Page 106 of Brutal Reign
“These look convenient.” He pulls me to the edge of the table, positioning my feet in the exam table stirrups.
“Oh, hell no.” I try to back away, but his hands are firm on my hips, holding me in place.
“Hell, yes. This is fucking perfect.”
He settles onto the doctor’s stool, rolling forward so he’s positioned between my spread legs. The gown has ridden up completely, offering zero coverage. The position leaves me bare and utterly exposed to his hungry gaze.
He stares for so long that I let out a frustrated growl.
He chuckles and blows a gentle stream of warm air over my folds. “God, you’re so beautiful.”
“Pavel, please…” I beg, desperate for anything to ease this ache.
“Shh. Doctor’s orders.” He runs a finger through my slit, gathering the evidence of my arousal, then holds his glistening finger up to examine it in the light, like he’s studying it for scientific purposes. “Very interesting. Patient appears to be experiencing significant arousal.”
“This is humiliating.”This is also very hot.
“It’s important that I’m thorough.” He reaches for a reflex hammer from the doctor’s kit beside the table, running his hand along its smooth handle. “This should provide excellent feedback.”
He trails the handle along my labia before slowly pushing it inside me. The smooth rubber slides deep, and I suck in a sharpbreath, overwhelmed by the feeling of being stretched and filled by a medical instrument.
“Sensitivity appears heightened,” he notes, thrusting the handle in a steady rhythm. “But I think a more hands-on approach is required.”
Again, he blows softly across my wet flesh, making me arch in place, until finally,finally, he puts his mouth on me.
The first touch of his tongue sends shockwaves through my core. He starts slow, exploring every fold and sensitive spot, mapping me with his mouth. The stirrups keep me spread obscenely wide, unable to close my legs or escape the intensity of his attention.
Replacing the handle of the hammer with his tongue, he spears me deep, mimicking the slow, punishing rhythm of his cock, while his hands slide up to grip my breasts, kneading them with firm pressure.
The position makes everything more intense; I can feel every flick, every swirl, every gentle bite, magnified beyond reason.
“Fuck, you taste incredible,” Pavel groans against me. “I could do this for hours.”
He sucks my clit into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue, until I’m writhing against him. When he slides two fingers inside me and nibbles at my clit, I nearly come apart. The combination of his mouth and fingers working in tandem is mind-blowing.
“That’s it,” he encourages, pumping his fingers in a rhythm that matches his tongue. “Let me feel you come apart.”
His fingers curl inside me, hitting a spot that makes pinpoints of light explode behind my eyes. The wet sounds of his mouth on me and his fingers moving in and out of my pussy fill the clinical room.
“Pavel, I can’t— I’m going to?—”
“Give it to me,” he demands, increasing the pressure. “Come on my tongue.”
The orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave, my body convulsing in the stirrups as pleasure destroys every coherent thought. Pavel works me through every pulse, his mouth and fingers relentless, until I’m so oversensitive, I have to beg him to stop.
“I think we should get one of these for home,” he says with a grin, picking me up and putting me on my feet.
I should be concerned that the doctor heard us. I should be even more concerned that every time Pavel touches me, I fall apart. Every time he looks at me with that dark hunger in his eyes, I forget all the reasons why I should resist him. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself this is temporary, that I’m planning to leave. When he puts his hands on me, none of that matters.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Pavel observes, his eyes fixed on my face. He kisses me softly, a sharp contrast to the filthy things he just did to me. “Now, get dressed. I’ll get your prescription from the doctor, and we can leave.”
“I think you ordered the entire menu,” I point out as the waiter scurries off.
“You need food. And I’m still pissed you haven’t been taking better care of yourself.” Pavel leans back, arms crossed, but there’s nothing threatening about his posture.
We’re sitting on the terrace of one of Moscow’s finest restaurants. Pavel insisted we stop for lunch after the doctor, claiming I looked pale and needed a proper meal.
The afternoon sun filters through the umbrella above our table. Even with his guards stationed strategically at a cornertable nearby, this moment feels normal. We’re like any other couple enjoying lunch together on a beautiful day.
