth scrape over the side of her neck. One arm wraps around her waist and pulls her backward, up against me. I give a testing roll of my hips and am met with enthusiastic moaning in response, her whole body shivering as I set up a steady pace.

“Fuck, just–ah–just like that,” Lori gasps, between low, drawn-out whines. Her teeth catch her lower lip, trying to keep herself quiet.

Why? We’re in her own apartment. But the walls are probably paper thin. Even in my brief time here with her, I can tell that the place is cheaply made and probably overpriced.

Doesn’t matter.

I want to hear what she has to say, I want to know exactly how I’m making her feel.

The heat races through my own skin. One of Lori’s hands reaches back, tangling into the fabric of my shirt, pulling me closer. I can tell that she’s close, and I’m right behind her. The sound of bare skin against skin, of her pussy wet and welcoming and taking me so well.

I drop a hand down, pressing fingers hard and sloppy to her clit, rubbing it fiercely. Her hips jerk against my hand, once, twice, and then she shouts as she cums, her whole body going tight. Wetness spills over my hand. Muscles clench around me. It’s too good to ignore.

I bury myself as deeply inside of her as I can get, mouth pressed hard against the long, lean curve of her neck. My front to her back, my arm around her waist.

For a long moment, we just stay there like that, panting against each other. Then slowly, I pull out. Cum spills down the inside of her thighs. She leans even more heavily against the wall, her legs trembling slightly. I don’t let go. I lean there with her, supporting her. Lips press gently against the side of her neck. Her shoulder. Every inch of bare skin that I can.

It’s only once she catches her breath that I pull my pants back up and we finally make it into the kitchen for our drink. Lori pours us each a glass of wine. She winces a little bit when she sits down on the soft-topped stool tucked against the little two-square island counter.

“You know,” I tell her, looking over the studio apartment.

It’s pretty. Bright colors on everything. Lace curtains to let the light in. Bright, flower themed potholders hanging from the knobs of the cabinets. “I would have expected you to live somewhere else.”

“Yeah?” Lori laughs. “Why’s that?”

“Maybe just because I know you deserve it,” I say, leaning both arms against the island counter. I slide one forward, brushing the tips of my fingers over the backs of her knuckles. “I might not be in the same department as you, but that doesn’t change the fact that I can see how hard you’ve worked.”

She bristles. “What does that have to do with my studio?”

“You could let someone pamper you,” I say. The meaning is clear. She could letmepamper her. Money has never been a problem for me. I was born into a well-off family and then I also made a living of my own. I made more than just a living. I’ve made a damn good life for myself.

And I want to share it with her.

I want her to feel as happy with me as I feel, being with her. It’s this sudden bursting warmth in my chest. Iknewthat I could win her over if she just went on a date with me. And it turns out, I was right.

Hopefully.

I can see the way that bringing money up makes her tense. Her lips pull into a thin line, and she busies herself sipping at the wine. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’ve been doing it myself for years.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to keep doing it,” I insist. “All I’m asking is for the chance to have somethingmorewith you.”

She sips her wine again, not meeting my gaze. For a moment, I think that this is it. She took me up on the dinner date but doesn’t want anything past that. It creeps into my spine, an already fast-growing misery.

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