Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

Kincaid kisses me back.

No hesitation.

Not even a little.

My lips press against his, my mouth parted slightly, and suddenly my whole world has been overturned. I melt into him, his lips soft yet hard, yielding to me for a moment before he lets out a whimper that resonates in my chest. It's a sound of yearning finally fulfilled, of emotion that's been trying to escape.

But that whimper swiftly turns into a throaty growl and he's kissing me like he's suddenly realized how ravenous he is, rough and commanding, taking what's his. I give myself to him, knees weak, wanting to be eaten up like dessert on a platter, wanting to be used by him in whatever way he chooses, so long as I'm devoured whole.

I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours .

He grunts into my mouth, his tongue licking inside mine, as he holds me by the back of the neck again, so possessive and strong.

Take, take, take.

Please, please, please.

Pleasure curls inside me like smoke, my skin erupting in goosebumps as his scent fills my nose, and the taste of whisky on his silken tongue clouds my head. My thighs squeeze together, trying to soothe the ache that has always been there for him, that ache that infiltrates my dreams.

And yet this still feels like a dream, a heady hallucination. Everything about him is so hard and soft at the same time, the wet, silky quality of his tongue as it fucks my mouth, the hard press of his lips, the tight grip of his hand on my neck, the other hand now gripping my jaw as if he thinks I might escape.

I could never escape this. He is the undertow, his kiss pulling me down to my fate. Or maybe it's my doom. It's too hard to tell.

Suddenly he pulls back. It's like an elastic band. I stare up at him, my body pressed against his, breathing hard. He's gazing wildly at me, his pupils dilated, his eyes dark under the shadow of his brow. In them I see bewilderment, shame, and something that ripples with so much intensity that I can't even recognize it.

"I can't do this," he says through a ragged inhale. "I can't do this."

"You're doing it," I tell him, my hand going to the small of his back and pressing him against me. His erection pushes into my thigh and I let out a gasp. Everything I dreamed is proving to be right.

"Fuck," he grunts, and I grind against him, wanting more of those delicious sounds.

"Yes, fuck me," I whisper, my hands going to his pants and trying to unbuckle the belt.

"Sydney," he rasps, his head going back, leaving his neck exposed. I stand on my toes and lick his Adam's apple, tasting of soap.

Another powerful grunt vibrates in his chest and I'm dropping to my knees, the rug soft on my bare skin.

"No, Syd," he says roughly, his eyes blazing with desire as he stares at me. "Please, I don't have the willpower."

"That's the idea," I say sweetly as I gaze up at him, unbuttoning his dark jeans and sliding the zipper down slowly. The sound is like thunder in the quiet of the room.

"I'm not allowed," he says, breathless, but then he's making a fist in my hair, pulling tight on my strands until I feel a spike of pain, the ache in my pussy intensifying.

"I won't tell anyone." I grin at him. "Just use me. Come inside my mouth and I'll be your little pet."

He swallows audibly, his throat shiny where I licked him. "Fuck, Sydney. Don't tempt me."

It's as if he doesn't know that I love to rebel against authority.

I reach into his pants and pull out his cock. It's so hot under my fingers, and I struggle to grasp the size of him, long, thick, and hard. The candlelight reflects on his swollen crown, a drop of precum glinting.

I lean forward and lick it up, sliding my tongue through the slit, pushing in slightly until he lets out a gasp. He yanks my hair, swearing, "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

God, I've never felt more powerful than I have here on my knees. I'm undoing this calculating and controlled— obsessed —doctor, and I can bring him pleasure that he's trying so hard to deny.

Obsess over me , I think. Please. I need your obsession.

I want his possession.

I open my mouth wide to take him, but now he's in control, forcing himself past my lips, holding my head down as he hits the back of my throat. I immediately force myself to relax, avoiding the gag reflex as he pushes in past the point of no return.

He's swearing again, quiet, rough remarks about how well he fits, how good I take him.

"I want you to choke on it," he says through a groan. "Dirty little slut."

Fuck.

The pulse between my legs is sharp now, a painful knot of pressure that screams for release. He knows exactly what to say.

Somehow I bring him in deeper, and his pace begins to quicken and quicken until suddenly he gasps and pulls back, his dick sliding out of my mouth.

"I can't," he says, though it's apparent he's struggling for breath, struggling to stay in control.

He tucks his cock back into his pants and zips himself up.

I can only stare at him, mouth open, shocked by his willpower coming through at the last possible minute.

He gazes down at me, that cock straining against his fly, begging to be free, and I watch the fight in those shadowy eyes, a battle between desire and the need to fuck, and duty and the need to stay professional.

"Crawl over to the desk," he commands.

I blink at him. "What?"

His jaw is tense as he repeats himself. "I said, crawl over to the desk, my little pet." He pauses. "That is what you wish to be called, isn't it?"

Oh fuck yes.

"Yes, doctor," I say, pouting slightly, as if he's inconveniencing me. Inside I'm fucking thrilled that he's actually asking me to do this. I don't think I've ever been so giddy and turned on in my life. It's making my head spin.

