Huge amounts of love from my beta Lara, my lovely prereaders and YOU!
5. The Physician
"Oh, come on!" Lauren's loud and perhaps a little tipsy. "You never let loose, come over!" Her persistent nagging makes me rethink my plans for the evening. Sure, lasagna and a movie is fine—when you're content with life, sitting on the couch with the person you love. For me, on the other hand, it sounds kind of pathetic.
"Fine, I'm coming… Text me the address. I'll be there in an hour," I mumble, already making my way down to the kitchen, dumping my empty plate in the sink after I scooped up the last forkful of pasta.
I rush to the bathroom, pulling my oversized shirt over my head and dropping it to the floor. While I brush my teeth and take out my makeup bag, I think about the options for my wardrobe. Dancing. I haven't been dancing in ages.
Leaving my hair naturally wavy, I walk out of the bathroom with a nude smokey eye and some matte lip paint that's going to last me the remainder of the night. I pick out my most scandalous top to go with a pair of skintight black jeans, pairing it with some platform boots to make it comfortable. As I douse myself in perfume, I take a look in the mirror. My skin looks good, glowy with freckles all over my nose and cheekbones since I didn't put on any foundation, and my legs look strong and endless in these boots. I fiddle with my strapless bra, pull the cups up a little so my cleavage pops, and pray to all that's holy that these thin little straps hold the satin together.
I meet Lauren on the corner of the street, as she promised earlier on the phone. Once I pay the taxi driver, I get out, noticing the epic grin on my coworker's face.
"Fuck, Bella! You clean up mighty fine." She giggles. Yep, called it. She's drunk.
"Coming from you, that's one hell of a compliment," I answer.
Lauren really is a vision in her tight, red dress. It's got mesh panels down her chest and at the hem, making it look more conservative than it really is. I can see her hard nipples through the thick material, and know that she hates to wear a bra since she got her tits done last summer.
"Aw, you're too kind, Swan. Come, let's get you some drinks and a hot bod to rub up against." Lauren pulls my arm and drags me to the entrance of the club. The bouncer smiles at her, white teeth glaring in the darkness of the night as he lets her back in. "Thanks, sweetie," she yells over her shoulder. I'm grateful for Lauren's flirting skills, since they get her just about anywhere.
"Christ, could this line be any longer?" I huff. We're standing at the bar, and I lean my hip against it, squeezing in between some other patrons waiting for their drinks. The guy behind me is a little touchy with me, his hand obviously grazing my ass as he lowers his head. "Hello, beautiful. Let me get you something to cool that hot body off with," he mumbles close to my ear. His voice makes me shudder, and as I turn around with a scowl on my face, Lauren flees to my rescue.
"Dan, seriously?" She cocks her head to the side. "You're really hitting on my girl?" Lauren smirks.
"Lauren, what the fuck are you doing here?" the guy mutters. He's clearly not happy to see my blonde friend. That's strange, because everybody loves Lauren.
"I'm out. With her, dickwad. Now, get the fuck out of my face before I call your fucking girlfriend, okay?" Her voice is sickly sweet, yet so menacing. This dude should probably run to the freakin' hills after she looks at him like that.
He's out of our sight instantly, looking over his shoulder as Lauren takes his place at the bar. I cross my arms in front of my chest, turning my back to the bartender that's ignoring us and ask her for an explanation.
"He's a first-class asshole. Dated me all the while he had a steady girlfriend. I didn't even know until she called him one night when he slept over at my place. Worst part of all?" She pauses for dramatic effect and leans closer. "Tiniest dick I've ever seen. I swear I can do more with my fucking pinky finger." She laughs.
"Oh man, I'm so sorry!"
Lauren waves my comment away.
"Don't be. He was a lesson to be learned. Never trust a guy who claims to have no social media. What is he, a fucking boomer?" She narrows icy blue eyes before pushing out her chest. The bartender must be a tit guy because we suddenly get our two drinks and wander off to the dancefloor.
