Stirred Up #2

by Angela Graham

  His teeth bare and more than nibble, biting my nipple, a slice of pain shooting out with my purring cry. But abruptly he pulls away, despite my lurid whimper telling him how much I’m enjoying his affection.

  I want more. My pout is undeniable but short-lived as I watch the corner of his shamelessly succulent mouth lift into a knowing smirk. Unaware what to expect, I’m consumed with a sweltering shiver when he dips his head between my breasts and trails his tongue across to the other, properly greeting my left breast. A bolt of heat enflames me, commencing the drip at my center.

  “No issues here,” he states oh-so-formally. That’s right, he’s my doctor, and a damn fine one at that.

  “Good to know,” I say, staring at his enticing lips. I crave them, almost begging them to come to me, take mine, kiss me like no one else ever could, but I don’t, because that’s not what a doctor would do, and the doctor is clearly in charge today.

  Instead I sit up and watch as he walks to the end of the table and pulls out the stirrups.

  Yes, please.

  “Scoot down. I want that ass right here.” He slams a hand forcefully at the end of the table.

  Braced on my hands, I wiggle forward, following his directions, watching him roll over the tray of clean tools. Determination tight on his features, he sits calmly on his stool, sinister eyes tracking my movements.

  Tools?

  “Wait? What are you—”

  “Lift your foot, Addison.”

  What? My body goes rigid, foot locked down on the table, forcing him to pry it up and place it in the stirrup. I fall back and allow him easier access to my other one. So far I’ve enjoyed his new exam technique, why should I worry now?

  With both legs where he wants them, I can only see his face when he lifts his hands and removes first one glove then the other.

  “How many partners have you had?” he asks in a stern doctor voice.

  “Excuse me?” I sit up on my elbows, narrowed eyes cast on him.

  “It’s a simple question.” He raises up, challenging me with his firm scrutiny. “How many cocks have you allowed in this gorgeous pussy of yours?”

  I should be furious. Doctor or lover, it’s none of his damn business, but the way he’s staring at me, trailing his tongue over his lips when he glances back at my dripping center, I’m compelled to answer.

  “Two, only two,” I confess.

  He places his hands on my thighs and murmurs. “Undeserving bastards. No one is allowed near here again.”

  I say nothing, stunned at his severe tone.

  “Answer me. Tell me you understand.”

  I nod in agreement, then speak. “Yes, I understand.”

  This is only a game, I remind myself, some roleplaying fun, so I go with it. Not that there’s anyone else I’m looking to entertain down there anyway.

  Satisfaction carves out over his features. “Good. Now shall we continue with the exam?”

  “Please, doctor.”

  His hands slip under my ass, his eyes gleaming in approval. “So perfect…every part of you.” Caressing his fingers over my wriggling ass, he trails them under my legs then leans forward and traces his tongue down my inner thigh until his nose brushes my sex, then stops and moves back.

  My body trembling in need, I watch as he removes the speculum from the tray and looks to me.

  “No need for lubrication this time. You’re soaking wet.”

  “I know,” I reply brazenly.

  His lip quirks up but it’s gone instantly as he settles back on his stool and the cool metal pokes at my sex.

  Anticipation rushes over me in fiery waves. I wait for him to slide it in but it never comes. Instead he strokes it up and down against my searing, drenched flesh, teasing me, taunting me. A moan spills out, louder than appropriate and his hands abruptly still.

  “If a single nurse hears your moans…” The speculum presses down against my aching clit. I arch my back off the bed, grinding my hips upward, searching for friction against the smooth metal. “Then I’ll fuck you with this instead of my mouth.”

  It presses harder, then in a wicked move he slides it down and slips it inside me, stretching me as his head dips and tongue flicks my pulsating bud once, then twice, in another tease.

  “Which do you prefer?” His tongue strokes me again and mixed with the pressure of being stretched, I babble, lost in want.

  “Tongue, both, please, you.”

  “Maybe you’d prefer my fingers inside you again instead?” He removes the tool and the loud thud it makes when he tosses it back on the tray echoes off the wall.

