The smirk he gives me makes me spill out a drop of my cum. I fucking feel it making its way down my thigh. I’ve never, not ever, been this turned on.
Once he’s done, he puts his hand on my waist, arching me up further. “Good. Because that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to fuck my princess like I’m a goddamn criminal on death row.”
With that, he slides his cock into me and I have to bite on to the leather again to keep from screaming.
Simon curses as he bottoms out and I feel like he’s gone further than my stomach. Maybe he’s touching my soul in this position, chipping away at it so he can make a permanent place for himself.
God, if that isn’t cruelty, a wicked game of sorts, I don’t know what is. Making his home inside of me when I don’t know what’s going to happen in six days.
But I’m not going to think about that when he has begun a rhythm, his hands around my hips.
Actually, I can’t even call it a rhythm. It’s super unsteady and choppy. He rotates between lazy, long strokes that curl my toes in my soft slippers, and short and fast thrusts that make my breasts shake.
Eventually after probably his tenth stroke or maybe hundredth, I let go of the chair and grab hold of my jiggling tits. I plump and squeeze them as the sound of our slapping flesh fills the room.
I feel like it’s too loud, the noises we’re making. It’s too dangerous. We’re tempting fate.
Simon should slow down his thrusts. He shouldn’t be driving into me this fast – no matter how good it feels. He shouldn’t be bouncing against my ass this way.
Instead of asking him to stop though, I push back. I don’t know what I’m thinking or why I’m doing this, but I just can’t stop. I have to fuck him back.
Then he changes the angle. He lets go of my hips and buries his hand in my hair, bending over me. His chest and stomach, all corded and tight, scrape against my sweaty spine. His stubbled jaw grazes the side of my cheek as he fucks into me.
This way his hips grind and he’s delivering short, deep jabs that I feel in the center of my being.
“Does my princess like it?” he rasps in my ear, his hand grabbing the back of my neck in a possessive hold while his lips place soft kisses in my hair.
I buck again at the word princess. If he decides to make a habit of calling me that, I might never come down from this high. I might always be falling. Flying.
I look at him with foggy eyes. “Yes.”
“Yeah. I can feel it. I can feel your pussy loving it. She’s fucking strangling me.”
I reach back and dig my nails in the taut flesh of his ass, his muscles bunching beneath my touch. He groans, and I clench my channel even harder.
“Fuck…”
His thrusts have become completely erratic now, just like his breaths.
Just like my breaths.
I’m surrounded by him. His heat. His smell.
His show of dominance.
When Simon captures my mouth in a kiss, I lose control like last night. Everything unravels inside me and I come and come.
I gush. I feel my juices slipping out of my core, sliding down my shaking thighs and quite possibly ruining the leather armchair and his pants. I can’t be sure.
Simon doesn’t mind though. He keeps kissing me. He keeps pounding into me, his thighs smacking against mine, his chest breathing wildly over me.
When he breaks the kiss, I open my eyes and look into his intense gaze. It is equal parts lust and desperation. Sweat beads on his forehead, and his jaw is clenched.
Slumped on the back of the chair, completely submissive under him, taking his pounding, I whisper, “I kept my slippers on my princess feet for you. L-like you told me. Won’t you come for me, Simon? Please come in my princess pussy.”
“Jesus Christ…”
His eyes clench shut and his words trail off on a groan. His hips jerk and twist in a final thrust and he fulfils my wish.
He comes for me.
Even though he’s wearing a condom and I can’t really feel the wetness of his cum, I feel the heat of it. I feel his chest vibrating and his stomach clenching over my back. I feel his random jerks and short thrusts as he straightens up.
Panting, he withdraws his cock from inside me and gathers me in his arms, bridal style. I nuzzle my nose against his warm throat, feeling all kinds of sleepy. I feel like I’m floating on a cloud, on a rainy, fluffy cloud and he’s with me.
