Kissing My Dad's Friend

At those words, the fire flips back on in Russ’s gaze, and before I can react, he’s pushing open the fire escape door beside us, his hands tightening around my waist as he drags me through it. “Oh, believe me, that I can do,” he murmurs.

3

Russ backs me against the wall of the fire escape stairs. It’s dark in here, the only light the faint red glow from the Emergency Exit sign over the door we just came through. Almost nobody uses these back stairs, because they claim to be alarmed. There are signs all over the front saying the alarm will sound if the door opens. Russ is one of the few people, besides my father and me and a handful of other administrators, who knows that the door alarms haven’t been functional for years.

It’s a good spot. A secret one to abscond to. I’ve used it more than once before, on bad days. Days when we lose people, or when the stress of keeping up with all of my patients at once threatens to overwhelm me.

I’ve never used the stairwell like this, though. For something so much better than just a quick distraction, a spot to sneak off to be alone for a little while. Russ pins me against the wall and then his lips find my temple, my cheek. He kisses his way down my jawline, all while his hands continue to trace along my hips, down and around to grip my ass hard.

I gasp a little, my own hands sliding up to drape over his shoulders so I can brace myself against him.

He draws back, grinning at the sound I make, and his eyes flash where they meet mine. “You are fucking sexy as hell, you know that?”

“Speak for yourself,” I murmur, breathless, and grin when he finally, finally leans in to kiss me. His lips on mine are fire, explosions. He kisses me hard and deep, his tongue slipping between my lips to dance with mine, to claim me. To mark me as his own.

I’ve never been kissed like this. Boys my age tend to grope and peck, or else come in way too aggressively with the tongue. Russ knows what the hell he’s doing, though. He knows when to kiss me harder, when to deepen it, and when to ease back again, teasing, nipping at my lower lip before he pulls away to kiss along my jawline, his lips warm, the stubble of his beard scratching along my cheek.

“God, you taste incredible.” He nips at my neck, before kissing the same spot again, and I gasp once more, unable to help myself, my hands tracing along his back, up to his shoulders.

His hands slip back up to my waistline, and his fingers toy with the band of my scrubs.

“You know, you even manage to make these look sexy. That takes some doing.” He smirks, as his hand slips beneath the waistband, tracing down the flat plane of my belly, his surgeon’s hand rough and calloused against my smooth, soft skin. His fingertips reach my panties, and he toys with them slipping a thumb under the edge before he draws it out again, tracing along the fabric. “Tell me what you fantasized about.” He meets my gaze. Lifts an eyebrow. “You told me you fantasized about me, so let’s hear it.”

My throat goes dry, and my mouth along with it. I wet my lips, but it doesn’t do much good. Just makes me all the more aware of how fast my breath is coming right now, how hard my heart is beating, as Russ’s fingertips continue to explore. He traces down along my panties until he reaches the crease where my thigh meets my hip, and digs his thumb into the sensitive skin there, pressing just hard enough to make me twist in anticipation, wishing he’d move his finger just a few more degrees to the left, touch me where it counted.

“I…” I swallow thickly, blink a few times to remember how to use my tongue. “I used to dream about you… coming into my bedroom. You’d lie down along me and kiss me, hard.”

He tilts his face back up to eye me. Then he kisses me again, his tongue slipping between my lips once more, exploring, tasting. Claiming me, entirely. When we break apart, I can hardly breathe, struggling to catch my breath. “Like that?” he asks, his expression one of pure amusement.

“Y-yeah. Something like that.” I grin, still feeling a little shaky.

“What else?” he prompts, his hand sliding down the smooth flesh of my thigh, his fingers gripping so hard I can feel my skin dimple beneath them. Slowly, sturdily, he parts my legs. I stand wider, my back still flat against the wall, as he slips one hand between my legs, hard. I gasp, and hang from his shoulders for balance, my eyes fluttering half shut as he explores me.