I crawl over, hands and knees on the hardwood and the rugs, and he walks backward in front of me, as if I'm trying to catch up with him but can't.

He stops in front of his desk and holds out his palm, commanding me to do the same.

I pause mid-crawl, dropping my upper body so that I'm on my elbows, so that he has a good view of my tits under the neckline of my top. I'm not sure if it helps that I've dreamt about being with him before, but there's something so natural about all of this. He runs his palm over his dick, giving it a squeeze through the fabric of his pants, his smoky eyes glued to my cleavage. He inhales sharply, the muscle in his jaw ticking, his neck corded as if he's bracing for something.

"Get on the desk," he orders.

I straighten up, about to ask him in which way, but he grumbles, reaches down and grabs me by the arms, hauling me roughly to my feet. Before I can do anything but gasp he puts his hands around my waist and picks me up, placing me on the desk.

He doesn't say anything else, just places his palm on my chest and pushes until my back is on his desk, my head hanging off one side, my legs hanging off the other.

Then he parts my legs with a bruising grip and reaches up to my hips, fingers curling over the waistband of my underwear. He starts bringing them down over my thighs, his movements urgent, like he's afraid he's going to change his mind.

"I'm going to hell," he murmurs.

But he doesn't stop.

If he's going, I'm going too.

He pulls my underwear to my knees then suddenly straightens up.

Leans over me. Reaches for something on the desk.

I raise my head up just in time for him to shove a pencil in my mouth.

"Bite down on that when you feel like screaming."

I smile, tasting the wood. Guess he already figured I'm a loud one.

Then he moves back into place between my legs, grabs my hips, and lowers his head.

My whole body tenses in anticipation, my fingertips digging into the desk.

But he doesn't do anything, not at first.

I can feel his breath tickling me, making my hips squirm, and I'm so close to just bucking up into his face so I can get some pressure, some sort of release.

"So fucking pretty," he says, his voice gruff, and it's apparent he's staring at my pussy, just open and on display for him. "So fucking beautiful ."

He touches my clit with his fingertip and I grind my teeth against the pencil, moaning, wanting more. He rubs it slowly then drags his finger down, the pressure now like a feather, until it reaches where I'm terribly wet.

"So sweet," he groans, teasing around my entrance. "So desperate."

I gasp, agreeing with him, unable to keep from holding back. I try to thrust my hips toward him.

It only makes him withdraw his finger, leaving me to whimper.

"Such a greedy little cunt for such a good student," he surmises, his stark words making me feel dizzy with desire. "I can smell your desperation. I can see it."

I make a noise of want, muffled by the pencil.

He lowers his head and blows on me.

I shriek, the pencil nearly falling from my mouth.

Suddenly he's on me, devouring me with lips and tongue, a feverish attack, a messy one. He's licking me up and down, sucking my clit into his mouth, biting lightly, while his fingers start to fuck me by ones, by twos, by threes. He works them in and out of me while he devours and I am moaning, bucking, nearly falling off the desk.

Several times he has to grab my hips and pull me back down or pull me back up and then he's right back at eating me, like his appetite will never be vanquished.

This feels right. It feels like a million different things but it feels right.

Like I'm his to be tasted, like I'm his for whatever he wants.

In the back of my head, I know he's going to try and pull back after this, I know he's letting himself give in because he wants me that badly. But I'll worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. For now, my pussy is being ravaged by my psychologist, right on his office desk, and that's all I need. One good orgasm might undo weeks of strife.

"Oh fuck," he gasps against me, and his breath hitches, his body stiffening. Then a long moan that vibrates against my clit.

Did he just come?

In his pants?

The thought of it is enough to push me over the edge, to let go.

"God!" I cry out through the pencil as the orgasm slams through me, shaking my limbs, making my body feel like it's rising off the desk. An exorcism. I keep writhing, my eyes pinched shut but seeing stars, my nails clawing wildly at the wood, the air squeezed from my lungs. If he wasn't gripping my hips so hard, if his mouth didn't continue to eat with abandon, I think I might shatter into a million fragments.

At least the pencil does.

It snaps in half and I have to spit it out, the taste of wood and lead mixing with the highest point of ecstasy.

Finally he pulls back, breathing hard and I'm delirious with glee. My body twitches, effervescent.

He swallows audibly, a ragged exhale, and I raise my head to look at him, my abs burning.

His eyes are unfocused, the glassy grey of the inlet, as he grabs me by the elbows and pulls me forward so I'm sitting up right, then cups his hand over the back of my head. His forehead touches mine and we both try to get our breaths back.

No words are spoken.

None need to be said.

Not now.

Finally he lets go and straightens up.

My gaze drops to his crotch, seeing the wet spot.

I look up at him with a brow arched. He did come, didn't he?

He gives me a chagrined look that says yes and clears his throat. His mouth is shiny with my desire. "Some things can't be helped," he says, by way of explanation.

He's said this before and I have to agree.

Him, me, us, this …it can't be helped.