The music is loud, stage lights a mixture of warm colors, making it almost impossible to stand still. The beat is a sexy, deep house tune, the bass line vibrating all through my body. I nurse the overpriced cocktail in my hands, glad I stuffed my ID and cash in my bra, and my phone in my back pocket.
"I fucking love this song," Lauren purrs into my ear. Her warm little hand rests on my bare shoulder as she sways back and forth. Now that she mentions it, I recognize it; it's a mix of a Tiësto song, something the resident DJ made sexier, slower, and absolutely perfect.
Lauren was right, I needed this. We dance together, song after song, until we're both sweaty, foreheads a little clammy and drinks far too empty. I look around, shielding my eyes with my hand so I can see the line at the bar. It's doable, but Lauren isn't paying attention. She's got her eyes closed, long lashes fluttering against high, flushed cheekbones as she focuses on the beat she's dancing to. I put a hand on her waist and pull her against my side. She leans in, her eyes drifting open, sees it's me, and relaxes.
"I'm gonna get us some more drinks, okay?" I almost yell into her ear. "Don't move, L. Stay right here." She nods, and I make my way through the crowd.
I slam against a hard body when a lady decides to push me instead of making some room for me to pass. I giggle, the effects of the alcohol clearly making me a little chattier than usual.
"Oh, fuck! I'm so sorry," I gasp when I see the guy I just fell into spilled his drink all over his white T-shirt. The bottom of his shirt is soaked, the cotton see-through, molded over six-pack abs that make my mouth water.
My eyes trail up, over his strong-looking hands that hold the square glass of amber liquid, tan arms dusted with golden hairs, and up to his broad chest. He's absolutely gorgeous, with a wide smile and a trimmed beard that I desperately want to feel scratching my thighs later tonight. Even in the dark, his hazel eyes are vibrant and shiny, observing me with an amused expression.
"I'm Luke." He grips my forearm, caressing the underside with his thumb.
I smile up at him. He's tall and buff—the type who could easily throw me over his shoulder and devour me on a bed that isn't mine so I can sneak out after I've relieved some tension.
"Bella." I smile, biting my lip. He's looking at me as if he likes what he sees, as if Luke doesn't even care that I made him slosh his Scotch all over his perfectly white V-neck tee.
"Fancy a dance?"
My eyes almost fall out of their sockets. He's fucking British.
"Mmm, you're not from here, are you?" I ask him. I shift my weight onto my back leg, sticking my ass out, grazing his other hand with it.
"Obviously not, Bella. I'm just here on business for a couple days," he says. It's like he knows exactly what I need. No-strings, good sex with a stranger I'll never see again. His eyes twinkle mischievously.
"Interesting," I lie. "I'm thirsty," I purr into his ear. I touch his chest, my hand on his right pec, feeling his muscles twitch underneath my touch.
"What about my dance, gorgeous?" he asks, pouting. He's fucking adorable.
"Hmm, okay. I guess I'll grant you a dance first." I shrug as he holds out his hand.
"There's time for drinks later, babes." He winks.
I giggle, because I think we're on the exact same page here. Dirty sex that'll get us through another few days.
I spot Lauren, somehow batting off the creeps like it's nothing, dancing by herself. Luke looks at me funny when I tell him to wait a second, and walk over to her. "Don't wait up for me." I chuckle.
Lauren gives Luke the once-over and winks at me. She's full-on yelling in my ear, telling me to call her if shit hits the fan or if I need her.
I feel kind of bad, but as I see the tall, long-haired surfer god make his way over to her, she smiles wickedly, luring him in with her eyes only. I turn and meet Luke, whose hands find my waist instantly as he directs my hips and guides my ass right onto his crotch.
