Daring the Doctor

“It’s just you and me,” I murmur, absorbed by the plumping movements of her lips. “There’s never anyone else.”

When the butler has gone, I remove my thumb and replace it with my tongue, kissing her the way I might if we were fucking on the floor of my office. Deeply. Possessively. A halting mewl comes from her throat and I’ve already learned over the last three days, that’s the sound she makes when she gets wet. My hand trails down the front of her body, over her young tits, gripping her pussy through the jeans. “This is what I’m having for lunch, Charlotte.”

Her eyelids flutter. “Yes, sir.”

Satisfied beyond words by this dynamic that has developed and flourished between us, I squeeze her perfect little cunt one more time and step back. “Undress.”

Setting down her purse, Charlotte looks around, clearly nervous. We’re on one of the highest buildings and there’s more than enough privacy to ensure she won’t be seen. Furthermore, there is no one else at the pool, apart from the occasional butler. But in broad daylight in a place unfamiliar to her, I suppose there is a slight wickedness to getting completely naked. I can’t seem to help pushing her boundaries, though. It started with her calling me sir, manhandling her in bed, referring to myself as her Daddy.

These are things I never could have expected from myself. My only explanation is the intuition that she needs to have her boundaries pushed. That it satisfies her body as well as something deep inside of her mind. Charlotte is one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. If she didn’t want these things I do and say and command of her, she’d stop me. She’d leave. The fact that she keeps going means she wants to explore this power exchange as badly as I do.

“So…” she whispers, drawing the red shirt over her head, lobbing it onto the closest lounge chair. Why is the fact that she’s wearing a black and white polka dot bra making me so hot? At the same time, it floods me with affection. So much that I struggle to swallow. “Is this a club…” Reaching back to unfasten the bra, she scans the rooftop. “Or do you own an apartment here?”

“A good friend owns the penthouse. This is his pool. Exclusively. He travels a lot and rarely makes use of it.” I tilt my head. “So I do.”

Charlotte’s lips twitch, her chin lifting. “Let me guess, you saved his life and unlimited pool access is his way of repaying you.”

“It was his son’s life,” I admit, my jaw clenching when she drops the bra.

Fuck. Those bratty little tits.

They haunt my dreams with their sexy raspberry nipples.

The fact that I’m wearing a nylon swimsuit leaves little doubt how much I enjoy the sight of them. Of her. Christ, merely being around her makes me harder than sin.

Next, she steps out of her heels, toes them aside and goes to work unzipping her jeans. “And you come here just for exercise?”

There’s a dull kick inside of my throat, followed by a ripple of discomfort. I study her closely, a line forming between my brows. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugs one sun-drenched shoulder. “I don’t know…when I walked in here, before you saw me, I noticed some…tension. You seemed locked up.”

Why am I suddenly winded?

My throat is parched and there’s a slight twitch behind my right eye. Hoping to disguise the reaction to her question, I sidestep and pick up my seltzer, taking a long sip and setting it back down. “Locked up” is the perfect description for what I was experiencing before she graced the rooftop. Do I tell her why? I don’t confide in people. It’s simply not done. Especially not about a weakness of mine. This girl, I only want her to think of me as strong, invincible. But I’ve asked her to give me all of her trust—and to a degree, she has. She’s given me enough that I have command over her body. Don’t I owe her my confidence as well, after she’s been brave enough to allow me hers?

“Lung transplants,” I finally respond, clearing my throat hard. “They tend to make me second-guess myself. A little. I’ve only had one failed surgery and it was lungs.”

“Oh.” She draws back a little. “Well that seems…”

“What?”

“Totally human. And healthy.” She hesitates a moment, then pushes down her jeans, stepping out of them, leaving her in polka dot panties to match the bra. Then she closes the gap between us, settling a hand in the center of my chest. “If you were doing surgery on me—”

“Jesus, don’t say things like that,” I rasp, growing momentarily dizzy at the horrible thought of her on my operating table.

“If you were,” she persists. “I would want you to second-guess yourself.”