  I can barely focus as his thumb is still swirling over my clit. I feel two fingers sliding over my mound, spreading my juices over my entire sex. Biting my lip, I quiver violently, body moist with sweat. His thumb draws back and my swollen clit aches for more.

  “Mmmmm,” he moans, followed by the sounds of his lips smacking shut. Did he just lick his fingers?”

  I can’t stop writhing, breathing hard, wanting to see him. Sitting up, I reach for him but am met with a gentle hand pushing me back down.

  “I said lay back. Unless you want to end the exam?” The deep command in his murmur holds my focus. All I can see are his dark, clouded eyes gauging me.

  “N-no. Don’t stop. Please, I need more.”

  “Anticipation is one of life’s greatest pleasures. Now let me do my job properly.”

  Staring up at the ceiling, immersed in pleasure, I feel his fingers spread me wider, opening my lower lips. Anticipation is an understatement; I’m about to burst into flames without his touch where I need it most.

  His hands move to each of my thighs and in one long lap, his tongue runs over the entire length of my slit. I cry out, placing my hand over my mouth to silence the sobs of pleasure as he delves his tongue deep.

  This is where you need a real sheet under you to grip onto, not a paper one that shreds in your hands. Still, I claw at it, arching up into his mouth as he caresses my inner walls. I’ve hardly had my fill when his tongue flicks out and sets its beautiful torture to my clit, two fingers satisfying my neglected center.

  They thrust in and out, hooking up and hitting the exact spot they seek, the spot no man has touched in me before. My screams spill against my palms, covering my mouth as I writhe and buck against him.

  His face is buried between my legs as he inserts a third finger, which stretches me in pure delight. I shudder and convulse, my walls gripped around his digits as I buck up once more. As the wave washes me away, I fall back, oblivious to all but sheer bliss.

  His fingers fall away and he stands. I sit up, catching my breath, still dizzy from my orgasm but ready for his dick to fill me. When I reach out to him he steps back and walks over to the sink.

  I watch, unsure what to think when he pumps two squirts of soap on his hands and washes them hastily.

  Once he grabs a paper towel, he turns back to me, face passive.

  My lips curl up, legs falling open in the stirrups. “It’s your turn to strip,” I hum.

  “Why would I do that?” he asks, tossing the towel in the trash can and crossing his arms over his chest.

  I blanch at the harshness in his tone. “What? I thought…I mean…I want you. I want to feel you inside me.”

  “You just had my fingers and my tongue, what else do you want?” He’s goading me to say it. I’ll play along if he needs to hear it.

  I sit up straighter and lean forward, palms down against the table supporting me. “I want your cock.”

  “Hmm, well problem with that is,” he stalks towards me, stopping inches from my face, “I don’t fuck my patients.” With that, he turns on his heel and storms from the room, leaving me rooted in place, feeling anything but satisfied.

  Chapter Seven

  I leave Dr. Reynolds’ office unsure what to make of his last words. Unlike the previous times he’d left the room after our trysts, I was never regarded so severely. I drive straight home, my thoughts muddled, ready to soak in a
hot bath to clear my head then curl up on the couch for a marathon of my favorite sitcom. Jack and Karen usually never fail at having me doubled over in fits of hysterics, no matter how many times I’ve seen the episode, but tonight I barely crack a smile.

  Something changed between us and I have a feeling his secretary won’t be calling tomorrow. Shifting the pillow under my back, I brush off the looming chance that our scandalous rendezvous could be ending and gulp down another swig of wine. He just needs time to see what we have is ideal—no fuss, no strings, simply raw pleasure.

  I refuse to worry over what the future may bring and enjoy the mental replay of his hands working over my chest, the pressure of his fingers, the smoldering desire in his blatant stare. My eye slide shut and I’m there again, relishing the roughness of his words, a molten zing coursing through me from his vulgar, dominating instructions.

  Of course I can’t stay in that happy place for long as my phone begins to buzz from the side table. No clue who would be calling, I'm pleasantly surprised to see Dylan's name on the screen, half wondering if he might have butt dialed.

