Daring the Doctor

His spacious office is empty when I enter, the intern closing the door briskly behind me. I run a finger along the polished edge of his desk, over the golden nameplate that proclaims its owner. On the other side of the window, the Chicago skyline is a silhouette against an orange-pink sunset, casting the office in a dreamlike glow. Slowly, eyes closed against the inundation of lust coursing through me, I tug down the bodice of my dress until my breasts are almost popping out and I lean back against his desk to wait.

Five minutes later, the knob turns and Dean steps inside, freshly showered and wearing street clothes, his jaw rigid with tension.

Hunger.

With deft movements, he closes the door with a click and engages the lock.

And I wasn’t planning on this. I wasn’t. But I obey my instincts when it comes to my relationship with Dean. My lust gives me no choice. So I drop to my hands and knees, crawling to him, the breath sawing in and out of my lungs. When I reach his legs, I change to a kneeling position, my fingers fumbling eagerly with his belt buckle, his zipper. He cups the side of my face a moment, then fists my hair with ownership, eliciting a sob from my mouth.

“What is this, Charlotte?” Dean rasps.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, leaning in to rub my cheek against his erection through the black cotton of his briefs. “I want to serve you. I n-need to.” I kiss the thick curve of him. Obscene, open-mouthed kisses that dampen the material of his underwear. “My Daddy is so mighty,” I whisper, trembling. “Let me worship him.”

Dean’s head falls back on a strangled moan, his erection pulsing against my lips. “God yes, little girl. Look at you. You’re dying to suck it, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Yes.”

“Go on. Nurse yourself on it. Mouth fuck me. Please.” He pants. “But don’t do it out of gratitude over the viewing. I don’t need you to do that. I just want you happy.”

“I know,” I whisper, meaning it. “No gratitude.” I kiss his arousal. “Just devotion.”

His chest heaves, his fingers working the buttons of his shirt quickly, taking it off, his pecs and abs taut with anticipation. I exhale a warm breath along his happy trail, teasing that dark hair with my tongue. And keeping my eyes on him, I peel down the sides of his briefs, whimpering at the enormous sight of him, running my lips up and down the smooth, vein-riddled sides, sipping at the tip. Kissing. Licking. Just eager to please him in any and every way. I scoot as close as possible on my knees, until they reach the toes of his wingtips.

Then I slide him into my wet mouth, moaning, stroking him with my hands. I taste the menthol of his soap and the distinct saltiness of Dean when he’s ready for sex. I’ve never taken him in my mouth before, but I’ve tasted the flavors elsewhere on his skin and if I could wear them like perfume, I would. I’d spray it inside my panties, on my nipples, on the insides of my thighs. I’d luxuriate in the essence of him as I’m doing now, bobbing my mouth up and down his stiffness, struggling with little choked sounds to get him down my throat, so I can give him the gift of my awe, my admiration, my surrender.

“Jesus, Charlotte,” he grits through his teeth, fist twisting in my hair. “Ahhh Christ, you’re…you’re throat fucking me. I can’t last like this.”

I blink up at him innocently, then take him an inch further, his growl loud in the sunset-lit office. I’m in the middle of absorbing the vibration of his pleasure when I’m picked up and tossed down on his desk. On my back. My head hangs over the lip of the smooth wood closest to Dean, my knees open to the skyline. And he’s back in my mouth, driving his pulsing member between my lips, his fingers tracing the bulge he creates at the front of my throat.

“Oh my God,” he rasps, his breath coming in short bursts. “Look how much you love Daddy. Look at what a good girl you are.”

I cry out around the invasion of him, the heel of my hand pressing down on the mound of my sex, trying to combat the hot clenching sensation. It hits me over and over and over until I’m positive I’m going to have an orgasm from having Dean in my mouth. From the glorious taste of him, the way he grunts like an animal every time that knot appears in my throat. The way he creates a pumping rhythm, having a filthy sort of intercourse with my mouth, his balls tight, pressing snugly to my face.

I’m seconds from climaxing when Dean pulls out with a strangled roar, storming around to the other side of the desk like a furious God. “If you think you’re not going to be worshipped in kind, Charlotte, you haven’t been paying attention.” He yanks my backside to the edge of the desk, drawing me up into a sitting position by the neckline of my dress, bringing our mouths less than a centimeter apart. “You want to feel what happens when you come into my OR dressed to make my dick hard?”