Good Time Doctor

“You are a fucking wonder,” I murmur, and I can tell from her sly grin that she agrees.

She trails that sexy tongue of hers back up my length to the tip of my cock, and then she flattens her tongue, lapping at my tip, catching the bead of precum that’s gathered there, before she unfurls her tongue beneath me and trails it along my underside, tracing the crease beneath my shaft.

Here, she pauses, tilting her head again, peering up at me through a fall of her hair. “Do you want me to suck your cock, Doctor?” she asks, with a playful smile.

I shift both of her wrists into one hand, so I’m holding her still, and then I reach down to bury my free hand in her hair, drawing her mouth toward my cock. “Yes, dirty girl. I want to feel your tight little lips wrapped around my cock.”

Her lips touch my tip, and slowly part around me. She moans a little as I draw her mouth forward, using my hand in her hair to guide her. The moan makes me inhale sharply and stiffen, because the vibrations from it shoot through my entire body. Still, I keep her moving, drawing her forward, an inch at a time, until she tenses, and for a moment seems about to gag. I pause then and rock back a little, letting her catch her breath, before I glide forward into her mouth again. “Relax, Naomi,” I whisper, and she does, her muscles all relaxing at once below me, as she lets me take over control. I thrust forward, a little deeper this time.

I can feel the spongy tip of my cock touch the back of her throat, and she moans again with pleasure, her eyes flashing to mine. God, she looks so fucking sexy like this, gazing up at me as I draw back, almost all the way to the tip of her lips, before I press gently forward again.

“Fuck, your mouth is incredible,” I groan, my teeth gritted tightly. In answer, she presses her tongue up against the underside of my cock, teasing along my length with it. I groan again, louder. “And that tongue of yours.” I rock back, forward again, starting to find a rhythm. “Do you like that, dirty girl?” I ask her, as she starts to relax against me. I release her hands, and immediately she reaches up to grip my ass, holding on as I start to fuck her mouth in earnest. “Do you like my cock in your mouth?”

She moans in assent, and the vibrations make every nerve ending in my body catch fire at once. I’m getting close now, nearing the edge, and we both know it. “Fuck yes, Naomi,” I moan her name, losing control, losing track of everything but her mouth, her lips, her tongue, her body bent below me.

“That’s it, right there, I’m going to come, fuck,” I hiss, as the edge nears.

I grip her head hard, both hands buried deep in her hair as I come with a loud groan, and she swallows every drop, her throat tightening around me as she swallows, and then when she draws back, her tongue keeps moving, lapping up every drop, licking me clean, before she’ll let me pull her back up to her feet to tug her body against me again.

As I hold her tightly against me, she tilts her head back and pulls me down into a hot, searing kiss. I taste myself on her lips, on her tongue, and I know that she’s mine, and nothing has ever felt so goddamn sexy or right in my entire life.

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I never wanted romance. Never cared about passion.

And I never meant to admit that in an interview in front of the world. It's not like I'm famous! I was just asked to give a talk about the environment, then the next thing I know, I'm spilling personal secrets. All I want is to go back to my quiet, shy-girl life of books and sweatpants.

But HE won't let me.

One click HIS SHY VIRIGN now!

I swear that this started out as a perfectly normal day. There was coffee after stumbling from my bed, bleary from a late night in the lab yesterday. There was the normal horrible commute on the subway filled with equally grumpy people as the trains start and stop through the tunnels. There was waving my ID badge at Bob, the friendly old security guard who spends his day reading paperback mystery novels when he’s not checking us in.

And then there’s now, where I’m sitting in my boss’s office and he’s telling me that he needs me to go on TV in a couple of hours.

“I don’t understand.”

“Kelly, I just explained it.”

“I know, but it’s not penetrating. Why do you need me to do this? Shouldn’t it be you? Shouldn’t it be Sharon? Shouldn’t it be anyone but the most junior scientist in the lab?”

Dr. Fayberg gives me an amused smile. “Normally, yes, but our consultant for the interview thought it would be good if you do it.”

I stare at him, mouth hanging open. “But…why?”

He looks uncomfortable for a second, and clears his throat. “It’s probably easier if I just read you the email, since I don’t want there to be any mistake about my interpretation.” He clicks a couple times on his computer and clears his throat again. He reads from the screen: “All your talking points look good, but there’s something missing. Everybody knows that taking care of the environment is good for the planet, but it’s a hard sell to make things like composting sexy. I looked at your staff, and if she’s capable, Kelly Donahue is perfect. She’s young, she’s hot, and she can give the people at NYTalks more to care about than carbon dioxide facts.”

