As soon as she opened the door, he held his hands out to her, beaming, "Come give me a kiss, pretty girl!"

Happy that he was happy, she threw herself into his arms, heart soaring as he caught her, kissing her before the door even got a chance to click closed.

Lifting her beneath the arms, he spun her in a circle. "Who's your favorite clever doctor?"

"You are, but what's the occasion?"

"Guess who got you a week of leave?"

"A week?" She kissed him again, arms wrapping behind his neck.

"A week. You and me and mountain air. So tell me again, whose girl are you?"

"Yours, Sir!"

"And who is my favorite girl?"

"Is it me?"

"It's you, little lady." Smirking, he held her beneath the thighs, letting her legs wrap around his waist as he kissed her, her lips parting in a laugh.

"You're amazing!"

"Aren't I?"

"When do we go?"

"Next week, if it so pleases you."

"It absolutely pleases me." She sighed, content as he pressed her back against the wall, his body going flush with hers.

"One week, then it's just an hour's drive and we're nice and tucked away."

"Where are we staying?"

"I have a family house out there. It certainly isn't as nice as anything you'd be used to, but it's served me well over the years."

"I don't care what it looks like, so long as it's not here."

"Well, on that I can assure you; it is decidedly not here."

"And it's just us?" She thought again of the prying day staff.

"Just us and the coziest cabin you've ever seen."

"Yes?"

"Oh yes. I hope you don't mind the size; not everyone can be a little heiress, after all. But between the two of us we'll have a living room, a bedroom, and a wine cellar that's more of a spare room, but who cares really?"

"Not me," kissing him again, she felt her gut untangle in relief. So much space; she had gotten used to being stacked atop other patients like sardines. "And you're certain you want to bring me with you?"

"Violet," he clicked his tongue, leaning in to kiss along her throat. "How many times are we going to go through this?"

"I'm sorry, it's just-" She gasped, the sound turning to a groan as he rocked himself against her.

"I know, I know. It's smarter if I don't. God knows what other types of trouble you have in store for me, but I am primarily a curious man, and I intend to find out. Besides," he kissed beneath her chin, pushing her face to the side, "where else am I going to find such a pretty poison?"

"Thank you, Sir, I can't tell you how much-"

"I know, Jailbait. I know. Words don't do it justice. So why don't you go ahead and show me?"

Kissing her again, he pushed his tongue into her mouth. Moaning, she gripped him tighter. His fingers dug into her skin, harshly pinning her in place as he ground himself up against her. Silently, she prayed it would leave bruises; it was nice to have physical proof of being held.

Opening her mouth as wide as she could manage, she whined, arching against the wall, trying to get closer to him. The breath squeezed from her chest as he pushed back, flattening her. Unable to move, she just held on, groaning as the bulge in his pants grew harder, the friction of him grinding it against her curling her toes.

"Olaf, put me down," she turned her head to the side, unable to speak around his mouth.

"Why?" he growled, running his tongue over her jugular. She swallowed.

"Because I need you. Because I want to thank you."

"Oh yes?" he chuckled, making no move to release her.

"Yes, I want you. I want-"

"You want what from me?"

"I want you inside me," groaning she tightened her fingers into fists.

"Oh yes?"

"Yes."

"And what would you do if I put you down?"

"Anything you wanted."

"Anything I wanted…" humming, he thought it over. "And what if what I want is to fuck you against this wall?"

"Then at least let me down long enough to get my clothes off."

"My, you are a sick girl, aren't you? Begging to take your clothes off me for."

"Please, Sir. I won't tell, I-"

"Why do you want to get naked for me, Miss Baudelaire?"

"Pardon?"

"Let's say I let you down and you take off that dress. What happens next, in that little head of yours?"

"You touch me." Flushed, she closed her eyes. "You fuck me."

"And would you like that, Miss Baudelaire?"

"Yes, Sir." She bit her lip as he bucked sharply up against her.

"Well then. Who am I to deny such a pretty thing her fantasies?" Setting her down, he caught her face between his hands, kissing her roughly. Whimpering, she tugged his pants open, blind fingers stumbling over his zipper. All she wanted was to keep him happy, to keep herself in his arms. She liked it when he was happy.

Crossing her arms over herself, she quickly tugged up her shirt, breaking the kiss so that she could take it off.

"Good girl," he smiled, taking off his own shirt as she shimmied out of her skirt. "No lace this time?"

