June 2.0

Two jobs would keep anyone busy. Juggling another job during your first year of residency? 

Forget about it.

All throughout medical school, you balanced clinicals and classes with your camgirl gig. Study sessions were interrupted by scheduled video calls. You’d set up your laptop on your dresser, aim it toward your bed, and shrug your hoodie off before dialing whichever gentleman requested your services that night. 

There were nearly two dozen clients who you met with regularly over the past three years.

Some showed their faces. Some just showed their lap. Some only spoke, urging you on verbally with no other input. Some wanted a show from you and nothing more. Some of them gave you too much information-- full names, jobs, routing numbers, and home addresses. 

None of which you ever used. You were strictly providing online services: Video chats only. Other forms of communication, like your business email, were very explicitly limited to scheduling inquiries only. Any client who refused those boundaries was nixed and replaced with someone from your waiting list.

Since graduating with your doctorate in May, you’ve phased clients out. There wouldn’t be enough time to balance all of them with the demands of your intern year.

So, you let your clients know that you’re no longer in service due to a career change. You offer one more call for each of them as a last hoorah (final paycheck) and go your separate ways. 

But there was one client that you can’t bring yourself to let go. 

SgtMD

He was your third client ever. You’d seen him at least three times a week for the last three years, and looked forward to each meeting with a pounding heart and heated cheeks. 

Each time SgtMD booked a call, he showed his torso. Always clad in a plain, black shirt with large biceps and broad shoulders, never anything else. There was a hint of silver stubble that trickled down his neck sometimes, usually on your first call of each week. A tuft of dark armpit hair you saw once when he stretched his arms above his head. 

And SgtMD likes to talk. 

He likes to tell you how beautiful you are. Likes to ask you to twirl around in the new lingerie he sent to you and then laugh darkly each time you obey. He likes telling you to “Take it slow, sweetheart. Just like that, yeah. Don’t worry about the extra time, I’ll pay for it.”

And you like him. 

Most clients don’t make you finish. They want you to shake your ass or flash your tits or tell them they’re “such a good boy”. Nobody wants to see you come apart like SgtMD. 

So, when you move to Pittsburgh to start your residency, you dropped them all... Except SgtMD. To him, you sent:

You: Hi, Sarge. I’m about to start a new job and my hours will be a little different. I want to see you as often as I can. I will email as soon as I have a fixed schedule so that we can plan to call. Remember you can always ask. Please don’t be shy. Your next few sessions are free since I’m changing things up on you. I hope I can see you soon. 

His returning email came within two minutes.

SgtMD: Hey, Sweetheart. I’ll pay. Are you free at 5? I know it’s last minute, but it’s my birthday. I want to see you.

You: Happy birthday, Sarge. 5 o’clock is perfect. Am I invited to the birthday party?

SgtMD: It’s a date, then. No party, I’m working tonight.

So, the afternoon before your first shift as a resident, you find yourself baking a cake for him. It’s silly. It’s inappropriate. It’s crossing every boundary that you’ve ever established as a sex worker. And, really, there’s no point in making it, because you’ll end up eating it alone when you get off your shift at 8 a.m., anyway. 

Yet still, here you are, logged onto the call at 5 p.m. on the dot with a lit candle. Your black scrubs are folded outside of the frame, ready for you to throw on once you’re off camera. 

Now, you’re wearing a pretty white lace set that SgtMD bought you for your birthday last year. You’re not sure he remembers, but something tells you he just might. He’s thoughtful, in the unconventional ways that a man can be thoughtful with a sex worker. 

He remembers your birthday every year. He sends you flowers each time he orders a new lingerie set for you. Every holiday there’s a bouquet waiting for you at the post office with a sweet, hand-written note. 

You keep them all posted to a corkboard in your bedroom next to other keepsakes like photos with your friends and concert tickets.

The screen dings, and you see his image pop up. His broad, thick shoulders taking up the whole frame. Black shirt tugging between his large pecs, and the typical trail of grey stubble down his Adam’s apple.

“Happy birthday.” You grin into the camera. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. Always so thoughtful, so good for me.” His voice is as rough and deep as always. It winds a knot in your stomach. “Blow that out for me.”

You purse your lips and blow a gentle puff of air onto the cake, the warm illumination leaving your face. 

“What does the candle say?” He asks. You catch a glimpse of the ends of his hair as he tilts his head. Auburn and grey. Fucking hot. 

“It’s just a 1.” The temperature is warmer under your embarrassment than it was with the open flame of the candle. “I thought it’d be a nice gift if I told you that you’re the only client I see now. The only one.”

He leans back slightly as if your words have physically stunned him. Running a big hand over his neck, he exhales slowly. 

“Wait, sweetheart. Are you just saying that? Or is it really just me?” You wish you could see his face. Usually, his lack of personal identifiers isn’t something that bothers you. It’s easy to understand why someone wouldn’t want to stare at themselves while they were on a call of this nature. 

But here, now, you wanted to see if there was a blush on his cheeks. You wanted to know if he looked excited or concerned. 

“It’s just you, Sarge.”

𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔

Two hours and three orgasms later, you're walking through the doors of the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center for your first shift. It’s the most he’s ever gotten out of you, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t ready to fall asleep after so much stimulation. 

But it’s only 7 p.m.. Night shifts have always been your preference. Even before getting a job in medicine, you preferred the overnight stocking gigs or the late night video chats. 

You like the dark. The night is gentle and unpredictable.

“Hi,” you greet the charge nurse at the hub with a small smile, tucking your bag into one of the cubbies under the desk. “It’s my first day. Do you have any idea where I can find Dr. Gloria Underwood?”

The blonde woman nods once, and you look over your shoulder to find her already walking toward you. You’d met Gloria once previously over the summer when you had a virtual interview for the resident position. It was a panel of her, one of the day-shift attendings, and a few of the hospital board members.

“Welcome!” She greets cheerfully, but there’s a franticness in her wide eyes. “My gosh, it’s a bit hectic around here today. Usually I’d be the one showing you the ropes, but I’ve got a meeting with corporate and-”

“No worries,” you excuse, waving your palm. “Things get busy, I understand.”

“I like you already.” Her gaze trails to the other side of the nurses’ station. There’s two men, both in black, both looking at the screen of a tablet. “These are your attending physicians, Dr. Jack Abbot and Dr. John Chen. I’ll introduce you and they’ll walk you through everything you need to know.”

One of them is older, a stubble across his jaw and neck that glints under these harsh lights. He’s handsome, with light grey curls and dark eyes. Freckles smatter over his entire body as far as you can see. Face, neck, arms, hands, all covered in evidence of long summer days.

Next to him is the younger doctor, with a head of full, dark hair that matches his deep brown eyes. He’s also sporting stubble, though his is darker and shorter, closer to a shadow than anything else. 

Before you can respond to Gloria, she’s already sweeping you over to the two men. As you get closer, you realize that Dr. Abbot isn’t wearing a black scrub top like Dr. Shen. Instead, he dons a plain black tee that reminds you all too much of SgtMD and the meeting you had before this. 

It’s bad that you miss him. You know it’s wrong. It’s inappropriate. It’s probably unhealthy on some level. 

But nobody has ever made you feel the way he does. Nobody has taken care of you so well. Nobody has ever shown you so much affection in their words and actions. And you’ve never wanted to return that care and affection before.

You shake your head as if it will manually remove the thought from your brain. 

“Jack, John, this is your new resident,” Gloria introduces you. 

“Only one this year?” Dr. Shen raises his thick eyebrows. “Are we broke?”

You snort, but quickly cover it up with a cough when Gloria’s sharp eyes dart to where you’re still standing at her side.

“Nobody wants to work nights,” she huffs. “Would the two of you please show her the ropes? I’m late for a budget meeting.”

Again, she’s halfway down the hallway before she gets a response. 

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you both,” you say with a soft smile. Your eyes catch on Dr. Abbot’s slack-jawed face.

Your heart drops, realizing you’ve already made a bad first impression on one of the only people that matters here. 

“I’m sorry about the inconvenience. I’m sure you’ve both already got enough to do without babysitting me through your shift.” A wince threatens to pinch your face in apology, but you try to remain confident.

“No need! Happy to help our residents.” Shen hands you the tablet they were both reading. “I’m going to do hand-off with Robby. Read over this chart and tell Abbot what your next steps would be.” 

“Is everything ok?” You ask Abbot quietly once Shen is out of hearing range. “I’m sure the having-me-shadow-you thing is annoying. I promise you won’t even know I’m there.”

His head snaps to you, heated eyes meeting yours. His short curls have dashes of auburn throughout them that you can see now up close. His eyes are dark, pupils blown as he stares at your face. 

“I’ll know you’re there.” There’s an edge to his voice that sends a shiver up your spine. 

“What?” Your brows meet in the middle of your forehead at that. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Abbot, I don’t understa-”

You’re cut off by another doctor slinging an arm around Abbot’s shoulders and pulling him in for a hug. 

“Happy birthday, brother.” He smacks his back hard. 

Your heart sinks to your stomach as you piece it together. The black tee shirt, the auburn hair, the broad shoulders, your reaction to his voice. The birthday.

Holy fucking shit.

Dr. Jack Abbot is SgtMD. 

Your new attending physician is the faceless man you’ve pined after for the last three years. He’s the man who sent you the earrings you’re currently wearing. Small, modest studs with a little emerald stone that he said was his favorite color.