  “Guess I can call off the APB,” I greet him.

  “Mocifus! How the hell are ya?”

  “Pretty good. What about you? I feel like we haven't talked in forever.” I slink back in the sofa with my glass.

  “We haven't.” He laughs. “Sorry about that, I've just been busy getting things up and running.”

  My smile can’t be contained—my brother’s actually living his dream! “Don't apologize, Dyl. I'm so proud and excited for you!”

  “Thanks,” he says, his voice humble. “So hey, can you do lunch tomorrow, my treat?”

  “Of course! Need my big brother fix.”

  “Great, say noon at Ruby's?”

  I immediately agree and end the call with a giddy excitement, sitting back a minute to revel in how happy I am for my brother.

  I'm actually more surprised that I'm surprised...why wouldn't Brady be here, already seated and cutting up with Dylan as I'm lead to their table?

  “There she is!” Dylan springs from his seat to wrap me in an energetic embrace. “You look great, Moe. I've missed you.”

  “Me too.” Swiping quickly at my silly tears of pride, I glance hesitantly at Brady, who still hasn't greeted me as Dylan pushes in my chair. It's official. “Brady and Moe” is broken. Never has that man not acknowledged me within five seconds of being in a room. For fuck's sake! I didn't say we couldn't talk, I said we couldn't be more. But in all fairness, I haven’t gone out of my way to send a text and invite him over to hang out either. It’s no longer easy with us as friends and I haven’t been able to bring myself to face it.

  Seems his “coward” comment held more truth than I’d care to admit.

  “Hello, Brady,” I grind out as civilly as possible, aggravated at his stubbornness.

  “Moe.” He gives a curt nod.

  Dylan's watching back and forth like a Ping-Pong match, understandably confused. “The hell? Ya'll have a fight?”

  Brady cocks one brow my way, challenging me to answer. Not biting. “No, of course not.” I smile at Dyl. “Anyway, this is your day. So tell us all about things.”

  Don't have to ask him twice; he instantly starts gushing out all that's been happening as I hold my enthusiastic smile firmly in place, trying to keep up and stay focused, while kicking Brady under the table. He looks my way only once and I stick out my tongue, face twisted up like a slapstick comic seeking a laugh. I don’t get one and when I kick my foot out again its only air I hit; he’s moved his leg, and worse, he’s scooting his chair over.

  Thankfully, Ruby's is a sandwich shop, so we're able to order and be served quickly, the atmosphere slightly more amicable, but still “off” despite my attempts to lighten his mood. Brady wasn't this quiet when he had laryngitis two years ago, and if he doesn't stop dampening Dylan's parade with his pouting, I will throw this pickle at him.

  “So you'll both come, right?”

  “What?” I ask, having zoned out on the last part of Dylan's speech.

  His head cranes my way. “My launch party. It’s this Friday night. You'll be there?”

  “Of course I will.” I pat his jittery hand. “Wouldn't miss it for the world. Just let me know when and where. Did I mention how proud of you I am?”

  “Shucks, ma'am,” he jests with a wave of his hand. “Oh and it's formal, so gown and tux,” he speaks between us both. “And bring dates. The more the merrier. I want a big crowd there.”

  I struggle to temper my expression—formal and a date, not what I’d expect from my brother.

  “You got it. No worries,” Brady says directly to Dylan. His voice cuts through me, sparking the flame Dr. Reynolds had been managing.

  We're mercifully saved from further “surprises” by Dylan's phone, but the bomb’s already dropped...gown and date.

  “Sorry guys, but I need to go. See you Friday?” My brother leans down and kisses my cheek, hardly waiting for our answers before he's out the door.

  I jump up, busying myself with throwing away our trash, ready to rush out as well. But as I turn I'm immediately pinned by a brooding, menacing Brady hovering in my space.

  “Be my date for Dylan’s party, Moe. Me and you, please. I miss us.”

  “Do you?” I scoff, shoving against his chest, not budging him whatsoever. “Could’ve fooled me! What’s with the doom and gloom pouting then? You could have gotten up and hugged me, called me, anything! Didn’t seem like you missed us? Which, P.S., is exactly the reason I said no to more in the first place!”