"Mmm," he groans into the crook of my neck. He smells amazing, like pine trees and man. Strong hands pull me back, and I lean my head back, staring into hazel eyes. Fuck, I can already feel my pussy flutter just by looking at this guy; by grinding my ass onto his hard cock. "Babes, let's get the fuck out of this place," Luke says. His hands slip up, fingers curling over satin, on my ribs, grazing the bottom of my bra. I feel my nipples get hard against the padding and moan as Luke's thumbs stroke them, right where I want him to.
"Your place?" I whimper as his strong hands palm my tits, urging my ass even closer to his crotch.
Luke grabs my hand and leads me outside, where he orders us an Uber. I'm a fucking teenager while we wait, teasing and rubbing him through thick denim, assaulting his mouth with mine. Yes, I'm a horny drunk. His fingertips trail down my cheeks until he's cradling my face. "You're so fucking gorgeous," he breathes. I kiss him again to shut him up. I don't need the validation tonight, I just need his cock, and an orgasm or two. Not necessarily in that order.
The car drives us to Luke's hotel. His room is on the tenth floor, one inhumanly long elevator-ride up, and accompanied by a group of bachelorettes. My fingertips tingle, aching to touch Luke, to have him touch me, but these twats are getting in the way of that. Their obnoxious and persistent, high-pitched giggling is working on my very last nerve. Luke's fingers trail down my back, toying with the straps of my top.
"Fucking finally," he breathes. We arrive on the tenth floor, and I barely let Luke open the door before I'm on him. We're a tangled mess of locked limbs, lips, and tongues, and I moan into his mouth; relieved to get to this part of the evening.
"Take them off," I urge, toying with Luke's belt buckle, fumbling with the button on his jeans. He grumbles a response and stumbles backward as he gets stuck inside his pant leg. I giggle and sink down on my knees, still fully dressed as I help him get rid of the denim.
I grab Luke's hard dick through the material of his boxers. He growls when I tug down the fabric and swirl my tongue around his tip.
"Yes, fuck…" he groans. "Get up here, babes, I want you on my cock."
I snicker and undress myself, throwing my jeans somewhere behind me, followed by my top.
"Leave that on," Luke nods to my bra. I arch a brow but don't question him. He's already on the bed, hands behind his head, naked and ready for me. My pussy tingles as I get closer. "Now get over here," he slurs. Luke palms his cock, and I see him get less and less hard the closer I get. What the fuck?!
"What's wrong?" I purr into his ear. I pepper kisses along his jawline, and he groans, bucks his hips against my bare pussy, and he hardens again. I smile victoriously, grabbing him by the base before I ask him for a condom.
"Wallet, pants," he breathes.
I climb off him again, look for his jeans, and pull out his leather wallet. My hands shake as I open it, and I gasp audibly. I throw his wallet to his face, hitting his chest instead. Luke flinches, patting the spot I assaulted. "What the fuck?" His accent is suddenly obnoxious and I look around for my pants and top.
As I jump back into my jeans, I look at him. He's still naked, confused. "What's gotten into you, babes?"
I cringe at his voice and groan, rolling my eyes. "You've got a fucking wife!" I shout. "A wife and two fucking kids, moron."
"So what?" He throws up his arms. It baffles me that he's not even trying to deny it. That he doesn't seem to care about his family.
"You're an ass," I grumble. I grab my bag and leave the hotel, even more frustrated than when we got here. Now it's late, I'm alone, and there is no one to tend to my pussy.
I take a cab home and abandon my shoes and bag in the hallway. I grab the bottle of red wine from the kitchen counter and don't even bother with a glass. It's almost three in the morning, dark outside, and Lauren is probably hanging on for dear life on some hot dude's dick.
I take my phone and shoot her a text to tell her I'm home, safe and sexless. I sigh and sink back into the couch, clutching the bottle against my chest.
Scrolling through my social media accounts, I spot the updates to Masen Green's story. I click and swoon, guzzling down red wine. His voice is low and swoon-worthy, a grain to it like he's tired, looking like he's in bed. I don't even know where he lives. I react with the heart-eyes emoji like the thirsty bitch I am and find my way back onto his profile page. His links are all there, as are his new pictures. I feel the familiar tinge inside, the ache for more than just my fingers as I pull up his website.