Fuck, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Quickly, you snatch the tablet close to your chest, as if the secret truth is announcing itself on the screen, and move a few feet away. You try to tune out the waves of anxiety wracking through your body at the realization that he’s here and he’s hot and he’s staring at you while having an entire conversation with the attending you recognize from your interview.

The chart. 

The thing you just spent the last 8 years of your life working for is here in front of you. You cannot let your personal life get in the way of accomplishing this.

The air you inhale is sterile. You breathe it out and let your eyes scan the chart.

13 y/o female ℅ SOB at rest. Sats 90. No hx of asthma. Sudden onset after tackle injury in lacrosse game Friday. PCP prescribed inhaler, no improvement. 

The possible diagnoses flit through your head, overriding the anxiety of your personal life catching fire between these walls. 

This is what you’re here for. To practice medicine. To be a doctor. 

“You look at the chart?” Shen comes next to you. He makes a slurping sound as he pulls coffee through his already-empty cup. The clock just struck 7:01 p.m.. One minute into the shift. How is his drink gone already?

“I did. My first thought was a fractured rib that punctured the lung, but I don’t see any symptoms other than shortness of breath. Surely she’d complain of pain if there were a rib injury. My next thought is a respiratory illness unrelated to the injury-- still, sats are really low for a young, active girl. Hard to find a bullseye here,” you relay your thought process to him. He takes the chart, nodding as he reads through it again. 

“I agree. So what should we order?” His dark eyes are much softer and sweeter than Abbot’s. You blink the thought of him away quickly, refocusing on the question. 

“CBC, BMP, ABG, ECG, and BNP.” Your answer comes quickly. “ And maybe a D-dimer depending on what medications she’s taking. I didn’t any listed in the chart.”

He smiles widely and nods, revealing the stereotypical adrenaline-junkie smile that all emergency doctors seem to possess. 

“Right on. Let’s go get her from intake.” He claps your shoulder and leads the way.

𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔

Shen takes you under his wing for the first half of the shift. He walks you through how to read and work the board, introduces you to every staff member that walks by, and shares plenty of stories-- comedy and horror-- of his time spent at PTMC. 

When 1 a.m. rolls around and you’ve shadowed him through most types of cases, he cuts you loose. 

“I need a coffee, and you need a patient,” he sighs, looking up at the board. “What do you see?”

“I can do the debridement in Central 9,” you suggest, turning to face him. 

“Perfect. Go get ‘em, tiger.” Another clap on the shoulder and he’s leaving you. 

You review the patient chart on the tablet before you enter the room. No matter how many patients you treated as a student doctor, it’s still nervewracking to go into a room alone. After rereading the chart, taking a deep breath, and letting the yawn you’ve been holding in for six hours go, you’re finally ready.

“Hi, Mrs. Sanchez,” you greet your patient as you enter the room. You introduce yourself and wince at the sight of the wound on her leg. “Gosh, this looks like it hurts. What happened?”

“I was taking the stupid dog out to the bathroom. He needs to go out on a leash because we live on a big property.” Her face crumples into a cute frown. “He took off and pulled me through the gravel backyard. He hates me, I swear!”

You sigh, shaking your head.

“Doesn’t sound like he has your best interest at heart,” you agree, earning a small grin. You pull the stool to her bedside and snap on a pair of gloves. “What breed is your dog?” “My dog!?” She scoffs, wiping the smile off her face instantly. “No! My son’s. Little rat bastard that I never wanted in the first place.”

“The son or the dog?” You tease, opening the instruments on the sterile tray next to you. She chokes out a stream of laughter that lasts the entire time you’re unwrapping, earning a few giggles from you as she tries and fails to regain her composure. 

“Things are going well in here, I see.” A familiar voice says from the doorway. Abbot steps into the room, rubbing sanitizer into his hands before looking at the patient chart. “I’m Dr. Jack Abbot, I’m the attending physician here.”

“This is Mrs. Hilaria Sanchez,” you introduce your patient because she’s still laughing too hard to get a word out. You’re wearing a wide smile of your own as you glance back at her. “She was taking her son’s dog out when he took off and dragged her.”

“Yeah?” He says it almost unconsciously, and still, heat pools between your legs. He isn’t even looking at you, and you’re quick to turn back to your patient before he does. The last thing you need is for him to realize the effect he has on you. “Should I be concerned about a hospital-induced laughing spell, Mrs. Sanchez?”

She snorts, wiping tears from under her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. 

“She’s just a very funny doctor!” She giggles again, and you can’t help the amused chuckle that tumbles from your own lips as you grab her a tissue from the counter. 

“I said one thing!” You retort through your own laughter. “Ok, ok. We have to stop laughing so I can get these pebbles out of your leg. Talk about something else, please, Dr. Abbot.”

You’re careful not to look at him when you address him out of fear that he won’t react to you the way you do to him.

That’s one thing that used to bother you about Jack SgtMD. Since he never showed his face online, you could never tell if he was enjoying what you were doing, really. He’d groan and tell you how good you looked. You’d catch his strong arms moving sometimes, stroking himself off camera at a slow, steady pace. 

Once, last year, he’d finished and came so hard that cum shot up into frame, dirtying his pressed black shirt. It was dirty and impulsive and he was so out of breath, you remember. You came immediately after him that day.

“How old is your son?” He prompts as he hands you the tweezers and sets the discard tray on the bedside next to her wounded calf. Again, you’re jolted back into the moment.

“He’s 25. That’s about your age, no?” She looks at you as she blots under her eyes with the tissue. 

“Just about,” you reply, dropping the first rock into the tray. “What does he do?”

“He’s a lawyer,” she responds proudly. “And he’s very handsome. And single.”

You and Abbot both snort at the same time. 

“Are you trying to set me up on a date with the same son you just called a ‘rat bastard’?” You raise your brows playfully at her before turning your attention back to the leg. 

“Oh, please! You know I meant the dog!” She chuckles, swatting at your arm and missing by a mile. “I’m telling you. You two would be good together. Two attractive, successful young people.”

“Unfortunately, she’s taken,” the man behind you answers before you can even open your mouth. 

You turn your head to face him, eyes wide as saucers as you process his words.

Did he actually just stake his claim like that?

Heat floods your face, neck, and ears as you reorient toward your patient’s leg. The sight of him there, in that same tight black shirt he was wearing earlier today when he had you beg him to stop making you cum, is too much. 

“That’s too bad. I’m sure my son is cuter!” She winks. 

You give your best chuckle despite the rising temperature, continuing the tedious task of plucking each piece of dirt and gravel from her six-by-three wound. 

For longer than he should, Abbot hovers over your shoulder, humming each time you do something well. 

It’s almost odd seeing his face. You’d never considered what SgtMD might look like. Based on the build of his torso and the grit of his voice, you knew he would be hot, and that was really enough to satisfy the knots he managed to unwind. 

You were used to knowing clients only by their screen names and what they chose to show. It wasn’t a big deal, it was the nature of the business.

But this morning, it did bother you, just for a fleeting moment. 

First, it bothered you not knowing what name to write on his cake. You weren’t going to write Happy Birthday, SgtMD on top of your pretty white buttercream frosting. Something about that name had been… defiled. 

SgtMD was the man who coaxes orgasms with only his instruction, never a finger laid on your body but still managing to light you up with desire. 

Happy Birthday, Jack would have been much more fitting. 

Jack is the man who pays you for every session, even the ones where you’re ten minutes late because you had to finish a timed quiz or hit every red light on your way home from the library. He’s the one who insists on buying you pretty lingerie. Sexy, of course, but beautiful. Handsewn pieces custom made to fit the measurements he asked you for. 

A little ache splits your heart as you face the new reality of your situation. 

He recognized you. He knew you. Not your name, maybe, but your face. From where he’s standing over you, he’s observing the hands that he’s seen knuckle-deep in your pussy. It’s not new for him, just for you. 

And as much as it embarrasses you to admit it, it upsets you a little bit. Makes you feel guilty for not being able to know his name from your residency offer letter and reject it. 

And seeing his reaction this morning, him having to process your presence alone while you apologized for something entirely unrelated-- it releases a strange guilt that climbs up your throat. 

“Dr. Abbot,” you say without thinking first, because you desperately need reassurance that you haven’t managed to go and fuck up your professional and personal life by being here. 

You want him to tell you that everything is alright, that he’s not disgusted by you, that this doesn’t ruin his fantasy of you, that he won’t march to HR as soon as the shift ends and tell them that he can’t work with you because you have an inappropriate relationship. 

You swallow hard, not knowing what to say now. 

“Do you think this area needs a stitch?” Is all that comes to mind.

His dark eyes feel all-consuming, and suddenly you’re grateful that he never showed them during your calls, because the pressure of having to make yourself finish while he gave you this stare would be far too intimidating. 

It isn’t unkind, it’s just-- intense. Everything he’s done today, actually, has been rather intense.

He bends down, and the smell of mint swarms your senses. His chest presses against your shoulder as he squints, searching for the made-up bleeder. 

“Where?” Fuck that voice is even better in person. The breath of it brushes your ear just barely, and you suck in a sharp breath. 

Instead of answering verbally, you point to a random spot on the wound with your tweezers. He looks from you, to the not-bleeding area of skin, back to you. 

“Stitches?” Mrs. Sanchez asks, looking up from where she’s been scrolling on her phone. 

“No, ma’am,” He reassures her quickly with a shake of his head. She nods, and he turns his gaze back to you. “I see why you thought to ask. Come find me after you’re done here and I can explain why it doesn’t need a stitch. I’ll be charting if you need me. Feel better soon, Mrs. Sanchez.”