He looks at me sheepishly. “I have no problem with you doing the interview. You’re more than capable, and you know your shit better than anyone around here. Hell, I’m more likely to forget a fact than you are, and if Miriam thinks you’re a good fit, I’m all for it.”

I’m happy that he thinks I’m good enough to do the interview, but I’m undecided. I know that if I push back, he won’t make me do it. Dr. Fayberg has never made me uncomfortable, and the fact that he’s even asking based on this email means he’s worried about the perception of the interview.

The thought of me being tapped for my sex appeal is a new one. I’ve never considered myself sexy. I’m the nerdy girl who sits in the front of the class and takes the best notes. I wear glasses, I always wished my hair had more volume, and no matter how well I eat or how much I work out, I’ll always have more curves than most people think I attractive. Sexy isn’t in the top twenty words that I’d use to describe myself.

Under normal circumstances, I think I would say no. But we need this. We’ve been under attack for months from executives and oil companies saying that our research isn’t worthwhile, that we should lose our funding. That can’t happen. Green Leaf labs is one of the only labs doing specific and targeted research into alternative energies that have no net impact on the environment. It’s not a secret that we don’t have much time left to figure this out, and it’s more important than ever. But Miriam—our PR specialist—says it’s harder for our side to seem sexy and attractive when the people on the other side are rich beyond imagination sporting custom suits and gorgeous cars. I’m sporting clearance sale finery if I’m lucky.

So if going on TV will help, even though it makes me want to vomit with anxiety, I’ll do it.

“Okay,” I say. “I can, but please tell me Miriam is going to find me some clothes because I don’t have anything that will look good on TV.”

Dr. Fayberg looks relieved. “Good, thank you. And I’ll email her right now to get the details and ask if she can set you up with something.”

I get up and go back to my desk in a daze. TV. I’m going to be on TV. And it’s not just some community access channel either. NYTalks is a huge deal. Lots of people watch, and the fact that we were invited on to talk about who we are and what we do isn’t a small thing. God, I hope I don’t fuck it up.

At least there’s one relieving thing—I’ve never seen a NYTalks interview where Pepper Perry wasn’t able to smooth over any awkwardness. She’s a good host and a good interviewer, so even if I fall flat on my fucking face there’s a chance it will still come out half-way decent.

“Kelly,” Dr. Fayberg calls, and I he

ar his footsteps as he comes and pokes his head around the wall of my cubicle. “Miriam says she’ll meet you at the studio in an hour and that everything will be taken care of. I’ll forward you the talking points. Most likely questions, that kind of thing.”

“Thanks,” I say, suddenly finding it very hard to swallow. I’m glad I haven't eaten anything yet. That way, if I actually do throw up, it will only be coffee. Not sure why that’s less embarrassing, but someone how it seems that way.

I can’t focus on my work in the hour that I have. My eyes keep wandering to the clock in the corner of the screen ticking down the minutes until I have to leave to make it to the studio on time. I’m trying to run the numbers and extrapolate data from one of the most recent environmental impact studies sent in by our researcher in the field.

It may as well be written in Martian for all I’m processing it right now.

Finally, I give up. It’s still ten minutes before I technically have to leave but if I just sit at my desk, I feel like I’m going to gnaw my arm off in the waiting. Better to get there early anyway, so they can do as much work on me as they need.

“I’m leaving,” I say to Dr. Fayberg.

“Good luck,” he calls. “We’re all rooting for you.”

I’m rooting for me too. Rooting for me to actually be able to speak once the camera starts rolling.

It ends up being just fine that I leave early. As usual, the trains in Manhattan are crap, and I end up spending more time in a dark tunnel than I would like. I arrive at the studio downtown with a couple of minutes to spare, and I see Miriam waiting for me outside.

If there were ever a person who was my opposite, it’s Miriam. She’s tall and wafer thin in that effortless way girls like me lust after. Her hair is sheared short in a daring and edgy cut that lets you know from a mile away that she doesn’t take shit, and no matter what she’s wearing, she seems to carry it off with elegance and purpose.

And to add to that, she’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. She could charm the teeth out of a shark’s mouth with her charisma, but she knows when to pack a punch. Hiring her for Green Leaf was probably the best idea we’ve had in a long time, and we’re a lab full of brilliant people with equally brilliant ideas.

We’ve only met a few times, but we get along well. It’s hard to meet people my age in my line of work, so Miriam is refreshing. As I walk up, she glances up from her phone and sees me.

“Kelly! It’s so good to see you.” She does one of those quick handshakes and pecks on the cheek that don’t feel out of place at all when you’re around her. “I’m glad you agreed to do this.”