  “Well excuse the fuck outa me! It’s not easy to figure out the rules—your rules! I could have sworn there was something real here, Moe, so I put myself out there and you basically shot me down, right through the heart! P.S. maybe I can’t snap back into ‘just friends’ mode like you can. Maybe I wanna sit beside you and caress your back or—ahh!” He mocks a gasp. “Maybe I want to hold your little hand, no matter where we are or who’s watching.” His tone drops along with his face, anger suddenly morphed into hurt. “I just…I could’ve sworn you thought Brady and Moe was something different now too.”

  Lowering my head on a sigh, I fight the anguished quivering in my chin. I never want to see him hurt and I never meant to cause it. “Listen, Brady, you’re my best friend and I miss you desperately but I’ve got something—” I stop, not wanting to delve into things in the middle of Ruby’s.

  “Be. My. Date,” he growls lowly in my face.

  My head’s shaking before I refuse verbally and he’s once again already sulking out, nearly ripping the door off when he shoves it open. I hate myself in this moment. My head falls back against the wall, my arms wrapping around myself, wanting to hide from the world. I don’t even notice the tears until a voice asks, “You okay, Miss?”

  I look up to find a waitress staring at me with nothing but pity. With an irate huff, I push off the wall. “Golden.”

  It’s me that’s busting out their door next, ready to crawl back in bed and end this damn day.

  A dress? You’d think that’d be simple enough to find, except I’ve been to half the shops in town and found not one. It isn’t helping that the event is tomorrow, and after spending the last few days going from work to home and straight to bed, I’m quickly running out of time and options.

  Maybe I’m depressed, which seems ridiculous to me because only a few days earlier I was damn near giddy with the hand I’d been dealt—deliciously erotic doctor appointments—and now… Now everything is as fucked up as my dress hunt.

  I need something that reflects the love and pride I have for Dylan. I’m standing in the last shop in town, begging the universe to show some mercy, when it does just that. I snatch the dress from the rack with a triumphant smile. It has a babydoll-style skirt, corseted waist, and plunging neckline in a gorgeous off-white with just a hint of silver highlighted throughout. It’s even more gorgeous when I see the price tag; I can afford new heels to match.

&
nbsp; I head straight to the dressing room hoping it looks as good on me as it does the hanger when I hear my name.

  “Addison?”

  I turn toward the unfamiliar voice and see the brainy beauty, aka Brady’s last date, standing with a long gown in hand. Crap, what’s her name?

  “Hi.” I grin a bit too much hoping it will cover the nameless slip.

  “You don’t remember me?” She laughs softly, almost like music. No wonder Brady asked her out.

  “No, I do! Brady brought you to dinner,” I say quickly, then confess. “Sorry, I’m horrible with names. It’s nothing personal.”

  “It’s Ashley and don’t worry about it, I forget all the time.”

  “Right, sorry, but you remembered mine, which means you’re just being polite right now or I left a memorable impression.” I pale as the words fall out, remembering why she’d have a lasting impression of me after my abrupt exit that night. “Look, sorry I up and left during the dinner, it’s just…”

  “You don’t have to explain. And the reason I remember you so well is because Brady talks about you often. You two seem like close friends.”

  My shoulders drop. “Yeah.” It’s barely a whisper.

  “Love the dress. It’s gorgeous. I almost grabbed it for myself.” She nudges her head at my hands gripping the fabric.

  “Thanks, you found a good choice…classic black.” The dress draped over her arm is long and screams graceful and timeless. “What’s the occasion?”

  “I’m guessing same as you. Dylan’s party tomorrow night.”

  It’s a surreal moment, the kind where the air is ripped painfully from your lungs and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. With a spinning head and failing knees, I could swear an earthquake is pulsing under my feet.

  She’s going to the party, which means Brady found a date. I retreat into the dressing room before I lose my sense in front of her and say something I’ll regret. They’ll look good together. Brady in a tux, her corralled in his arms…I can’t stomach the thought.