He stands quickly, sheds his gloves into the waste bin, and leaves the room. 

“Do you think it’s ok to add non-famous people to a hall pass list?” Your patient asks as soon as the door shuts behind him. Slowly, you lift your gaze from her leg to her face, arching a brow in question. “That Dr. Abbot is… phew!” 

She fans herself with her fingers, eliciting a hearty laugh from you as you continue working and thinking about your attending because… phew is right. 

𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔

Mrs. Sanchez is discharged shortly after you finish the grueling task of removing each piece of gravel from her open wound and wrap it under Donnie’s supervision. There’s a sharp ache across the entire length of your shoulders. 

“Shoulders?” Shen asks as you sit down to chart, noting your pained wince.

“I was hunched over that leg for two hours.” You blink hard. “I’m seeing little pieces of gravel everytime I close my eyes.”

He laughs, wiping condensation from his drink with a sterile towel. 

“Is she ready to be discharged?” He looks at the board. “We could use her room.”

“Actually, she’s been discharged. Just waiting for her son to get here and pick her up,” you say through a bite of the granola bar you keep in your scrub top. “He’s a lawyer.”

“Is she trying to set you up with her son?” He snorts, shaking his head as he looks toward the patient room where she’s rifling through her purse. “You’ll get used to it. Happens at least once a day. Everyone wants their kids to date a doctor for some reason.”

He leaves, taking his coffee with him into a patient room. 

Just as you’ve found a comfortable position and typed out the first sentence of your patient care summary, Lena raps her knuckles from the other side of the counter. When you look up, you make eye contact with the man next to her. 

He’s about your age, with dark, curly brown hair and a tanned complexion. Both features that match Mrs. Sanchez, who you turn to find excitedly waving at you both through the glass door of her exam room. 

Laughing, you stand up and extend your hand in greeting as you introduce yourself. 

“You’re Mrs. Sanchez’s son, I assume?” You ask as you round the counter. He nods, scratching the back of his neck. 

“I guess it’s safe to assume that all the matchmaking texts I was getting were being relayed to you, then?” He breathes out a nervous laugh. 

You chuckle in response, pulling your lips between your teeth before releasing them with another quick laugh. Before you can respond, you hear your name called from down the hallway. Abbot is walking over, and you note the slight unevenness of his footsteps. 

So many quirks, and you want to know them all. You want to know him. All of him.

“You discharging Mrs. Sanchez?” He asks, leaning in to glance at the tablet in your hand, not once looking at the man beside you. You nod, maintaining his heavy eye contact. “Great. Mind if I observe?”

You shake your head, then gesture between the two men. 

“This is Mrs. Sanchez’s son. He’s here to take her home. This is my attending physician, Dr. Jack Abbot,” you introduce the two of them to each other, taking note of the way Jack nods without a smile. On the way to her room, you stop to grab a wheelchair from the side wall of the hallway, but Jack takes it quickly, pushing it on his own. “Thank you, Dr. Abbot.”

He pulls the door to the room open, waiting for you to walk through. Shyly, you cast a smile in his direction and step inside. 

For such a gentleman, you’re surprised he isn’t being welcoming to Mr. Sanchez. Surely, he isn’t jealous. Right?

“Hey, mom.” Her son enters right after you, moving to her bedside to place a kiss to her hair. “I’m so sorry this happened.”

They spend a moment arguing over the son’s dog while you sort her discharge paperwork and Jack prepares the wheelchair. 

When you turn to face the bed again, Mrs. Sanchez points to you. 

“Mijo, this is the girl I was telling you about. See? Very pretty, very sweet, very very smart. She’s a doctor, you know?” She nudges his side. 

“This is your discharge paperwork, Mrs. Sanchez,” you say in an attempt to change the subject. “There’s instructions for how to rebandage the wound on this page. You’ll want to do it twice a day, when you wake up and when you go to sleep, ok?”

She nods, taking the packet of paperwork. 

“Your leg may be a little bit tender. A little pain is normal as the skin heals, but if it gets too uncomfortable to bear weight, or if you start noticing any foul smells or pus coming from the wound, it could be a sign of infection. Come back in as soon as possible if that happens, alright?”

She nods and hands the paperwork to her son as Jack helps to transfer her into the wheelchair. He does it easily, lifting her body off of the bed and into the cushioned seat. 

As he does, every muscle ripples down his arm. Somehow, every inch of him is huge. Fingertip to his bicep, where the tee blocks the rest of his arm from view, you watch his skin dimple as it flexes with his movements. 

“Does she need to be on any antibiotics or anything?” Her son asks, bringing your attention away from Jack’s arms and back to him. 

“Um, no. She’s all set to go.” You smile politely.

“I’ll walk them out,” Jack says, nodding to you. “Can you notify Lena that this room is ready to be cleaned, please?”

You nod, holding the door as he pushes Mrs. Sanchez through the threshold. She hooks a finger into your scrub pocket as she’s pushed out, winking coyly. Although you don’t understand, you smile and wave, wishing her a good rest of her night. 

“Central 9 is ready to be cleaned,” you tell Lena as you approach the nurse’s station again. She gives a thumbs up and picks up the phone, nodding to the board. Pediatric bone break in South 12, and she’s writing your name into the box next to it. 

You head there, smiling softly when you enter the room and introduce yourself. 

𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔

You pick up cases for the rest of your shift, bouncing from room to room and having no time between check-ins to chart. 

“God, it’s nice having another resident,” Ellis tells you as she plops down across from you to chart.

You grin, fingers clacking away as you hurry to document everything as quickly as you can. It’s already 6:45 a.m., the day shift is trickling in, and you have eight charts to start and complete before you can leave. 

“Do you have a minute?” You swivel on your stool to see Jack standing at your desk. “I wanted to discuss the bleeder you asked about earlier with Mrs. Sanchez.”

Swallowing hard, you nod, standing to follow him. His limp is more pronounced now after a shift on his feet, and you wonder what he’s dealing with. 

The continued reminders that you don’t really know him at all are both aggravating and unnerving.

“How was your first shift?” He asks you, leading you to a window that overlooks the bridge. It’s far from the swing of things, nestled between a staircase and elevator. 

Only the two of you are here for the moment, but anyone could walk down the stairs or exit the elevators. 

He’s staring out, watching the occasional car drive by. 

“Um, it was good, thank you,” you reply nervously. “How was your birthday?”

He faces you then, a smirk tugging one corner of his lip up. 

“Best one so far,” he says simply. His eyes are so full of something, not emotion, but-- passion, maybe? You aren’t sure what to call it, but it’s incredibly difficult to maintain eye contact and even more difficult to look away. “I realize I made you uncomfortable this morning, and I’m sorry. I was just-- surprised to see you.”

“What?” You frown, stepping back in surprise. “Dr. Abbot, you didn-- no! Oh my gosh, no, not at all! I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable. I promise I had no idea that you work here. Really, I didn’t mean to ambush you or surprise you or ruin what we have.”

You snap your mouth shut so hard that you have to run your tongue along your teeth to make sure none of them chipped from the force. 

The corner of his mouth raises higher, but he says nothing. 

“Is this ok? Me working here, I mean.” 

You hate how desperate you sound. The feeling sits low in your stomach, bubbling with anxiety as his silence continues. 

“What kind of cake was it?” He stares back out the window. 

“What?” You ask stupidly for the second time before realization dons on you. “Oh. It’s vanilla. With a whipped buttercream. I had some leftover batter, so there’s cupcakes, too. Actually, there’s two in my lunchbox if you want one.”

“You made me a cake from scratch?” He chuckles darkly. “You brought it to work?”

A bead of sweat runs from your hairline down the nape of your neck, and you wipe it anxiously. Shrugging, you wince a little at how pathetic he’s making you sound. 

It’s not like you knew SgtMD would be here. 

“You’re a sweet girl,” he comments, and you feel heat pool between your thighs. 

Instinctively, you cross your legs and look down at your feet. 

“I should probably get back to charting.” You wipe your sweaty palms off on the knees of your scrubs and push yourself to stand. 

He follows, towering over you. Then, silently, he dips his hand into the front pocket of your scrub pants. 

It’s only for a moment, but the heat from his palm makes your breath catch in your throat. 

His hand emerges with a piece of paper between his pointer and middle fingers. 

“You don’t need this. You’re seeing someone, remember?” His head tilts to the side, as if testing you. Your eyes flit to the paper he’s holding, something you don’t recognize. 

“I-I-- what is that?” You pout your lips and return your gaze to his face, finding his eyes fixed on your mouth. Your pout gets more dramatic as he further confuses you. “Dr. Abbot?”

“Don’t call me that.” It’s stern. “Jack. I’m Jack.”

“Jack,” you repeat softly. It’s your first time saying it out loud. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He drags a hand down his face, laughing like you wear him out. The sight makes your heart skip a beat.

This look on his face. This is what you craved from him online, and here it is. 

It was worth the three-year wait, no doubt.

Jack tucks the paper into his pocket and his eyes dart to something over your shoulder. You turn, following his gaze to find a man entering the double doors. Jack places a hand just above the curve of your ass, urging you back into the main ED. 

“Robby!” He calls, dropping his hand, but motioning for you to follow with a tilt of his head. The man entering the ED turns, and you recognize him as the one who wished Jack a happy birthday this morning. The same man from your interview. “This is our new resident. I don’t think you two met this morning.”

He shakes his head, gaze moving between the two of you briefly before settling on your face. 

