Medicine Man

I wiggle over him, accidentally rubbing his dick over my pussy. Or maybe not so accidentally. Maybe I did it on purpose because I’m so fucking horny.

“I asked you for it, didn’t I? I can handle it.” I hover over his lips and whisper, “You being in my stomach. I’ll be as good as any other woman you’ve fucked.”

He’s silent for a beat before finally, finally pushing back against me.

“You won’t be.”

My heart breaks a little at his statement.

At his confidence.

But I don’t get to voice it because he changes direction and goes to the wall. The wall I pointed out to him.

My back hits the brick just as he mutters, lowering me to the ground, “You’ll be better and that’s the whole fucking problem.”

At first, I can’t believe he said that, but then I can’t help it; I smile.

He growls, though. “Stop making things difficult, Willow. Or I’ll leave right now.”

I shake my head. “Sorry.”

He goes down on his knees then, taking my pajamas and my panties with him. That was so sudden that I don’t have the time to prepare or do anything but gasp.

“Simon, I don’t –”

My speech cuts off when he snaps his eyes up. “You asked for it, didn’t you?” At my small nod, he swallows. “So, I’m doing it. But that’s it. From here on out, it’s my show. You’ll do as I say. Because if I get even a little bit of indication that this is hurting you in any way, I’m going to stop.”

I fist his hair. “No, okay. I won’t say anything.”

“Good.”

I bite my lip and my stomach clenches at the sight of him on his knees. The top of his dark, messy-haired head reaches my heaving breasts. But his face is bowed; he’s looking at my pussy and I curl my toes at his intense stare.

Simon pushes my top up, dragging it across my trembling stomach with his splayed palms. His touch is so possessive, so rough and so tender at the same time, and I breathe really slowly, really carefully to absorb everything.

“The first time I saw you, you were on your knees, picking up the pages of your book,” he whispers, his eyes on his own hands as he watches them tug my nightshirt up.

I remember that. I remember that so well. I hated the idea of him. Another jerk of a doctor. Another man with a God complex who would mess with my life.

He did mess with my life. He still is. But in a very good way. A very, very good way.

“I couldn’t see you that way. I have no idea why. I didn’t even know your name. I hadn’t even seen your face. I just…” He watches my stomach as it slowly comes into view. “I just knew. That you didn’t belong there. On your knees.”

I press my lips together, trying to keep my tears at bay. They are happy tears though. So happy.

Such a strong longing grips me. It’s almost like panic. What if this doesn’t work? What if he can never lose his demons? What if after seven days all of this is over?

I can’t believe I’m freaking out like this. When I’m half naked in front of him and he’s about to do things to me. Delicious things.

But then Simon presses a soft kiss on my trembling stomach and all my negative thoughts go poof. He sucks in the flesh, nipping it with his teeth, making me moan.

He lets the spot go and looks up, at last, his hands under my heaving breasts. His breaths are wild, and every inch of his expression has been washed over by lust. “You really are a snow princess.”

His thumbs caress the undersides of my tits and my hips roll off the wall, trying to get closer to him, to his touch. My nipples are sore, poking through my shirt.

“Right now, I don’t feel like a snow princess,” I admit shakily.

“Yeah, what do you feel like?”

“All hot and burning up.”

With a lopsided smile, he pushes my top up even higher, exposing my breasts to the night. My back bows and my hands find his neck, latching on.

“Where?” he asks. “Where do you feel hot, Willow?”

“M-my breasts.”

He covers them – my heavy, horny, achy tits – with his hands. “Does that make it better?”

As much as I love his touch, it’s making everything worse. It’s making me even hotter. “No.”

Simon kneads the flesh, before rolling my turgid nipples between his fingers. “How about this?”

I swallow, clawing at his neck. Good thing I don’t have sharp nails right now or I’d draw blood with how tightly I’m holding him. “More. Please, more.”

His puff of warm breath is a chuckle and I arch my hips again. I want something. I want him. My channel is pulsating with so much need. It’s like a fever.