Page 41 of Scary In Love
“Pubic hair has been removed. Skin is soft and smooth.”
I drove to the city to get a wax a few days ago, not wanting anyone local to know about the choices I make for my body. Not that I care about that when Mason is inspecting the most sensitive parts of me.
“Patient’s cunt is swollen and soaking wet.”
My hands cover my face. How is this so hot when it’s so fucking mortifying?
“Clear signs of arousal.” He presses one gloved finger to my entrance, scooping up the pool of liquid that’s gathered there. “Fluid is sticky and sweet.”
Oh my God, did he just taste me?
He continues his stroking, sweeping through my folds, up one side and down the other, never coming anywhere close to where I need him.
I shift to rest on my forearms, desperate to see more. With the dictaphone in one hand, he leans closer, watching how my body reacts to his torment.
“Clit is sensitive and throbbing.” He taps it a few times, and when I whine, he has the audacity to laugh, and I think I might cry.
Fuck, I hate this, but I love it more.
“Cunt is clenching.”
He keeps taunting me. Wiping my stickiness up and down. Pinching the sensitive skin at the tops of my thighs. Squeezing my labia. Pushing the flat of his palm against my aching hole.
“Patient appears desperate to be touched.”
Desperate doesn’t scratch the surface. My hips buck, hungry for his cock, his fingers, his tongue, literally anything as long as I have something inside me as soon as possible. I feel like all my wishes have been granted when he slips the tip of his pinky inside me.
“The ache she previously described can be witnessed when she clamps around the introduction of a probe, in this case a finger.”
It’s not enough, but I bear down on it anyway. He tuts at me, pulling it out and dragging it lower.
“Asshole is…” He moans, tapping it gently, circling, pushing against it. The pressure is incredible. “Pretty as fuck.”
Even with my legs in the restraints, I twist and squirm, dying for more.
“Please,” I beg, my eyes squeezing closed.
I don’t know how much more of this I can take. My thighs are already shaking, but Mason pulls back, peels his gloves off and drops them onto the tray.
He unbuckles my ankles, then pulls the lamp back to illuminate my entire body. I catch the briefest glimpse of his face before he leaves the room without a word.
A howl of agony, a noise I’ve never made in my life, roars out ofme.
It can’t be over.
My breath hitches when I look down at the mess he’s made of me, my nipples shiny and wet, my clothes torn, my pussy exposed and visibly aroused.
What the fucking fuck?
Only when I try to sit up do I notice a small cream envelope, tucked into the waistband of my skirt.
I rip it open, blinking to read the note on the back of his map.
Congratulations, Miss Laing. You’re ready for The Round Table.
24
Jenna