Simon takes me to the washroom inside his office and sits me down on the marble counter. I watch him with heavy lids as he takes care of the condom and straightens his clothes.
When he’s done, he cups my cheek and makes me focus on him. “How many days, Willow?”
He doesn’t have to tell me what he means. I already know. I come down from my high and with a hurting heart, I tell him, “Six.”
Letting go of my face, he gives me a somber nod and wets a tissue in hot water. Then, he cleans me up, my pussy and thighs.
Every second that passes with him cleaning me up, putting me to rights, I feel like he’s telling me something.
Only I don’t know what.
All I can do is hope that I find out before these six days are out.
Every day, he asks me how many days are left before The Goodbye.
And every day I think that maybe today he’ll say the words that I hear every time I look at him. But it doesn’t happen.
It doesn’t happen five days away from The Goodbye.
On this day, my mom calls me and tells me that she knows about Lee Jordan. She finally went to my school to get the information of the guy because of whom I jumped, and they told her that they don’t have a student by that name.
She asks me why I’ve been lying to her. Why didn’t I tell her about my struggles, about my thoughts? She says she wants me to stay at Heartstone. She says that if I’ve been lying for so long, then I need a longer time to get better.
“You need to fix this, Lolo,” she says, crying. “How do I trust you now? How do I know that you’re telling the truth?”
I cry, too. I explain it to her. I explain my struggles and how I didn’t want to worry her, but she doesn’t listen.
By the end of it, I’m a sobbing mess.
And that’s how Simon finds me, walking out of the phone room, my eyes swollen and red. A couple of nurses find me in this state as well. He tells them he’s got me and ushers me inside his office, locking the door.
“What happened?” he asks, frowny and alert.
I try to hold on to my composure and not be a bawling baby in front of him. But the thing is that I want to be, and I know I can be. I know that. I know I can cry in front of him. Not because he’ll be my hero and solve all my problems. My problems are not solvable, but I know he’ll get it. I know he’ll listen.
“Nothing.”
“Willow.” His eyes track the line of my tears and his voice becomes even tighter. “What happened? Why are you crying?”
I wipe the salty water off. “I talked to my mom.”
My words make him move and he almost charges toward me in agitation, heaving me up in his arms. He marches over to the windows first – it’s raining so no one is outside, but we can’t take any chances – and closes the blinds. He walks with me to the couch, settles down with me on his lap and asks me what she said.
I tell him everything. I tell him how my mom finally knows about Lee Jordan and all the lies. I was going to tell her. I wanted to be there to break the news. And now, she’s all upset.
“I’m so stupid,” I whisper in his neck, crying. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I shouldn’t have lied. But I got so panicked. And she was so sad, Simon. She thought it was her fault that I jumped. So I made up a story. She’ll never forgive me. She’ll never get over it.”
“She will.”
“How do you know?”
“When she sees how well you’re doing, you’ll convince her.”
Curled up in h
is lap, I glance at his face, finally all cried out. “But I’ll have bad days again.”
“So you’ll talk about it.”
“I don’t want to disappoint her,” I whisper.
His arms tighten around my waist, like he’s trying to sink my body into his. “You won’t.”
Conviction in his tone makes me smile and I sigh against his chest. We sit like this, entwined with each other for a few moments. I feel him rubbing his stubble over my bangs, all calm and relaxed.
“My mom thinks I should stay here longer because I clearly have deeper issues.”
His entire body goes stiff. I don’t know why I said that. Maybe to see if he’d say something about it. Maybe he’d ask me to stay. I would’ve laughed, if this wasn’t so epically tragic.
Like Heartstone is a hotel and we both just happen to be here for a vacation. Like he’s not my psychiatrist and I’m not his patient. He can ask me to stay. He can keep me trapped inside these white walls and psychoanalyze me and feed me meds because he can’t let me go.
Because my fixer loves me.
