Page 135 of Entangled

My eyes widen, my breathing coming faster. An audio recording? Why does he want to do that? I eye the recorder. Does it matter? It’s not like it can be spread around on the internet.

“Yes, that’s fine,” I agree nervously.

Doctor Bennett gives a kindly nod, flicking the device on and resting it on the side table. He pulls a box of gloves from his bag.

“Tell me, do you have any allergies? Any concerns with latex?”

When I give a minute shake of my head, he removes the thin black material from the packaging.

My lips part as I watch him pull on the gloves. My eyes linger on them, oddly fascinated—so impersonal, so clinical. It should be ridiculous, while he’s bare chested and blatantly aroused in front of me.

It’s not ridiculous.

I’m already wet, but I feel a sudden rush of slickness between my thighs and shift.

He places the bag on the bed beside me. “Do you have any conditions? Are you on any medications? Is there any family history I should be aware of?”

My nipples are pebbled and painfully sensitive, and every time his kindly, not-quite-impartial glance sweeps over them, they tighten further. I shiver.

Maybe I’ll go along with this. Just for a while more.

“I don’t have any conditions that I know of—apart from failing eyesight, but I’m not entirely sure of my family history,” I say meekly, my fingers worrying in front of me. “I’m not on any medications, either.”

Doctor Bennett nods seriously. “And are you sexually active?”

The flush in my cheeks deepens. “Yes.”

“Of course you are. Pretty girl like you must be taking dick from all the boys,” he says indulgently, and my breath stalls, even as heat rolls over me.

“Doctor Bennett!” My hand flies to my throat, my uncertain, scandalized body clenching around nothing.

His eyes flare again, and he leans forward, patting my knee soothingly. “It’s okay, Miss Anderson. Just let me take over. It’s all part of the examination.”

I stare at him, stunned by my arousal.

It’s... sick.Manipulative.

So why am I so, so wet for it?

I feel my brow knit anxiously, and heat creeps down my chest, making it bloom a soft pink. And my doctor is tracking every shift, assessing each reaction, testing my responses.

This does feel like an examination—a kind of exploratory inspection—but the medical reasoning feels questionable.

Doctor Bennett’s hand curls under my right knee, and he wraps his other hand around my left, then he drags my naked body to the edge of the bed.

I feel myself leave a humiliatingly wet trail along the bedspread.

“Open your legs,” he instructs, and I realize they’re clamped shut against the evidence of my interest. When I hesitate for a moment, he flicks his gaze up, and his latex-covered fingers stroke encouragingly at the sensitive skin behind my knees. “I need to see, Miss Anderson. It won’t be much of an examination if I can’t see, now, will it?”

Swallowing a moan, I part my legs slowly in front of him, spreading them wide. His eyes drop to my glistening pussy.

I wonder if he might touch me, but apart from a brief flare of his nostrils, he doesn’t respond, just takes me in with unprofessional interest.

He stands and steps to the side, then places my feet on each arm of the large chair so they’re propped up and stretched wide. From this angle, with my ass just barely on the edge of the bed, I have the sudden worry that I’m so wet, I might drip onto the floor.

“Lie back now. It’s time for me to examine you.”

Doctor Bennett’s latex-covered palm presses against my breastbone, and he pushes me backwards until I’m lying against the mattress. His easy control, the casual confidence, makes my eyes hood as I watch him stand over me.

---