It's him in bed, the same lighting and background as in the innocent little Instagram story. His voice is just as gravely, rough, and delicious, pulling me in some more. I click the picture, scroll down for the next, and bite my lip as I uncover more.
Masen Green in bed… sheet covering his hard, massive cock, his hand on top of it. The next few pictures are more raunchy, a gif of him rubbing himself, eyes rolling back. I can't help myself. I jot down a ludicrous message along with a five-dollar tip. The little dot next to his avatar is neon green, alerting me. He's still awake—he's here.
He replies to my message rather cheekily, asking if a good girl like me shouldn't already be in bed.
As if I could sleep after seeing that... Besides, who told you I'm a good girl?
I'm still a little tipsy, but I take a deep breath and another drink of my wine before my phone dings with an incoming message.
So, you're a bad girl, then?
Is he flirting with me?
Does wanting to touch myself to your photos make me a bad girl? I bite my lip, await his reply, and swallow my nerves with more wine.
Fuck…
I can hear him say it, like I've heard him say a thousand times before. It's deep, drawing out the 'u' and breathy. It makes my pussy throb.
I wish you could send me a voice clip of you saying that to me…
The chat is a little silent before another picture pops up. It's fuzzy and locked, so I do what any girl would do. I tip him a dollar to open it. Wish I'd tipped him more once I see what it is.
He's filming, shaky breaths and popping veins in his forearm leading to his glorious cock. Masen pumps hard, and his fist slams down audibly onto his pubic bone. I wonder how he's pulling this off, the camera steady as can be, giving me his point of view. Is there someone with him? Thinking about that makes me even wetter. I can't describe what this man does to me. It's unlike anything I've ever encountered. Before discovering Masen Green, the only thing that got me off like this was gay porn. That's actually how I found this gem.
Masen groans; he's leaking at the tip. My mouth waters and I can't contain my tipsy brain any longer. I start typing. I fucking sext a porn star.
You get me so fucking wet… I unbutton my jeans and slide out of them, finding the crotch of my lace thong is soaking wet. I whimper when I palm myself, phone in my other hand, focused on him jacking off. I see the three dots pop up, indicating he's typing, too, and bite my lip, fingers tracing the floral lace pattern of my underwear.
How do you know? Are your fingers playing with your pussy for me?
Shit, he's playing along. I briefly wonder if his video was live, or just something he has lying around to post at random.
Not yet… but my thong is so damp it's uncomfortable.
I get naked, one leg over the arm of the couch so I'm all spread open. My tits feel heavy, so I cup them, thumbs grazing my pebbled nipples. My phone beeps and one hand abandons my chest.
Take them off, Screamer… Get naked with me.
Naked. With him. I groan at the thought, my eyes rolling back as I realize that video was live. It's now, right now. He's fucking touching that pierced cock at the same time I run a finger through my slick slit.
I am naked… with you? You're touching yourself, right now, Mr. Green?
I circle my clit, the muscles in my thighs clenching tightly at a pressure that makes me shudder. My eyes stay trained on my phone screen, seeing the dots popping up… disappearing… popping back up… it makes me impatient, restless, unable to make myself feel good.
The video wasn't proof enough, sweetheart? Need me to fucking say it? That my cock is so fucking hard right now, just thinking about your little fingers teasing that pussy…
"Jesus," I pant. My delirious, slightly intoxicated mind goes to those kinds of places. The ones that make you feel so insecure it hurts.
You don't even know what I look like.
I cringe as soon as I send the message. It's like I'm fishing for compliments… from a stranger… from a porn actor…
Enlighten me, Screamer… show me who that fucking deprived, soaked pussy belongs to.
His words make me swallow thickly, before I scroll through my camera roll, and send him my best selfie.