I try to push away from him, heartsick, but he doesn’t let me get away. He grabs the back of my neck and pulls me to him, to his mouth, and kisses the fuck out of me.
Then he teaches me to ride his cock. Slow and grinding and sweaty, our skin slipping over each other. All the while our lips are kissing and our hands are roving. All the while, I’m fisting his hair and he’s plumping my ass cheeks. He’s looking into my eyes with his gray, passionate ones.
When we finish, he whispers, “How many days?”
“Five.”
I wait for him to say something. Anything.
But he doesn’t.
He doesn’t say it the day I ask him to take his shirt off in his office during our appointment. He’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
In my defense, I did the entire meeting without trying to touch him once. I answered all his questions about my meds, my sleep, my group sessions, and individual ones with Josie. I didn’t even try to kiss the life out of him when he said he’d talk to my mom about my lying and explain everything to her. Not that I can’t handle her myself, but just the fact that he wants to do it makes me want to jump his bones and shower him with all the kisses.
“What? I’ve never seen your bare chest. Only flashes of it.” I bat my eyelashes as I spring up from the chair and walk very casually to the washroom. I stop at the door and crook my finger at him. “Please? I just wanna see it once.”
With hooded eyes, he stands up. But before he can take a step toward me, I chirp, “Wear your glasses.”
I go in and settle myself on the counter, ready for the show. A second later, he enters, his gaze intense and sparkly behind his specs, and I bite my lip.
God, he’s so sexy.
I widen my thighs for him and he settles himself between them. Arrogantly, like he belongs there. He does.
I rub my hands over his shirt-covered chest before going for his buttons and popping them up. He only lets me undo three before he snags the whole fabric in the back and takes it off.
“Oh my…” I breathe, taking in his naked chest for the first time.
Gosh, he works out. Well, I already knew he did but still.
Everything is hard and muscled and corded. His shoulders look like a hilly terrain, going down to his bulging biceps. I trace the green vein on his arm with my finger.
“I have blue veins,” I whisper. “I think yours are so sexy.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“You’re almost drooling. That’s how.”
“I’m not.” I squeeze my thighs around his hips, making him laugh.
I bring my fingers to his collarbone, trace the triangle of his throat before moving down to the tight arches of his pecs. I moan as I sink my fingers in his chest hair.
“You’re so big. God, I love how big you are.” Leaning closer, I smell his skin and flick my tongue around his nipple.
He jerks and his palms cage me on either side. “Yeah? That turn you on?”
“Uh-huh.” I’m now at his stomach, all ridged and grooved, slanting down in a V. “It’s like you can put me anywhere. Makes me feel so small.” And cherished.
“You are small,” he rasps, smelling the line of my neck.
His body is all tight and carved, as if sculpted by divine hands. His flesh is so warm and darker than mine. Masculine. So fucking masculine.
Paired with his glasses, he looks so old and mature that I’m creaming my panties.
His abdomen tightens when I swirl my fingers around his tight belly button and play with the thicker tuft of hair, disappearing down his pants.
I breathe over his chest and kiss his heart, or where his heart is supposed to be. It might be weathered but it’s dipped in gold. I reach up and lick the side of his neck, rubbing my nails up and down his sides.
His hands are in my hair now, undoing my topknot so he can wrap those strands around his fingers. “Are you done driving me crazy?”
Feeling super turned on and naughty, I reply, “No.”
Simon’s body ripples and he pulls my head back, looming over me. “Willow.”
I blink up at him. “What? You never let me have any fun. Please? Let me have some fun.”
He growls, his jaw working back and forth, his eyes all lusted up. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
I kiss his ticking jaw softly. “Never.”
His chest puffs out with his breath and before he can protest more, I slide down the counter and drop to my knees. I take off my shirt and my bra, baring my upper body to him. His nostrils flare as my naked breasts bounce into view.
“Willow –”
I don’t let him talk. I don’t even want him to think right now. I want to have fun.
