by Hayes, Liv
“I don’t know what to say,” I told him. “But honestly? I don’t want this. I’m moving on, Evan. I appreciate the song, and the thought, but you should do the same.”
“But, Mia-”
I stood, hugged him, and said: “Please. Don’t make this more dramatic than it needs to be. We’re over, school’s over, and it’s time to pack it in and start over. Besides, the apartment is already clean of you.”
He looked, at that moment, like I’d stuck him in the heart with a sharp needle. Confused, distraught. As if he had never simply walked out of my life to begin with.
But right then, he let me leave without protest, and I hugged Aimee, quickly thinking up another lie, because that was my life these days:
“I got a text from my mom,” I told her. “I need to go outside and call her.”
“Did you talk with Evan?” she asked, hope lighting her eyes.
“Yeah,” I said. “He’s still with his new girl. Listen, I’m not going to drag it out. But we had a nice chat, yeah.”
Yeah. Yeah. It was all nonsense, but no more nonsensical than Evan making googly eyes at me while he was still mucking around with this other girl. And I wanted nothing to do with it.
Outside, the breeze was welcomed against the backdrop of a treacherously clingy humidity. I sucked in a deep breath of air, took a short walk around the corner, and sat myself down on a stone bench.
I picked up my phone, wishing for something I knew I wouldn’t see: some kind of correspondence from Dr. Greene.
I missed him. And thinking about how pretty I looked, and how gossamer the little gauzy-white dress I was wearing suddenly seemed, and how shimmery I felt sitting alone in the heady, heated city all lit up with summer night-life.
I found his name, paused, then wrote him a message: I need you.
A minute later, the phone rang. It was him.
He picked me up in his Porsche, rolling down the window, his mouth falling open just slightly when he saw me in the dress. I gave him a twirl, and his eyes darkened.
“Perfect,” he breathed, then commanded roughly: “Get inside the car. Now.”
He didn’t need to ask twice. The Porsche smelled of leather and Dr. Greene’s cologne. God, I had never smelled cologne on him before – but until this point, he’d always been dressed the part of a doctor. Now, he wore jeans and a black dress shirt kept unbuttoned at the collar. His hair was damp, combed back, but he hadn’t shaved.
Without pause, he reached over, grasped my thigh, and trailed his fingers along the inside, towards the aching spot between my legs.
“What are you doing?” I gasped.
He grinned. That was the first time I acknowledged how truly sexy a simple grin could be. He looked wild, unkempt, uncaring.
“I’ve gone completely insane,” he said darkly. “Would you like to know what I’m going to do to you, Mia?”
My heart dropped; my legs trembled.
“Yes,” I said quietly. Meekly. My skin started to grow hot.
“I’m going to strip you down, slowly, and taste every inch of you,” he slid his fingers into the band, feeling the slippery slit between my legs. “And I’m going to fuck you like nobody’s ever fucked you before. I’m going to fuck you like I couldn’t back at my office.”
He withdrew his hand from my underwear, skimmed his fingertips gently down the side of my neck.
When we hit a red light, he kissed me, hard.
I could have died right then, and it would have been perfectly fine.
“This is all I’ve wanted,” I whispered. “I can’t believe this is real.”
Dr. Greene caught my bottom lip between his teeth, then kissed me again, gentler. Subdued.
“Right now, you’re not my patient. I don’t want to think about that. I can’t think about it.”
When we pulled into the parking garage, my blood racing, I asked.
“What do you want to think about?”
He grabbed my hand, led me towards an elevator, and yanked me into his arms. He carried me inside, kissing me feverishly, cradling me like Evan cradled his guitar. Like something desired and precious and completely owned.
In his apartment, he paused, still holding me, to fumble with the lights. It was all a massive expansive of black and white; cold, stainless-steel appliances and crisp linens. His couch was white. The pillows were black, red, and gold. The windows, all stretched from floor-to-ceiling, broadcasting the city in a way I had never seen before. As if we were looking down on the entire world.