"I'm sorry, Sir, if I had known-"

"It's fine. Not like I was going to let you stay in these anyway." Lifting her beneath the arms again, he sat her down on his desk. Making quick work of her bra, he tugged it off rather roughly before leaning in to run his tongue between her breasts. Shivering, she moaned, fingers digging into his back as he circled her nipple with his tongue before catching it between his teeth.

Flustered, she held onto him as he nipped at the skin, leaving a trail of bruises to mark his place. She wondered if given the chance, he would make her all one bruise.

"Tell me, Miss Baudelaire," kneading her breasts in his hands, he leaned close to her face, "who else gets to touch you like this?"

"No one, Sir," she shifted, a mounting pressure building between her legs.

"No one? But you have such a pretty little body. Surely a girl with your condition must face certain temptations?"

"No, Sir." She shook her head. "Only you."

"And why's that, Baudelaire?"

"Because I'm your girl."

"Correction," he smirked, kissing her lightly. "You're my good girl."

"Olaf, I want-" Shuddering, she groaned as he pressed his mouth to her breast again. "I need you. Right now."

Standing slowly, he tugged her panties down over her hips. "Is that so?"

"Yes! Please. I want you so badly- I want to thank you."

"Yes, Jailbait?"

"Yes," touching his erection, she ran her thumb over the purpled tip. What a fantastic color, she thought, decided it was her favorite. That's just the type of man he was, she supposed. He had hands that could make you love even yourself.

With a moan, he kissed her lips, pushing her knees further apart. Again, his fingers ran up her thighs, finding purchase on her hips and then digging in as he finally, finally penetrated her.

Gasping, she lifted her legs, clutching his arms as he slowly thrust.

"There you go… Very good," he groaned. His rhythm was slow, deliberate.

"Olaf," she rolled his name through her mouth, leaning forward to kiss him with her tongue. "Faster. Please."

"Not yet, Miss Baudelaire. I fully intend to take my sweet time with this."

"Olaf," she whined against his lips, dragging the soft "f" through her teeth.

Shushing her, he enveloped her mouth in a kiss. "Quiet, Jailbait. Be a good girl and take it."

And so she did, entire body rocking with him as he moved, his hard arousal pressing between her legs with such steady meter that for a moment she wondered if he wanted her at all or if she had tricked him. But then he was groaning, the sound strained, and everything was right once again.

"You're so wet, god. You really love giving yourself up, don't you?" Tugging her lip between his teeth, he groaned. "You barely let a moment pass before you're clamoring for a chance to climb into my lap, humping my fucking leg like a damn dog." He clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

"Sir, I didn't mean-"

"Such a pretty little thing, too. It really is too bad you're a whore, otherwise you might have had a chance."

"A chance?"

"Sure. No man will want to marry you now. Easy and an orphan? No."

All at once, all the happiness in her belly dissolved. Ignorant of her pain, he continued to thrust inside her, grunting as he did so.

"What do you mean? What are you trying to-'

"Don't be too hard on yourself; It's not your fault you're sick." His voice was a groan as he spoke matter-of-factly.

"How would they know? Did you tell anyone?"

"No, no. Of course not. I promised I wouldn't, didn't I?"

"How would they know then? If I don't tell and you don't tell-"

"They'll know. If you don't stop fucking random men, you won't be so nice and tight anymore. Someone needs to teach you a lesson about what happens to little girls who spread their legs too easily." Groaning, he pressed himself fully inside her. Scrambling for purchase, she gasped, clutching his arms.

"Sir, I-" she gasped again as he thrust.

"Yes, that's right, Miss Baudelaire. That's a good girl. And if you're going to stay a good girl, if you're ever going to leave here, you need to promise me you won't fuck anyone else besides me. For your own good."

"No! Of course not!"

"Lots of men will try to take advantage of you. You have to be careful if you want to land a good man."

"You think someone could still want me?"

"Oh, Miss Baudelaire," moaning, he kissed her neck, "many men would pay top dollar for the privilege of having such a pretty little girl."

Nodding silently, she held onto him, hoped he was right.

"Come on then," tilting her chin upwards, he kissed her lips, "give us a smile."

"I'm not trying to be bad," choking up, she prayed she wouldn't cry.

"I know, Jailbait. I know." Murmuring low, he kept kissing her, breaking up her words unevenly.

"I'm trying to be good, I am, I don't know why I keep doing bad things, I don't want to, but I can't stop, I can't-" her words were muffled as he kissed her more forcefully.

"It's okay, Miss Baudelaire. You're a very sick girl, and we're going to get you better. Okay?"