“I’m your princess, aren’t I?”
His nod is almost imperceptible, but I notice it.
“Your princess wants to suck your cock. Won’t you let her?”
There’s this need inside of me to show him that I love him. That I want to drink down, suck off his pain, his demons. Reward him for all his hard work. For coming to my rescue even when I don’t need it. On my knees.
“Willow, you don’t –”
“I do. I do belong on my knees because I want to hero-worship your cock, Simon.”
“Ah, Jesus…” He groans, looking at the ceiling.
I guess that’s my cue. I work quickly on his belt – I’m a fast learner so it goes much more smoothly than it did the first time. Lowering his pants and his boxer shorts, I palm his hard cock. I nose his strong thighs, kissing the warm, hairy flesh.
I squeeze his dick, making him growl, making his abdominal muscles clench. And then, I lean forward and catch his shaft in my mouth. His flavor – so musky and erotic – explodes on my tongue and it’s like kissing the great depths of him.
The real him. Rather than his lips.
I swirl my tongue around the head of his dick as both my hands grip the base of his length. My mouth is getting saturated with the musky taste of him because the more I lave his head, the more I lash the vein on the underside of his cock, the more cum he makes for me.
And well, the more cum he makes for me, the more cum I make for him. My pussy is clenching and juicing up like a fruit, and I have to reach one hand down my yoga pants and slather my own wetness, widening my thighs.
“Fuck…” Simon curses, gripping my hair.
As in-experienced as I am, I still know how to draw conclusions from the things he’s done to me. The very first night I came on his cock, he asked me to smack myself with his dick. So I take my mouth off him and slap his wet shaft on my tongue, my lips.
I know he likes to see me all wet and juicy, so I even smack his dick on my face, my jaw, making myself all wet and sloppy for him. Moaning for him. Dying for him. I know he likes to lube his cock with the cream I make for him. So, I gather my moisture in the han
d with which I’m playing with my cunt. Then, I take it out of my pants and rub it up and down his arousal, slathering him with my wetness.
I know he likes to be deep, deep inside of me, so I take him into my mouth again and open my jaw wide and shove him down as much as I can.
He groans above me, his entire body shaking.
God, he’s so sexy, so mine like this.
I don’t ever want to stop. I don’t ever want to stop tasting him, tasting his dark skin, drinking down his cum.
It’s mine. He’s mine.
But I have to. Because I wanna do something else too.
I take my mouth off his dick and sit up straight. Making a valley of my tits, I hug his wet, juicy cock and pump it up and down. Like I think about all alone in my bed.
“Goddamn it, Willow,” he grunts, his head bowing forward, his black eyes on me.
He’s spurting pre-cum with my every stroke. And every time I push him up, I lick that pre-cum off his slit.
I do it over and over. Pump him up and down between my tits. Lap up his cream with my tongue, suck on his head like candy. My throat, my jaw, my chest, my entire skin smells of him, is saturated with his cream.
And my vision is filled with him, horny and aroused, shuddering and groaning.
A second later, he takes over. He pushes my tits in his big hands and hugs his own dick with them, tighter, moving up and down. His knees are bent as he pumps himself between the channel I created for him. I rake my nails on his thighs, on his clenching ass, all the while staring up at him, at his turned-on face, his furrowed brow and harsh, mean mouth.
I see him tremble massively, his fingers tugging on my nipples as he comes. Quickly, I close my mouth around the end of his cock so I can swallow his cum. It’s musky and spicy and thick.
After we’re done, he pulls me up gently, cleans me up, putting my clothes back on me. He looks at me like I’m so precious. It makes me wanna blurt out all my feelings for him.
He kisses my entire face and asks, “How many days?”
I stare at his sweaty, beautiful chest before looking deep into his eyes. “Four.”
I want him to say something. Anything. Give me some indication of the future.
Say it, Simon. Say something.
Medicine Man Page 25