We stumbled into his bedroom, he threw me down on the bed. Ragged, filled to the edge with a torrid kind of lust, he slid me out of my dress, dragging it down slowly so that it gradually exposed my breasts, my stomach, my thighs. On his knees, he was breathing heavily, almost straining, it seemed, to keep himself contained.
He peeled down my underwear, spread my legs, then stood.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “Just let me look at you.”
I squirmed against the cold sheets. I loved how it felt, his eyes on me, hungrily devouring every inch of my skin.
“Please,” I begged. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”
Dr. Greene unbuttoned his shirt slowly, letting it fall from his shoulders. He was perfectly defined, his stomach toned, his limbs sinewy. Fair-yet-sun-kissed skin stretched over taught muscle. Coupled with his dark hair and pale-green eyes, he was a god.
He undid his jeans, let them fall, and stepped out of them. Then, fluidly, he climbed atop me, hovering only centimeters above my body.
When we kissed, it was all so rough that it hurt, but I loved it. He bit my lip, nipped at my throat, and yanked his boxer-briefs down so that I could feel the hot length of his cock against my thigh. His breath, heavy and raw, thrilled me.
Reaching across the bed, he opened a drawer and fumbled inside the nightstand for a condom. I closed my eyes, listening to the sound as he tore it open, rolled it on, then felt the sweet heaviness of his body against me again.
He slid inside me sharply, and I moaned.
“Ah…”
I gripped his shoulders. His thumb grazed across my bottom lip, bitten and swollen.
“Fuck,” he hissed. “Oh my God, Mia. Mia, Mia…”
He caught the skin of my neck with his teeth, biting a bit harder. Each time he moved, he stayed inside me, full and pulsing and hotter than the rest of his body. It burned in the best way, and each time, his breath grew louder, his thrusts more frantic.
There’s something so hot, so empowering about feeling someone lose themselves inside of you. You can hear it in their breath, and feel it in their hands. For a moment, they are yours, and you are theirs.
I was his, and he was mine. We owned each other.
I could feel him swell as I reached a hand up to touch his face, skimming my fingers against the hollow of his stubbled cheek. His eyes were two live wires.
“I’m so close…” he whispered in my ear. “My little fox.”
I lost it. Pleasure surged through my body, from fingertips to legs, flowing over me like a sudden eclipse. He came quickly after, his face buried against my neck, our bodies one, nearly transcendental.
Lifting his head, his face flushed, he kissed me again. Gentle, feather-soft.
“I’ve missed you,” he said after a moment had passed.
“Do you want me to leave?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “Please don’t. Not tonight.”
He sat up, pulled his boxer-briefs on, and when I picked up my dress, he chuckled softly:
“You’re so pretty,” he said. “You’re like a little china doll.”
In the kitchen, he filled two glasses with ice and Coke and a bit of liquor, and stood by one of the windows, just watching the city as it moved below us, glowing and alive. I knew he could feel how in awe I was of his place – truly befitting of a doctor – and he said, smiling.
“You know, this is what I always wanted.”
“What is?” I asked.
“Everything is prettier when you’re not forced to look at it up close,” I noted. “You can’t see the filthy streets, or the messy people, or the pot-holes or the smoggy air. But I guess I get it.”
He laughed a little.
“You’re very astute, Miss Holloway,” he cooed. “You know, I have something for you.”
Oh God, another surprise. But this time, I wasn’t so afraid.
He quickly stepped away, returning with his hands behind his back.
“Close your eyes,” he commanded. “And put your hands out.”
I closed them without a second thought, following his instruction. I felt something soft drop into my palms, and when he gave the green-light, I opened my eyes.
“A fox,” I said. “A little fox.”
I could have cried, to be honest. Not sad tears, or confused tears. Happy ones.
