Ten
Whit
I’ve been called uptight more than once in my life. As Dr Whitaker, I’ve always been buttoned up. Rigid. Restrained. I’m the cool-headed doctor, the man in the pristine white coat; the person who never loses control. More like a machine than flesh and bone.
But when my cock slides into Poppy’s tight, wet heat, parts of my body relax that have been tense for years. There are muscles in my back that I forgot existed, they’ve been clenched for so long, and now I’m unspooling on top of her, elbows sinking into the mattress.
“Poppy.Fuck.” I bury my face in her throat, and I’m embarrassed to admit that I’m overcome. It’s just—I’ve dreamed about this so many times. Pictured the way she’d taste, the sounds she’d make, the salt on her skin.
Tonight, Poppy is more chlorinated than in most of my daydreams, but she’s perfect. This is perfect.
“Are you okay?” I manage, lifting my head up to inspect her flushed face. “Does it hurt?”
She laughs and licks my cheek. “It stung a bit at first. But no, not anymore.” A tiny wriggle illustrates her point, and the bolt of pleasure drags a moan from deep in my chest.
“Fuck. When you move like that, I feel everything. The way you’re gripping me, sucking me deeper; how wet you are.Everything.”
“Good.” Poppy bites her lips as she smiles, both wicked and shy, and rolls her hips against mine again. With each rock, she grinds me deeper, makes me throb. “I want you to feel it all. I want you to take what you need.”
Ah, shit.
And look: I’m a doctor. I’m not supposed to take at all. I’m supposed to give and give and give, scooping out my soul for everyone else. I heal and sacrifice. I’m supposed to be selfless. Always in control.
And now? “Fuck, your body. Your tight little pussy. Yeah, that’s it. Sigh for me. Good girl.”
I’m not in control right now.
My only saving grace is that Poppy is gone too, her lashes fluttering and her skin dewy with sweat. We’re drunk on each other. She writhes beneath my body, scoring my back with her fingernails as I pound her into the mattress, and gives as good as she gets. Shefightsme, but she’s yanking me closer, not pushing me away.
“Oh my god,” Poppy wails, hooking a thigh over my hip. Opening herself up even wider for me. “So this is what all the fuss is about. Ugh. I just want you stamped all over me, Doc. Want to feel you inside me every time I sit down tomorrow. I want to smell like you for weeks, so just—drench me in your pheromones. Go on. Mold my pussy to your cock.”
Shit.
“Stop making me laugh, you little weirdo.”
But Poppy yanks my hair, cackling. And this moment is just like her: wild and strange and vivid. Almost too good to be true.
For the first time in years, I am so, so alive. The buzz of pleasure rattles my teeth.
“You’re going to come for me. You’re going to show me what that feels like.”
She nods eagerly, suddenly the shy student again, and there are so many layers to this girl. So many shades of her to learn and love. My fingertips skate through her slippery folds, and then I find her clit. Rub steady circles over her nub.
“Oh!”
I grit my teeth, temples aching. “That’s it. Come for me.”
I’ve seen this before, of course: the way Poppy shatters into a thousand pieces when she comes. The way her eyes go unfocused and her lips part. Color floods her cheeks, and her whole body trembles.
I’ve seen it before, but now I’m feeling it. Now I’m wedged deep inside, in the eye of the storm.
I hold off for as long as I can. Until her spasms fade to aftershocks, and Poppy melts into a sweaty puddle. Then I sit back on my heels, grip her hips, and shove deep.
Ithurts, letting every ounce of tension go like this, my broken gasp echoing around the bedroom.
I’m pretty sure I leave part of my soul inside my girl.
“Whew,” Poppy says once she catches her breath a few minutes later, patting my chest where I’ve collapsed by her side. “Nice work. Guess all that cardio is good for something.”