“We did not. I’m Michael Robinavitch, everyone calls me Robby.” He extends his hand for you to shake, and you do, hoping you don’t look as fucked-out as you feel. When you tell him your name, he surprises you by saying, “I remember. I sat in on one of your interviews. Hard to forget someone with such an impressive resume.”

You laugh, waving your hand in front of you to dismiss his praise. 

“Oh gosh, thanks Dr. Robby.” Nervously you glance at Jack, who is giving you an appraising look. “I’m really behind on charting, so I should probably get to that. It was great to meet you, I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“Maybe we could grab dinner sometime,” he suggests, and Jack clears his throat. 

You were almost sure that he was merely suggesting a space to talk more about your resume. Almost. 

“I’d love for the three of us to get together!” You play stupid on purpose. “I just moved to Pittsburgh so I could definitely use the restaurant recommendations. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

You catch Jack’s sneaky grin from the corner of your eye as you turn on your heels to go back to your computer station. 

𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔

An hour later, the sweet smell of buttercream enters your nostrils. You hear a crinckling and turn quickly to see Jack looming over you. 

“Holy shit,” you gasp, clutching your chest. “How long have you been here?”

He’s just standing there, holding your lunchbox and unwrapping your cupcake. 

You have no idea how he knew it was yours, but alas, here you are.

He sets the lunchbox onto the counter next to you and pulls a stool from another charting station. Sidling next to you, he leans too far into your space, disregarding all professional boundaries. 

“This is really good,” he praises. “You spelt ‘oophorectomy’ wrong.”

“Where?” You move closer to the screen, scanning your patient history portion of your last chart. His finger points at the correctly spelled term. “That’s how you spell it.”

He hums, chewing another bite. 

“So you’re good at everything, then? Baking and spelling and-”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Dr. Abbot,” you whisper harshly, eyes darting for any listening day-shift ears. 

“Told you not to call me that.” He clears his throat, tugging at the fabric that’s now pulling a little tighter around his groin. 

Ok, maybe this is the thing you desired most from SgtMD. This was a view you were not getting over video chat.

You busy yourself grabbing another cupcake out of your lunchbox. 

“Our shift ended an hour ago. Shouldn’t you be going home?” You press.

He was usually home by now. You knew, because he’d schedule calls with you four times a week at exactly 8:00 a.m.. 

“Nothing exciting to rush home for anymore.” He says it so offhandedly that you almost don’t realize he means your appointments. Then, leaving no room to the imagination, he adds, “Ive got you right here. We’re both getting paid now, huh?”

You choke on a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. Your tongue darts out to lick the peak of buttercream from the top of the cupcake. He blows out a long exhale, and his breath smells sweet as if fans over you. 

“You almost done? We could grab breakfast,” he suggests, eyes tracking your tongue as you swipe it across the top of the cupcake again. 

“Mm, I kind of spent my ‘fun money’ on ingredients for the cake stuff,” you say, setting the cupcake back down and saving the chart. “I think I get my first check next week. Can we raincheck?”

“I’ll pay.” He sounds offended. “How much longer do you need?”

“I’m done, actually.” You rub your eyes and face him again. “And breakfast would be very nice, thank you, Jack.”

“It’s a date.” His words ring familiar from his message prior to yesterday’s call. “Go grab your stuff.”

As you obey, you can’t help but think about how much better it is taking orders from Dr. Jack Abbot than SgtMD.

𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔

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that makes dr. abbot huff out a laugh, the house call was his idea, “don’t even worry about it, i had a few appointments at the clinic this morning, but you’re my last one for the day.” he stands in front of you at the foot of your bed, white doctor’s coat stretching across his broad shoulders, thick fingers wrapped around an ipad. “and your house is actually right on my way home.” he says with a sly wink.

you had woken up that morning with a pit in your stomach regarding this appointment with your gynecologist, but it had only gotten worse when you had received a message from the clinic saying your doctor was no longer available today. but your luck turned around when a nurse called you about a dr. abbot who was able to fill you in today.

he slips on a pair of readers, looking even more handsome than when he walked through your door, before clicking around on the ipad. his steely gaze flits back to yours, his face illuminated by the bright screen. “alright, so i read the note you had left for dr. carrie when you first scheduled this appointment, but how about you explain what’s going on for me.” 

you fidget with embarrassment for a moment before remembering that he’s a doctor, he’s heard much worse than your embarrassing tale. “well, i was having sex with my boyfriend for the first time the other night-”

“first time with him or your first time period?” dr. abbot interjects.

“first time with him,” you answer as he begins poking around his ipad again, seemingly taking notes. “but, i haven’t had sex in a while so maybe that has something to do with the issue.”

“and how long has it been since the last time you have had sex?” jack inquired. 

and it was embarrassing to admit out loud to a man who seemed so confident and looked so handsome in his white doctor’s coat and tight dress pants, but you manage to answer the question, “i can’t really remember the last time.” you bite your lip in shame, your gaze falling down to the floor.

“hey, hey, “ dr.abbot coos, cupping your chin in one of his big hands, forcing your gaze back onto him. “this is a judgement free zone, i’m just here to help you with your problem.” his voice is like a balm soothing over all your anxieties. 

you fight the urge to nuzzle into the hand that’s still cupping your face, instead you give him a nod of understanding. he takes his hand away as you start speaking again. “thank you, dr. abbot, that’s very kind of you to be so understanding.” you begin fidgeting with your hands again as you continue on with your story. “when he first put his-” you looked back up at dr. abbott, floundering with how to phrase things, but all the did was give you a look to continue, “penis inside of me, it burned a little bit from the stretch-”

“do you penetrate yourself often, miss? with your own fingers or toys?”

your cheeks burn at the question, brushing a piece of hair back behind your ear nervously, “no, i don’t really do that to myself.”

 “ah, well that would make sense why a cock stretching you out for the first time in a while would hurt a little bit.” your skin heats up at the vulgarity of his words and you almost whimper at the way it makes your pussy flutter. but you try your best to pull yourself together, dr. abbot was just doing his job, he didn’t mean anything by it. “i would recommend you incorporate some penetration while you masturbate, just to make sure your pussy can accommodate the stretch of your boyfriend’s cock without causing you any pain.”

you feel dazed as you sit at the end of the bed in your oversized t shirt. since you were at home you weren’t wearing a standard hospital gown but instead dr. abbot’s nurse had advised you to wear something oversized and comfortable that would give the doctor access to your vagina. you unfortunately could feel your wetness already starting to dribble onto the fabric of the towel underneath you. 

“sorry,” he begins to apologize, “i keep interrupting, please continue.”

“the pain from the stretching didn’t last that long, though, but when he really started thrusting into me is me when the real pain began.”

“can you explain that pain for me? burning, stabbing, aching?” the doctor inquired.

“well, at first it actually felt like i was going to pee myself.”

the statement makes dr. abbot smirk, “sounds like your body was possibly getting ready to ejaculate, have you ever squirted before?”

you balk at the question, wanting to melt into the plush comforter of your bed. his gaze was sharp and cunning, never leaving your face even as your cheeks burned embarrassingly. “no, dr. abbot, i’ve never done anything like that.”

he puts his hands up in surrender, but the grin on his face does not falter. “hey, it’s a completely normal bodily reaction to stimulation.” he tries to reassure.

you take a deep breath, centering yourself. “ok, well, i felt like i was going to pee and i didn’t want to do that, so i told him to go deeper. but he started thrusting harder and deeper and it hurt, like deep and achey.” 

he nods at your explanation and moves to sit next to you, setting down the ipad he was holding beside him on the bed. he tilts his head, searching for your eyes, his gaze never wavering. “sex is supposed to be fun and pleasurable, it’s not supposed to hurt like that.”

that’s what you had always heard from people, but that never seemed to be your experience.

“but, how sex feels can also be dependent on our anatomy.” he begins to explain. “sometimes things internally may not be configured in the typical way, which can lead to pain like this if your partner isn’t aware.”

you sit with his words for a moment, “so there might be something wrong with me?” you ask, voice petulent to your own ears.

“no, no,” he soothes, one of his big hands reading over to land on your exposed thigh where your t shit had ridden up. the warmth of his palm soaks into your skin. for a split second you thought about how unprofessional this probably looked, but you really needed his comfort right now. “the positioning of your uterus can impact the placement of your cervix. if your uterus is tilted in any way it can mean your cervix is much closer to your vaginal opening which can mean some positions are more painful than others.”

his explanation makes sense and you finally start to believe that this isn’t the end of the world. “i was on my back, if that makes a difference.”

he squeezes your thigh, “it’s pretty common for women with a tilted uteri to find missionary uncomfortable.” he gives your thigh one last squeeze before getting back up to his feet and reaching for his bag that he had set at the foot of the bed when you first brought him upstairs, “but, i won’t know for sure if that’s your case until i do the physical exam.” 

you nod to yourself as he unzips his bag, pulling out a stethoscope, a tube of generic lube, and a clunky white case. you point to the object, “what’s that?”

jack almost giddily clicks open the case, revealing a tube of blue gel, and what looks to be a white remote. “it’s a portable ultrasound, it functions exactly like the larger models at the clinic and it can help me see the positioning of your uterus better.”

you hadn’t even thought about what kind of equipment the doctor would be able to bring to your home, but you were thoroughly impressed. maybe you’d have to switch dr. abbot to your primary obgyn, it wouldn’t hurt to see him more. “wow, you really thought ahead, dr. abbot.”

you can see his chest minutely puff out with pride even as he shrugs his shoulders as a show of humility, “everyone at the clinic says that i’m overprepared, so i really appreciate the compliment, sweetheart.” he flashes his teeth in a smile that makes your stomach swoop. 

you watch as he sets up the ultrasound. pulling out the tube of gel, connecting the ultrasound remote to his ipad through bluetooth, and propping it up on the bed so you both can see the screen. “alright, so to begin i’m going to have you lie back, but first-” he leans forward, grabbing a few pillows from the head of the bed, propping them up behind you to cushion your head.

you lean back and embrace the comfort of the pillows, “thank you, dr. abbot.”

