Chapter 5 - HUNGRY

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 5

𖣘

The low rumble of his voice against my skin made my body respond instantly.

"Is this how he did it in your dreams?" he whispered, his hand moving down to cup my chest while the other traced a steady path down my thigh. The lower it moved, the more my breath caught and my dick throbbed.

I was trapped against him, hard as hell. He hadn't even done much, and I couldn't form a coherent thought. My head fell back against his chest in silent surrender.

As his lips traced a hot path down the column of my neck, his hand slipped lower, brushing the waistband of my shorts before sliding beneath the fabric.

I bit my lip, stopping a moan from slipping out, as my eyes fluttered shut. This wasn't therapy—at least not the kind I'd ever known—but yeah, I preferred this.

"His hands," I breathed, the words spilling out of me, "they were teasing… his teeth biting harder on my nipples…"

I didn't know why I was explaining this, but I needed to feel it in reality. I needed his touch to erase the phantom one from my dreams.

His teeth grazed the tender spot on my neck—not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to make me gasp. At the same moment, his other hand pressed and kneaded my chest so perfectly I saw stars behind my eyelids.

Then his fingers wrapped around my dick, and the jolt of his hand on me made me shiver. My legs parted on their own, an instinctual response to grant him complete access to explore me.

He turned me to face him, my head tipping back. My hands clutched his shoulders, nails digging into his shirt like it was the only thing keeping me steady.

I felt myself leaking, an embarrassing, wanton slickness that welcomed his fingers.

He groaned against my neck, a raw, masculine sound of approval that made my knees weaken. His fingers grazed the head of my dick with a torturous touch that made me arch helplessly against his hand.

A loud, shameless moan ripped from my throat. "Uhm…"

He smirked, his second hand spreading firmly on my waist to hold me still. His lips traced my neck down to my collarbone, his fingers only stroking the length of me, avoiding the one place I desperately needed him.

I was crumbling against him. "Please," I begged, my breath heavy. "I need... I need you to..."

"To?" he murmured, his voice filled with a control I desperately lacked. His finger dipped lower, skating through the precum, circling the head but never, ever giving me the full grip I craved. The promise of it was sweet agony.

"You want me to fuck you right here? Against the door? Did he do that?" The vulgarity, the danger of it, sent a new wave of heat through me. I was beyond words. I could only press my hips forward, trying to force more contact. He let out a dark, delicious chuckle, then removed his hand entirely.

A sob of frustration caught in my throat. I felt empty, aching, deprived. But he wasn't done. He held me in place so I could look at him, his eyes burning with a predatory hunger that should have scared me but only turned me on more.

"If you don't mind, say the word and I'll do you the favor of stripping you right here, pin you against this door, and let you have my dick for free."

Fuck, that was exactly what I wanted, but could I admit that?

Still lost in my own thoughts, his thumb found the head again, this time with direct, relentless pressure, rubbing tight, swift circles that made my vision blur and my body shiver.

"Since you're still in denial... Let me find you your answers," he whispered, his gaze locked on mine, watching me unravel. "I'll only make you hungry. So you'll know you can't hold back."

His words barely registered because the only thing I could think about was the building pressure, the coiling tightness in my belly, the feel of his expert fingers working me toward a cliff I was desperate to jump from.

"Help," I gasped before I could stop myself, my fingers clutching at his arms. "I think I need you."

"You think?"

I felt his smirk by the sudden puff of breath that hit my lips.

"Did he kiss you?"

His voice came again a second before his mouth crashed down on mine. It wasn't a kiss of tenderness; it was a claiming, devouring kiss. His tongue drove into me, fucking my mouth the way his fingers still denied my dick. I was right on the edge, my body clenching, desperate for release—

I needed him to stroke me until I came, but instead his hand slid lower, just enough to dip through the precum, scooping it up without giving me what I craved.

He withdrew his glistening fingers and brought them to his nose, inhaling with a shameless smirk.

"Smells good."

Then took the fingers to his lips, never breaking eye contact, and slowly sucked them clean.

"Hm, healthy and clean."

The filthy sight made my dick throb, my whole body burning so hot I thought I'd explode right there.

"That's all for today," he said, his voice rough as gravel. "Now you know what you're missing. Now you'll dream of my touch instead of his. And you'll come back tomorrow because you need me to finish what I started—because you badly want to cum on my fingers, on my face, and in my mouth."

He stepped back, adjusting his clothes with an infuriating calmness, while I stood there, a trembling, leaking, frustrated mess, completely and utterly ruined. He had made his point.

I was hungry.

I wanted to curse at him, but the door slammed open so violently that I jumped, spinning around before I could say anything. A man stormed in, his face twisted with fury. His eyes locked on me for a brief second before shifting to Doctor Jeffery.

"You bastard!" he roared, his fist connecting with Jeffery's jaw in one clean strike, the crack echoing through the room.

I took a step back, shocked, my heart racing.

Jeffery's head snapped to the side, blood trailing from his lip, but his expression didn't change. He didn't look hurt, didn't even look angry. It seemed he was used to this. He touched the blood at the corner of his mouth and smiled calmly.

"Can't believe a good taste was just replaced by the taste of metal," he murmured, licking the blood from his lip as though it were nothing more than wine.

"You dared to ask my wife to cheat on me?" the man shouted, shaking with rage. His fists were ready for another strike.

Jeffrey raised his hand lazily, as if silencing a child. To my shock, the man stopped where he stood, trembling but unable to move forward.

"I don't advise my patients to cheat," Jeffrey started. "I advise them to walk away from what shackles them."

I blinked as his eyes narrowed, turning dark and merciless.

"Tell me, are you a husband? Or just a jailer? Why tie someone down if you can't even satisfy her soul, let alone her body?"

The man's face twisted, words caught in his throat, but Jeffery kept talking, each sentence meaner.

"I don't free them for you. I free them for themselves. So if your wife looks at me and sees salvation… then perhaps you should ask yourself why."

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