I hugged it closely, holding it to my heart, not caring how silly or girly I might have looked. But Dr. Greene didn’t seemed to mind; his smile beamed.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry I behaved like a total asshole last week. It’s just…you need to understand that this is complicated, Mia.”
“I do understand,” I said. And I did. Maybe not in the same fear-and-paranoia-riddled way that Dr. Greene was forced to, but on some level. “You know I’d never hurt you.”
He got on his knees, touched a palm to my cheek, and kissed me again.
“I know,” he said. “But this. You and me. What we are. It never ends, Mia. You can’t escape circumstance. We can never run away from how we met.”
Thunk. An arrow to the heart.
I curled my fingers around his wrist, dropped to my knees, and kissed him. We kissed for a long time, slowly, taking our time, savoring our mouths, our tongues gently dancing. He ran his fingers down my jaw, down my throat, to where I knew there would be blood-bruises that would blossom overnight. Marks.
He had marked me, and I was glad.
“Dr. Greene,” I said, our lips nearly touching.
“Mia Holloway,” he whispered. “What have you done?”
Chapter 12
ALEX
At six o’clock, my alarm went off, but I was already awake. In the kitchen, pouring over paperwork and draining my third cup of coffee. I couldn’t sleep. I had tried, but each time I caught a glance of Mia, my nerves tightened like some teenage boy. I was in awe at the sight of her, this little thing, all curled up like a kitten in my bed.
I wandered into my bedroom, where Mia still slept. The room was dark from the light-canceling blinds, with everything bathed in shades of dark gray. She slept positioned on her stomach, her legs splayed, her arms tucked sweetly beneath her head, her hair in beautiful disarray. She wore one of my undershirts, and nothing else.
I climbed over her, began kissing her neck, and she quietly stirred.
“Hmm?” she mumbled, blinking her eyes open. Sweet, sleepy eyes. “Hi?”
“Hi,” I whispered. “I need you to get up.”
I helped her up, grasping her shoulders firmly. I was still in my boxers, and the feeling of her warmth beneath my hands was enough to make me stiffen. I felt crass and lecherous and full of smitten adoration all at once.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I told her. “But I need to take a shower, and I’d like to see what you look like wet, little fox.”
She grinned, still leaning against my shoulder, tired. I lifted her into my arms and carried her into the bathroom, set her down on the edge of the sink, and slowly lifted the shirt from above her head. Her breasts, which were surprisingly big for a girl that barely brushed 5’, were perky and supple. Against the cold air of the bathroom, her nipples hardened.
“Perfect.”
I cupped her face in my hands, kissed her, then turned on the shower. When the room was thick with steam, I stripped out of my boxers, and we climbed over the small step and into the shower. It was huge for a walk-in, but I needed space. I wasn’t bordering along the lines of freakdom when it came to my height, but I was a solid 6’. Space for long limbs was absolutely pertinent.
The shower head was big enough so that we could both fit underneath it. I’m ashamed to say that this was technically not my idea, but Cait’s. She hated standing in the corner of the shower while one of us cleaned up, shivering, and so this was the solution. Perhaps the biggest kicker was that we showered together a whole of maybe three times, and it was never for the sake of being playful or sexy.
But God, I could do this with Mia every morning. It was a sight, the way the water cascaded down the slope of her throat, over her shoulders, drenching her. With her eyes closed, her head tilted back to let the water spill down her hair, she couldn’t see me briefly touch myself – already hard – and I had to suppress the urge to fuck her, hard, against the tile. I wanted to take things slower this time.
I got down on my knees while her eyes were still closed, and skimmed a hand up the length of her thigh. The hot water fell in such a way it almost seemed to glide over her skin, like a waterfall.
When she tried to open her eyes, I stopped her.
“Keep them closed,” I commanded. “I want you to feel this. I want you to let go.”
Let go. And here I was, on my knees, remembering the girl I’d fucked on my office desk, still wearing my lab-coat.