“no problem, i think keeping my patients relaxed and comfortable is the most important part of the job,” he explains, reaching down for the blue gel with one hand, and the other trailing up the top of your thigh until his fingers meet the edge of your shirt. “i’m going to need to pull this up to get to your belly.” 

you hesitate for a moment before giving him a nod of permission. he deftly raises your shirt, exposing the soft pudge of your lower belly and your panties. a soft pink bikini style with little lace trim. the fabric catches his eye, “cute little panties, pick them out just for me?”

the question makes you bark out a laugh, your insecurities quickly turning into delight at the charming man in front of you. “no, dr. abbot, of course not. but with valentine’s day coming up, i’ve been trying to be festive.”

“oh, sweetheart, i figured,” he murmurs, squeezing out the gel for the ultrasound onto your skin. at your little gasp he apologizes, “sorry, it’s always a little cold.”

he makes quick work with the ultrasound, expertly moving the probe around your belly until he finds what he’s looking for. “it’s a little bit tough looking from this angle, but from what i’m seeing there’s definitely some tilting of your uterus.”

“but that’s normal, right?” you nervously ask.

he gives you a reassuring smile as he reaches into his bag again, pulling out a package of wipes. “very normal, a lot of women tend to have some sort of irregular posture with their uterus but never even notice it.” he wipes up the cool gel from your skin before wiping down the probe. 

he tucks all the instruments back in their case, clicking it shut and setting it back down by his bag. he grabs the ipad, tapping around on it, “i’ll put it in your chart that we did the ultrasound, but the real test is the physical exam. sometimes feeling is better than seeing.” 

you just nod along at his words, trusting the doctor implicitly. because why wouldn’t you? he had a way about him that just oozed not only confidence, but competency. you felt that you were in great hands and that helped to ease your nerves over this whole thing greatly. dr. abbot would surely know not only what’s wrong with you, but also have a solution for it. 

you watch him set the ipad back down on the bed and reach into his bag, which seems to have just enough room for every medical item he could possibly need. you guess it makes sense for a doctor who makes house calls, he never truly knows what he’ll need and since he’s not at the hospital he needs to be extra prepared for anything. you had to admit that it was hot, a handsome and competent doctor who was prepared for anything. 

your inappropriate thoughts come to a halt at the sound of nitrile snapping against skin. dr. abbot stood before you, his wide hands covered in blue gloves. “alright, so next up is the physical examination. i could see from your chart that you’ve been seeing dr. carrie for a few years so i know it can be a little awkward to suddenly have a new doctor examining you as intimately as i’m going to.”

you go back to fidgeting your fingers because the ultrasound was one thing, but dr. abbott getting his hands on you and seeing you fully? that was a whole different thing. but, he was a doctor, there was no reason for you to be as nervous as you feel right now looking up at dr. abbot as he towers over you. 

“i mean,” you begin, feeling that dr. abbot would appreciate honesty, “i am a little nervous.”

“just nervous?” he asks, at your answering nod he smirks, “i can handle nervous, everyone gets a little nervous when it comes to doctors.” he takes a few steps away from you before motioning to the vanity you have set up in the corner of your bedroom. a place to get ready before work or a night out. “mind if i use your stool?”

you answer without a thought, wanting to help make this appointment as smooth as possible for the both of you. “of course, whatever you need.”

he drags the stool over to where you’re still lying at the foot of the bed. your legs hang over the edge of the mattress, but your feet don’t touch the ground due to your lying position. you watch him from where you’re still propped up against the pillows settle on your stool. his steely gaze racks up your soft legs, over your panty clad cunt, tracking the stretch marks across your stomach from where your shirt is still pulled up from the ultrasound, until his gaze reaches your face.

“since this is our first time, i’m going to take my time.” dr. abbot explain gently, his voice soft and raspy. you notice how tightly he clasps his hands together in his lap, “first, i’m just going to look at you, make sure your vulva and mons pubis look healthy before i even get my hands on you, that sound good?”

the baby steps should put you more at ease, you feel lucky to have found a doctor who would go to such lengths to make you feel comfortable. but dr. abbot was a handsome man who was making you begin to squirm under his gaze. you don’t know if you’ll able to handle his gaze between your legs. and yet you still give him a nod and a smile that you hope looks genuine enough. 

“alright, so, even though i think these panties of your’s are pretty cute, they are blocking my view.” he jokes, a wry smile gracing his weathered features. 

you can feel your cheeks heating up, a flash of embarrassment making your chest tighten momentarily. he laughs good naturedly at you, though, and you can’t help but smile with him, “of course, dr. abbot.” you reach down to the lacy waistband, pulling them down your legs. you sit up a bit to pull them off around your ankles so you don’t completely expose yourself to him, lying back against the pillows. 

he reaches for your ankles, guiding your feet up onto the bed. “knees apart and feet planted firmly on the bed so i can get a good view there.” 

you feel like such a flustered, mess with dr. abbot having to remind you of everything. of course you couldn’t lay with your legs hanging off the bed. but you do as he says, spreading your knees apart and pressing your bare feet firmly into the mattress beneath you. 

“just a little wider,” he murmurs, pulling the stool underneath himself closer to the bed, his broad shoulders making a place for themselves between your spread thighs. he looks up at you, his green eyes almost endless, “there we go, good job letting me in like this.” he praises.

your eyes dart up to the ceiling at the compliment, not sure of how to even respond. instead you fist your hands into the bunched up cotton of your t shirt that’s still pushed up your stomach. you never quite know what to do with your hands even when it's dr. carrie examining you so these nerves are familiar. dr. abott keeps his promise of not touching. well, kind of.

his gloved hands are featherlight on your inner thighs, at your little gasp he drags his eyes from where they were previously locked on your cunt. "i know i said i wouldn't touch at first, sweetheart, but i have to make sure you keep yourself open for me. for the exam." he squeezes your squishy flesh underneath his fingers. 

you giggle at the gesture, the sound bubbling up your throat without permission. "sorry, sorry," you apologize, "just a little nervous still, but keep going."

"alright, but if anything changes, just let me know," he winks at you, another honest to god wink, before his eyes trail back down between your legs. you watch him take a deep inhale of breath, his shoulders dropping as he lets out a long sigh.

you don't know what to make of it, "everything alright, dr. abott?"

"yeah, yeah," he assures you, his eyes cutting back up to your's, "she's perfect, actually."

"perfect?" you question. at your pap smears dr. carrie would say your cervix looked beautiful and healthy, but she would never use the word perfect. 

"perfectly healthy," he smirks, "there's nothing out of the ordinary that i'm seeing here." 

the room goes silent for a few more moment as jack just looks. it makes you squirm, makes you want to fill the silence. "i know you say everything looks fine, but it probably doesn't help that i didn't shave." you begin to babble, "i just didn't realize how bad it had gotten and i would have shaved before you came over but i was trying to clean up my place before-"

"oh, well that's very sweet of you, but there's nothing for you to apologize for." he looks up at you, forcing direct eye contact that you want to shy away from but somehow manage not to. "i actually prefer it."

"prefer what? bush?" you ask in disbelief. 

if he weren't so charming and hadn't been so comforting to you so far you'd describe his responding smile as predatory, "you're exactly right, sweetheart," his smile lessens and he straightens his shoulders, "but my preferences do not matter, it's what you prefer that's most important. but, i will say that keeping your body hair intact is the safest way to go."

he continues, "shaving and waxing can be painful for a lot of women, razor bumps and cuts can leave you vulnerable to infection so sometimes the healthiest option is not doing anything at all." 

you've never really been one to let a man reassure you about what you do with your own body, but somehow dr. abbot's words sooth all your iinsecurities regarding your bush because shaving and waxing have always been painful for you. it helps to have the approval of a medical professional. especially one so handsome. 

"alright, on to the next portion of the exam," he lets go of your thighs, instead bringing his hands up in front of him. he holds them up for you to see. "this is when the touching begins. just outside to start, is that ok?"

his question makes your stomach flutter, asking for permission even though he's your doctor and it’s his job to touch you. "of course, dr. abott." 

he brings his gloved hands back to your thighs, following the plain of muscles until his hands are resting at your bikini line. "pubic hair is great at keeping you clean and protected, but it can also hide things like ingrown hairs and cysts." his big thumbs sweep over your mons pubis, the action pulling your skin, exposing your pussy to the cool air of your bedroom. it sends a shiver down your spine.

"stuff like that is pretty harmless,” he begins again, "but it's better that i find it now than you find it later and freak out." 

somehow he’s right, you would freak out. any time you find an ingrown hair down there you convince yourself it's something else. you feel lucky that dr. abbot is thorough. and attentive. and so, so close to the most intimate part of yourself.

you watch his eyes track every crevice and curve between your legs, his big shoulders keeping them spread when you'd rather close them. he's just so hot and he's right there, but he's a doctor whose doing his job. and you're just some pervert.

"ok then, everything so far looks good and healthy. no cysts, no ingrown hairs, nothing for you to worry about."

you breathe a sigh of relief at the confirmation, one less thing for you to have to worry about in the future. dr. carrie has such a calming energy that always put you at ease, but dr. abott has his own way. dr. carrie was like an older female friend guiding you through womanhood while dr. abott feels like one of your dad's friends that you had a crush on growing up. 