"Okay, Sir." Still sullen, she leaned back, giving up.

"Hey, hey, hey." Smiling gently, he pulled her back towards himself. "Trust me." Cradling her cheek, he pressed his thumb to her lips, waiting until she let him slide it onto her tongue. "I will protect you. Okay?" Nodding, she closed her lips around his finger as he pulled it out. "Good. Now let me take care of you." Roughly, he bucked forward into her, beginning to thrust more quickly. Gasping, she arched forward. "There we go. Happy thoughts, Jailbait "

"Yes, Sir," she held onto his shoulders tightly, her voice jumping with each movement.

"Good girl. Good little girl." Grunting, he hammered against her steadily. "You're safe. I've got you."

"I'm sorry, Sir; I'm sorry-" She moaned, the sound staccatoed by his thrusts.

"Enough apologies. Just think: our own cabin. Me and you."

"All week?"

"All week."

Smiling again, albeit weakly, she pressed her chest to his, kissing him. Rolling her hips forward, he thrust hard.

"Good girl. So much trouble, aren't you?" Chuckling, he kissed her back, holding her face to his.

"Is that okay?"

"You're very lucky I can't resist your charms, little minx." Moving his mouth along her neck, he kept bucking quickly.

"Oh!" she cried, startled by a particularly hard thrust. "Oh my god-"

"Yes, is that good?"

"Yes, right there! Don't stop!"

"Oh, darling, he groaned, "We are well past the point of stopping."

"Fuck- Oh my god- Olaf-" Panting, she dug her fingers into him.

"You like that, Jailbait?" His movements were sharp, quick, all pretense of gentleness gone. "How's that feel?"

"Good! You're- Fuck, you're so big." Whining, she lifted her shoulders up beside her face. With every movement, he strained her body, the joints of her hips aching as he held her legs open.

"Feels good, doesn't it? Having a thick cock shoved inside you?"

"Olaf," she whined, desperate and needy.

"Yes? Something to say?"

"You're so good, oh my god-" open-mouthed, she pressed her lips against him, stifling the sound that clawed out of her body.

"Keep talking, Miss Baudelaire. Thank me for fucking you."

"Thank you, Sir. Thank you. I'm all yours, only yours- Shit, Olaf, oh my god- I'm so close-"

"How close?"

"So close! Don't stop, don't stop-"

"Beg me to let you cum around my dick."

"Oh god, I want to- Please don't stop, I'm so close, so close-" She whined, squeezing her eyes shut. "I want you inside me, I want to feel you, to belong to you, I-" the words died in her mouth, becoming a buzz of ultrasonic noise. Tangling her hair tight in his fist, he craned her neck back, kissing her open lips. Her back arched, bones straining as she trembled, his mouth swallowing any sound she might have made.

Rutting against her, he grunted, evidently not minding the harshness of his movements. Taking advantage of her gasping breath, he shoved his tongue into her mouth, mixing his groan with hers as she shuddered through her climax. A few more thrusts and he was pushing her backwards, the weight of his body heavy against her as he bent over her, muscles braced. Her elbows smacked against the desk behind her, inadvertently reclining her. Groaning, he rolled his hips forward with sharp snaps of movement. Still riding her own tremors of bliss, she watched him, the way his hands dimpled her skin as he searched for purchase along her thighs. Teeth clenched tightly, he came inside her, moaning loudly as he did so. "Good girl, Jailbait. Very good." Slower now, he pumped inside her a few more times until he was done, pulling out with a sigh.

Quick, she grabbed his face, tugged him towards her until he was holding her again, kissing her with his beautiful mouth. He wrapped her in his arms, kissed her undeserving lips, her foolish tongue. Giddy, she pressed her legs to his sides, never wanting him to let him go. If only she could stay this way forever, she could be happy.

Again, she thought of the mountain home awaiting them, white cotton sheets cool on her skin as she got to wake up every morning in his arms, fall asleep every night to the sound of his heartbeat instead of the shouts of other patients. Sunlit mornings where she cooked him breakfast and made him happy; so very, very happy. And he would rake his hands through her hair, kiss the paleness from her cheeks, call her his, his, his. Had there ever been a more beautiful word? His. It was a word you held in your mouth like a marble, had to work not to choke on.

"Such a good girl," he muttered against her lips with a smile.

"Yours, Sir?" Her fingers traced his temples, his jaw.

"Mine. All mine." His tongue brushed against the edge of her teeth.

Content, she wrapped her arms behind his neck, decided she would hold onto him for a week straight until he carried her away himself.