I kissed up her thighs, then began slowly tasting her. When she squirmed, I held her still. My grip was tighter than I wanted it to be. I’d have to learn to play gentle.
“I don’t want to come yet,” she whimpered. “Please.”
“I want you to,” I whispered against her skin. “I want you to come for me. Because when I fuck you, you’re going to come again.”
“Doctor’s orders?”
Oh, I had set myself up for that one. I suppressed a laugh, grinning.
“Yes,” I said.
Her breath became more frantic, her hands found my hair, gripping, and soon she had her back against the glass tile, holding herself up, while I slid two fingers in, keeping them deep inside of her. I had this down to a science.
And it worked. Her moan was louder than I think she wanted it to be, because she blushed feverishly after. But maybe it was the heat, and the water, and the rush of blood to her skin.
I stood, kissing her, wanting her to taste what she tasted like.
When she reached down, grabbing my cock in her hands, I could have come right then. Her touch alone sent a scorch of rabid desire through me; an unquenchable thirst.
“No,” I murmured, then seated myself on the shower’s bench. I grabbed her, positioned her legs so she was straddling me, and we locked eyes. “I want to watch you slide down on me, and I want to see you come this time.”
She looked so bashful. My heart began to soften even as my hands worked to grab her, full of blood and passion and racing fervor. Straddling me, she slid down onto my cock in such a way that I almost felt defenseless. I was already on the brink.
“Don’t let this go to your head,” she panted. I stroked her face with my fingers, desperate to feel her move. “But you’re so big, Dr. Greene.”
The words, in that moment, were a play on the bigger scheme of things, to be sure. It’s easy to twist words and positions and authority into something feverish and hot when you’re simply needing to get fucked and forget about the things you’re twisting to begin with.
I kissed her. I kissed her mouth, her throat, kneaded her breasts with my palms. When she arched back, moving slowly, I kissed them, too – pressing my mouth to her nipples and sucking just softly enough that a small groan escaped her.
The water, hot and relentless, thrashed over
us. But we paid it no mind.
“They’re sensitive,” she whispered. “Be gentle.”
I squeezed them harder. I wanted to see how high I could crank the decibel, at least for just a second. I wanted to see her lose it as I had lost it, too.
In the light of day, I could see the marks I had left on her throat, and it drove me mad. I needed her to be mine, even if the dream itself crumbled as I was falling apart, with Mia on my lap, completely devouring me.
I gripped her waist as she moved like an ocean’s wave against me, each time pulling me closer and closer into the whirlpool. I was ready to come, holding myself back, wanting to do nothing but stay lost in how this felt for the rest of my fucking life.
“Mia,” I gasped. One hand grabbed her hair, the other slid down her back. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to come inside of you.”
“Please,” she leaned in, we kissed, and God, her breath was ragged. “Please come for me. I want to come with you.”
One last roll of her hips, and I was over the edge. With our lips barely brushing, I felt her tighten against my entire length as she came, and I couldn’t stop myself.
I came, hard, freezing up inside of her.
A hiss against her lips, my hands still touching her face.
And what should have made me sick, concerned, made me feel electric.
We kissed softly, then laughed like kids when we finally came to our senses, suddenly suffocated by the steam. I washed her, watching the soapy foam as it slid over her curves, and she washed my hair, giggling over the fact that I had to kneel down so that she could reach it.
When we were dried off and dressed – I in my shirt, tie, slacks, with my lab-coat draped over my arm; she in that same, lovely sundress – we were both quiet. Reality settled like puddle water after a storm, and neither of us dared jump.
In her arms, she held her stuffed fox, pressing it close to her chest like a little girl. Something inside of me warmed, melted.
“You need to eat,” I said softly. “We have a little bit of time. Let’s stop somewhere.”
“But we can’t…” she paused. She didn’t want to say it. I didn’t either. “We can’t go out in public, you and I.”