"so now," dr. abbot interrupts your thoughts, reaching for the tube of lube he had placed on the bed earlier in the appointment. 

you watch him twist the top off, piercing the protective seal. he must have dozens of tubes in his bag if he makes these kind of house calls often. your mouth twists into a frown remembering that your time with the doctor will be coming to an end soon. 

"hey, hey," dr. abbot’s voice softens as his gaze lands on the pout on your downturned lips. “i know this next step can be a little scary since i’m not your regular doctor, but i promise i’ll go slow and stop whenever you tell me to, okay?”

your frown deepens at his words. of course he would be concerned over your comfort, taking your change in demeanor as anxiety rather than disappointment that he’s just a doctor doing his job. but, you'd really rather not divulge your real feelings at the moment, "thank you, dr. abott, your patients are all lucky to have a doctor as sympathetic as you."

"oh well, that's very sweet of you, honey," his smile is so charming, "and i don't usually try to poach my colleague's patients, but if you ever want to do this again, i'd be more than happy to take you on."

"you would?"

"of course i would," he confirms, his attention going back down to his work, squeezing a dollop of lube onto his gloved pointer finger. "you've made things very easy for me so far."

his praise makes your stomach settle, forever a people pleaser you are. you have to fight the smile that threatens to stretch your lips, "well, you just landed yourself a new patient, dr. abbot." you can't hold back, giving him a toothy grin when he looks up at you with his own smirk, "but, we'll keep that between the two of-" you cut yourself off with a gasp at the feeling of cold lube on your sensitive pussy lips.

“sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes,his sharp, cunning eyes trailing back down to where his fingers are exploring you. "the lube is always cold and i think it's better to rip the bandaid off sometimes instead of warning you."

he now has both hands stroking your folds, pulling them apart, "inner and outer vaginal lips both look good, very healthy." he comments, "now let's take a look up a little further."

one of his hands comes to rest against your mons pubis, pulling your skin, while his other hand slinks up your folds. "i'm going to pull back the clitoral hood," he explains, eyes drinking up every inch of wet skin, "and there she is."

you force your eyes shut in embarrassment, the husky rasp of his voice making your pussy clench around nothing. your eyes snap open and a gasp falls from your lips as you feel direct pressure on your clit. you look down at dr. abbot's gloved finger stroking over the swollen bud. "dr. abbot?"

your shocked voice doesn't make his movements falter, finger still stroking over your clit. his smirk is stronger than ever when he finally looks up to your face, "gotta make sure everything works, honey, you feel me touching your little clit?"

dr. carrie has never touched you like this. you know it's not right, but you would never argue with your doctor. you couldn't, even if you wanted to. you have to catch your breath, trying to clear your head of the heedy pleasure you feel at his hands, "yes, dr. abbot, of course i can feel you."

"that's good," he assures, "the clitoris functions solely as a source of pleasure, so i need to make sure it's doing it's job. was your boyfriend touching you here when he was hitting your cervix too hard?"

the question takes you by surprise and you find it hard to answer with dr. abbot’s finger still on your clit. "i don't know if he, i uh, i can't really remember," you stutter, the pressure against your clit growing stronger, dr. abott using all of his thick fingers to stroke the tender bud. "i'm sorry, it's hard to think." 

"oh well, you don't really have to think right now, i just need you to relax and i'll do all the work." dr. abbot's voice is smooth and soft, "but, your boyfriend should always be stimulating your clit.

dr. abbot leaves you speechless against the pillows, until his gloved thumb catches your clit just right and you let out a moan. embarrassment washes over you, your legs trying to close but unable to with dr. abbot's broad shoulders in the way. you bring your arm over your face, burying your flustered smile against the inside of your elbow so you don't have to look at the doctor's face.

he chuckles to himself, not unkindly, "nothing to be embarrassed about, honey, that's exactly what i wanted to hear. good response to stimulation."

you take a deep breathe, centering yourself. dr. abbot seems to be taking all of your inappropriate reactions in stride, so you will your embarrassment and anxiety down a couple notches. when you lift your arm away from your face you're met with his smiling face.

"there she is, was worried you were going to tap out on me." he jokes, "but hey, i know gynecology appointments can always feel a little bit strange, but i promise you, you're fine with me. no matter what you do, okay?"

you nod your head eagerly, greedy for his approval.

he gives you another wink, "good, now though," his hands leave your heated skin, pulling off his messy nitrile gloves. your stomach drops at the thought of this exam already being over. you relax minutely when dr. abbot gets his hands back on you, though. his wide hands and his thick fingers ghosting over the flesh of your inner thighs. "this next part can be a little uncomfortable for some people, i'm going to need to feel inside."

his thumbs sweep back and forth against your heated skin, goosebumps rising on the sensitive flesh. your eyes can't help but look at his toned forearms against the swell of your plush thighs. 

"honey?" dr. abbot's soft, gravelly voice gets your attention again. "you ready for the next part of the exam?"

you fidget with your fingers where your hands lay against your soft belly. you nod though, feeling safe in jack's care.

jack snaps on a clean pair of black nitrile gloves, the gloves somehow making his forearms look even bigger than they are. his hands are back on your skin, settling snuggly against the valley of your thighs, his thumbs sweeping over either side of your pussy lips. "i'm just going to start with one finger, okay? tell me if anything hurts or if you want to stop, hmm?"

you make some kind of noise in acknowledgement, too busy steeling yourself for the awaiting intrusion of one of the doctor's thick fingers. he continues his ministrations against your pussy lips for another long moment, though, warming up lube against your heated skin. 

you hum at the feeling, your head resting back against the pillows are your eyes shut in relaxation. he did say that keeping his patients comfortable was the most important part of his job. 

you have a thought that you could seriously fall asleep like this when he slides his first digit in. his finger is thick inside your wet walls but not enough to make you buck your hips or make an embarrassing noise. 

"so far, everything feels good, any pain?" with a shake of your head he keeps going. "that's good, this pussy should always feel good." he declares, lowly.

he slowly pushes his finger deeper inside of you, a flash of pain crosses your face as the digit meets resistance. "alright, well, not too hard to find your cervix. my suspicions were correct, the positioning of your uterus pushes your cervix closer to your vaginal opening." 

of course there had to be something wrong with you.

"hey," dr. abbot gets your attention, the pain subsiding as he gently strokes you from the inside. "trust me when i say it's very normal, many women have this same experience. i can show you how to your make your next time with your boyfriend feel much better."

you nod eagerly, "you can?"

"of course, honey, that's part of my job." he slides his finger out, resting it just outside your entrance. "i'm just going in with two fingers now, you'll be able to feel more than you would with just the one." 

the stretch of his two thick digits isn't that bad. it actually makes you involuntarily squirm against his hand, your body wanting more of him inside of you. you apologize for the actions after finally getting your hips to still against the mattress, "i'm sorry, it just feels-"

"good?" dr. abbot supplies.

"better, better than with my boyfriend." you admit into the quiet of the room. 

"hmm," dr. abbot hums to himself, eyes traveling down from your face to where his fingers are opening up your sensitive cunt. you can tell he's trying to suppress what you assume to be a shit eating grin. "well, that's exactly what i wanted to hear, sweetheart."

your stomach feels liquified at his praise, hot and heavy in your gut. but the shame and embarrassment of sharing such a moment with your doctor hits you, "he's not- he's not bad, he just, he just doesn't have the experie-"

"hey, hey," jack brings his free hand to rest gently against the fat of your inner thighs. stroking your skin like a spooked animal. "you don't have to defend him to me. actually, how about we just don't think about him right now. right now it's just you and me, okay?"

he brings his hand from your thigh to the softness of your stomach, a placating gesture. you instinctively suck in your stomach at the touch even though your stretch marks and tummy have been on display the whole time. his big hand gives your flesh a squeeze, fat jiggling underneath his fingers, "oh now, none of that. nothing wrong with being a healthy young woman," he winks.. 

you settle back into the pillows, not wanting to interrupt the doctor's work any more than you already have.

"alright, so let's get back to it," his thick fingers sink deeper into your hole until they hit that spot that makes you grimace. "again, this is your cervix and your cervix does not like to be battered by something big like my fingers." 

he adjusts his fingers, pulling back slightly before pushing up inside of you. "you're going to want to avoid that by aiming up." he emphasizes his words by pressing hard and firm against the spongey spot at the top of your pussy. 

it sends a jolt of pleasure up your spine that causes your hips to buck up from the bed. dr. abbot hadn't moved his hand from your stomach, so he uses it to hold your body down against the bed as he holds pressure on that specific spot, stroking it delicately with the pads of his fingertips. your legs, on their own accord, try to slam shut, but the doctor's broad shoulders keep them open. 

"i'd ask if it feels good, but i think i already got my answer." he remarks, his movements inside of you slowing until his fingers stop completely, "but, that is how it's supposed to feel."

with his fingers still inside of you you're able to catch a breath and try to compose yourself. "but how," you stop, your cheeks hot with self consciousness, "how can a guy, like, aim his penis like that? i get you can do it with your fingers because you can see and feel things better, but how is a guy supposed to be able to do that when he's inside of me..." you trail off, ending your rambling.

he considers your words for a long moment before answering, "i can show you that, too."

"show me? show me how to...fuck me?" 

"i'd be more than happy to give you a demonstration, it's what i'm here for," he reassures.

for you, there's nothing to think about. you still pretend to mull it over though, not wanting to seem too eager for your doctor. you bite your lip,  "as long as you're sure, dr. abbot." 

"don't worry about me, honey," he says almost bashfully, "i'm just happy to help."

you two share a smile before he looks back down to where his fingers are still buried in you. "i don't say this to toot my own horn, but to instead give you a little warning. i'm thick, thicker than these two fingers, so i'm going to add another finger to get you nice and ready for me, ok?"

this whole ordeal has rendered you speechless, dr. abbot has been nothing but assuring and confident during this whole appointment. it should scare you how much you trust him already, but aren't you supposed to trust your doctors? 

"i'm going to need you to help me a little bit. i'm going to need both of my hands for the next part and since i already know you're a little sensitive i'm going to need you to hold your legs a part for me, okay?" the hand that was on your stomach trails down to join his other at your pussy. his thumb strokes absently at your puffy clit.

that little stimulation has heat pooling in your gut again, but you fight through the fog of pleasure to grip your hands underneath either of your thighs, your feet leaving the mattress, leaving yourself completely open his gaze.

"good, good, you're great at following direction," he praises as you feel a third thick finger teasing your entrance. there's some resistance to the new intrusion as the other two fingers start slowly pumping inside of you. "come on, honey, open up for me, please."

the thumb that had been ghosting against your clit is stroking tight circles against the bud now causing your head to toss back against the pillows. you whine at the pleasure as he's finally able to slip a third finger past your tight walls.

"there we go, just needed your clit played with for you to relax a little bit more for me, good job, sweetheart." his voice is gentle almost but his words and the casual nature he says them drives you absolutely crazy. "like i said earlier, your boyfriend should always be playing with your clit."

you whine at his touch, your hips jerking up and down. trying to get more pressure on your clit while trying to get his fingers to press on that magic spot again. it's as if he reads your mind though, the speed of his fingers on your clit quickening while the pressure inside of your cunt builds up.

"oh. fuck," you whine, body overwhelmed with pleasure. "dr. abbot!"

"i hear you, honey, i hear you," he coos at your whines and cries of pleasure. his movements slow, "but, this is how it's supposed to feel, supposed to feel so fucking good."

his movements come to a halt and then his fingers are slipping out of you. you let out a confused whine as he stands up from the bed. you watch him tug his gloves off.

"remember, i told you i'd give you a demonstration of the real thing?" your memory is jogged as you watch him pull his thick, blood hot cock out of the opening of his black trousers. he was right to open you up more. he sinks back down onto the bed between your legs. your eyes are glassy as you take him in, his big hand wrapping around his hard cock, pumping it, wrist flicking over his fat tip. 

his other hand reaches further up the bed. he's pulled another pillow from the head of your bed. "here, i'm going to put this under your hips," he instructs, slipping the cushion underneath you. "that will help with the angle, when you're directly flat on your back you're more likely to hit your cervix." 

you nod your head like you're paying attention to his words, but your mind is much more preoccupied with the thick, hard cock that is getting closer and closer to your weeping pussy. it aches to be filled again. 

"i'll go slow, i promise. you let me know if anything hurts or i need to stop." at your nod of understanding he continues on, shuffling his knees until he's able to rest his cock head right on your sensitive clit. he trails his swollen tip through your wet folds, "so beautiful and perfect. i'm going to make her feel so good."

and with that declaration, he's breaching your entrance. he stays true to his words, he goes slow, letting you adjust to his girth and weight instead of just mindlessly pounding your hole like some guys would. it's the thickest cock you've ever taken, but the stretch makes your stomach flutter and your clit pulse from where it sits untouched.

"ready for me to move, sweetheart?"

"please, dr. abbot."

he smirks down at you as he adjusts your thick legs, guiding you to wrap them around his built waist. his hands rest on your hips, squeezing your love handles as he presses you flush to the mattress, completely under his control. after all, it is his demonstration, you think.

he thrust shallowly at first, slowly building up momentum. "wanna start slow, build up pressure inside of you instead of forcing it." his hands trail up your quivering sides, pushing up your shirt. "now, you tell me when you feel me against that spot so i can-"

"oh, fuck, dr. abbot!" you all but cry out as his cock slides deliciously across the sport his fingers had played with earlier. 

"there it is." he coos, a smirk evident in his voice, "feels much better this way, right?"

"yeah, fuck," you hiccup, voice hoarse and eyes glassy with unshed tears as your orgasm quickly approaches. you looks down as his hands creep further and further up your torso until he's managed to push your shirt up your chest, your tits bouncing freely with his thrusts. you uselessly try to cover yourself, "oh my god! i'm sorry, dr. abbot, i forgot to put a bra on." you whine in embarrassment.

"fuck," he bites, his eyes pulling from your chest for a moment before he looks back up at your face, "don't even worry about it, honey, this is actually perfect timing for me to do a breast exam." 

even as he sits up on his heels, his thrusts never falter and you're dizzy with it. your eyes roll back as he reaches down to stroke your clit in tight circles as his other hand gropes the flesh of one of your tits. he palpates the tissue for a moment before taking your hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching experimentally. "oh, sweetheart, that made your pussy clench around me. you like having your nipples played with, too?"

you don't answer his question, too busy bracing yourself for your impending orgasm. all the stimulation has your brain foggy, but you can still feel that urge like you have to pee. but, dr. abbot said that that was normal, that that probably meant you were just going to ejaculate. he's gained enough of your trust already to get you to fully relax in his hold. 

you look up at him with your big, glassy eyes, "i'm gonna cum." your voice is quiet compared to sound of his thrusts, his pants rumpling against your delicate skin.

"i told you this pretty pussy was going to feel so fucking good," he leans down, voice a husky growl in your ear, "you just needed someone to take their time with you-"

"jack," you whine, cutting him off.

but he just keeps going, "to learn how to make this beautiful pussy feel so good."

"jack!" you all but squeal as your orgasm rips through you, your release soaking jack's hard cock and staining his pants and the towel underneath you. your body twitches and shakes while your cunt pulses and clenches through the aftershocks. 

"there's my fucking girl," jack's voice is almost a growl as he slips out of you, taking his cock in hand so he can run his hard tip through your slippery folds.

"jack," you whine again, making grabby hands for your boyfriend.

he concedes, leaning down to let you wrap your arms around his shoulders. "'jack'? what happened to "dr.abbot’'?" he teases.

"shut up," you roll your eyes, your mind and body slowly coming back online. you don't squirt all that often, mostly because it's not something your body does regularly, but jack always has his way of pressing the right buttons. 

"neither of us broke character," your voice is almost a whisper, shocked at the both of you being able to stay so composed and in your roles. you two can barely keep a bit going for more than a few minutes before one of you breaks and you're both laughing. but, you somehow managed to keep the fantasy going a lot longer than either of you anticipated. 

his brows furrow, "did you think one of us was going to break?"

"you do not want me to answer that." you joke back, knowing that your honest answer of ‘yes, you’ would hurt hit little feelings. 

instead of a retort, he just looks at you. his eyes soft and his lips turned up in a small, content smile. "i like having fun with you."

the sincerity of it strikes you, your stomach filling with lovely warmth. "i like having fun with you, too, jack." your eyes flick down to where his legs are tucked underneath himself on the bed. "is your leg okay?"

"i'm good to keep going," he answers, his hand going back down to stroke his wet, half hard cock. 

Jack is exhausted as he opens the door to his apartment, the kind of tired that was bone deep and left him aching all over. His eyes burn, his throat is dry, and his leg is sore from thirteen hours on his feet. His thoughts are clouded with lab values and his ears ring with the phantom beep of machines.

He drops his bag on the dining table, promising himself he’ll stick it in the hall closet later, and heads for the kitchen. He opens the freezer and rummages around until he finds a breakfast sandwich shoved in the back corner. He grabs a plate from the drying rack and unwraps the sandwich, sticking it in the microwave. 

While it cooks, he visits the bathroom and strips out of his scrubs, leaving them in a heap on the floor. He starts the shower, turning the water to near scalding, and sits down on the closed toilet lid to remove his prosthetic with practiced efficiency.

His shower is quick and clinical. He sits on the built-in bench for most of it, scrubbing his skin raw. When he’s done, he shuts the water off and gets out, leaning against the wall for stability as he dries off. He keeps a stack of clothing in the bathroom closet — a t-shirt, boxers, a pair of sweatpants — and he changes into them before fitting his prosthetic back on.

The sandwich is barely warm by the time he opens the microwave but he doesn’t care. He eats it in four quick bites and sticks the plate in the dishwasher. 

Jack heads for the bedroom and opens the door quietly. You’re lying in the middle of the bed, face down with your arms wrapped around your pillow. You’ve kicked the sheets away in your sleep the way you tend to do, prone to running hot. The blackout curtains are already shut, a thin line of sunlight seeping into the room past the heavy fabric, and you’ve got the sound machine on, the ebb and flow of ocean waves drifting through the room.

Sometimes, if his shift runs late, you’re already awake when he comes home. You’ll be in the kitchen, making breakfast, humming some tune he doesn’t recognize because he listens to audiobooks more than music, but he likes the way you fill his apartment with noise. He got too used to the quiet, the way it would weigh heavy on his shoulders, full of memories and mistakes. 

Other times, like this morning, you’re still asleep. Warm, soft, lips parted as you breathe steadily. Selfishly, he loves this more because he knows it means you have nowhere else to be, nothing else to do — you’re all his. 

He sits on the edge of the bed and removes his prosthetic again, tucking it neatly between the bed frame and the nightstand. He reaches for the sheet at the end of the bed and drags it back, letting it settle over you both. 

You left your head from the pillow, squinting at him in the dark. Your lips stretch into a slow smile.

“Hey, baby,” you whisper, voice raspy from sleep. “How was work?”

“S’alright,” he says. You wiggle toward him, head on his pillow, a leg thrown over his hip. He runs his palm up your bare thigh. 

He’s not feeling so tired anymore.

You hum, eyes drifting shut again. He doesn’t stop touching you, letting his hand wander over your waist, sneaking beneath the hem of your t-shirt. The muscles of your abdomen jump under his touch. 

He reaches higher, palming your breast. You inhale sharply, arching into the touch, and he pinches the tight bud of your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He watches your face, mesmerized by the way your lashes flutter against your cheeks and your lips part in a breathy sigh.

Jack tucks his head between your neck and shoulder, taking a deep breath, what feels like the first since he stepped inside the hospital last night. You smell like something sweet, like that perfume you wear to work, but also like him — his detergent, his soap. He groans, opens his mouth, drags his lips across your neck in a kiss.

His hand drifts lower, down your belly, fingers finding the elastic of your underwear and slipping beneath it. He drags a finger through your slit, collecting some of the slick gathering at your entrance. He gently circles your clit, touch light, barely there, but your hips chase it regardless.

“Know you’re tired,” he mumbles into your skin. He lifts his head. “But can I—?”

“Of course.”

Jack groans, biting your shoulder lightly. 

Sometimes he can’t believe his luck, can’t believe a woman like you would even look twice at him, let alone let him call you his. You’re so bright that sometimes it hurts to look at you, hurts to touch because he’s scared of dimming your light. 

But sometimes, in the dark, it feels safe. Sacred. He can let himself have it because in the dark he's always found forgiveness.

He lifts his head and gently eases you onto your back, hovering over you. You tilt your chin towards him and he kisses you, slowly, thoroughly. He probably tastes like burnt coffee and microwaved eggs but you don’t seem to care, opening up for him, tangling your tongue with his.

He pulls away and tips his forehead against yours. You reach up to cup his face in your palms, rubbing your thumbs over his cheeks. Grounding him, something you do without even realizing it, like it’s second nature — a hand on his arm when you’re at the grocery store, wrapping yourself around him from behind when you’re standing in line, your foot nudging his calf at a restaurant. 

He reaches for the bottom of your shirt. You sit up a little to allow him to remove it and toss it to the floor. He kisses your sternum, over the curve of your breast, then to your nipple. He drags his tongue along the sensitive bud before pulling it between his lips and sucking hard enough to make you gasp, easing up slightly to let you catch your breath before doing it again.

Jack switches to your other breast, giving it the same thorough attention. Only when you’re squirming beneath him and your quiet moans turn to whines does he move on, leaving open mouthed kisses down your tummy until he reaches your underwear.

He sits back on his knees and pulls the scrap of fabric down your thighs, throwing it in the same general direction as your shirt. You let your legs fall open wider and he reaches toward you, framing your pussy between his hands and using his thumbs to gently spread you open.

“There she is,” he murmurs. He leans in closer, gathers some spit on his tongue and opens his mouth, letting it drip down right on top of your clit. The moan you let out is wanton, desperate.

“Jesus, Jack,” you say with a little laugh. “You’re filthy this morning.”

He hums, eyes flicking to yours. He holds your gaze as he licks through your folds, one broad stripe from your entrance to your clit. Your head drops back against the pillow, hands reaching down to tangle in his hair. He sets a pace that’s leisurely, all broad swipes and slow circles and long pulls of your clit between his lips. He could eat your pussy for hours and still not be satisfied, still not had his fill. 

“Jack,” you moan, hips flexing against his face. He doesn’t hold you still, lets you chase the pleasure however you want. His chin grows wet with spit and slick but he doesn’t care. “Fuck—I’m—more, I need more.”

He presses two fingers to your entrance, slides them inside of you with little resistance. The noise you let out is feral, something from deep in your chest that makes his cock twitch, smearing sticky precum all over his underwear, leaking through to his sweatpants.

Jack curls his fingers, stroking you from within. You start to tighten around his digits, close to finishing, and he uses his thumb to circle your clit in tandem with the pulse of his fingers. He reaches up, grips your chin in his left hand, holds your gaze as your lashes flutter and your eyes roll back, mouth dropping open in a silent scream as you pulse around him, impossibly tight and hot and wet.

He eases you through it, slow and steady, until your muscles unwind enough for him to withdraw his hand. You whine a little at the loss but he shushes you, crawling up to lie beside you.

“So pretty,” he says, kissing you, “so pretty when you come.”

You smile at him, a little dazed — forehead damp with sweat and eyes glassy. He turns you onto your side, facing away from him, and presses in close, kissing your neck, dragging his tongue over your pulse.

“You didn’t think I was done, did you?” He asks. You shake your head.

“I know you better than that,” you reply. “You’re gonna make me all messy and I won’t be able to go back to sleep until I’ve showered.”

He pulls your hips back against his, grinding against your ass. “I like you messy.”

“I know.”

He shoves his sweatpants and underwear down, just enough for his cock to spring free. You lift your top leg slightly, giving him space to drag his length through your slick flesh. He groans, burying his face into your shoulder.

“Come on, baby,” you coo. You reach between your legs and guide his tip to your entrance. The next flex of his hips buries him inside your tight heat, just barely. Just the tip, splitting you open, your body welcoming him inside. “That’s it, just like that.”

He sinks in further, deeper, chasing the warmth. You hook your leg over his waist, keeping yourself open to him. His sharp thrusts fill the room with skin slapping against skin, loud enough to drown out the serene ocean waves.

You tilt your face back and Jack kisses you, reaching up to rest his palm on your throat. Not squeezing, not demanding, just solid and there. 

His release builds quickly, his thrusts growing short, fast, no true rhythm to be found. You’re moaning into his mouth and he can feel you fluttering around him, little pulses around his cock that drive him crazy.

“You gonna fill me up, Jack?” You murmur. 

He grunts, reaching down to grab your hip, pulling you back against his every thrust. “You want that?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter. “Please.”

“Say it.”

“Cum in me, baby.” His cock twitches. “Wanna feel it.”

Jack comes, moaning your name, squeezing your hip, pulsing inside of you, filling you with a sudden rush of warmth. He holds you tight against him until cock starts to soften and he slips free.

You turn over, facing him. Head on his pillow, nose brushing his. He reaches for your leg and drapes it over his hip then slips a hand between your thighs, dragging his fingers through the mess he’s made. Your eyelids flutter and you squeeze his shoulder as he presses two fingers inside of you.

“You okay?” He asks. You huff a laugh.

“Better than okay,” you tell him. He smiles in that Jack Abbot way, small and secretive. 

“You got anywhere to be today?” 

“Nope.”

“Good,” he mumbles, shutting his eyes. “Stay with me.”

It’s late afternoon when Jack wakes up to an empty bed. He’s not surprised. You usually last about another hour before having to get up before him, leaving him to sleep. He finds you in the living room, on the couch, watching TV. 

You look up when he enters. He rubs his neck, stretches his arms above his head, his shirt lifting just enough to reveal a bit of his stomach. He looks good when he just wakes up. His eyes are a little brighter, shoulders a little less tense. 

“I made you some coffee,” you tell him. He glances toward the kitchen but moves toward you, sitting beside you on the couch.

“Thank you,” he says, pulling you in for a kiss that says he doesn’t mean just for the coffee.

Thank you, for everything, he thinks. When he pulls back, you smile at him, bright as ever.

“You’re welcome.”

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment or reblogging if you enjoyed this fic -- they keep me inspired!

LINKS

you don't know how it happened. truly. an honest slip up. maybe it was the overtime working on your already stressed brain or maybe it was too much time spent an the ed. enough time that a few lines between work and the. hospital could be blurred. or it's was something dormant inside you that was currently being fucked out of your system–but it happened. "s-shit, you feel so good, dr. abbot–" you choked out and as soon as the new style of dirty talk rolled off your tongue, you froze. and the same time your eyes flew open, you felt jack twitch inside you. you don't have enough time to correct your dirty little mistake before jack speaks, and it wasn't exactly what you were expecting.

"doctor abbot? so..so when you call me that at work, its a turn on? f-fuck..such a dirty girl..." he managed out, breathing even more ragged that before. you gulp thickly at the possibility of that being true, but the tug in your lower belly makes your eyes fall shut again. and all of sudden, the grip on your hips gets tighter, his nail digging into your flesh like it was a way to control himself. yet, he failed. a sharp gasp was yanked from your throat as jack upraised your ass and tugged you down in one swift movement that makes you yelp out of a mix of pain and pleasure. he groaned and it was guttural. chest vibrating against yours as he hummed out a shaky "fuck..." while fucking you. ass slapping against his thighs as he takes total control.

"go on...tell me how much you love being used by dr. abbot, baby. tell me." he breathed, voice rasped and gravelly, sending a blunt spark of heat down your back and straight to your puffy clit and making the coil in your stomach clench. you nodded franticly, hair and tits bouncing as his hips lifted to meet yours and driving himself deeper. you're moving so fast it's hard for you to speak a coherent sentence, but you tried. "i..I love it–fuck–when you use me, dr. abbot. I fucking love it–" you whimpered, trembling hands finding his broad shoulders and holding on for dear life. "yeah, that's right, sweetheart...you love being fucked by your doctor."

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