Spread Wide Open For Me(3)💦

Chapter 3.

Mike’s POV

I woke up the next morning still feeling him inside me. The ache sat deep and low with a constant reminder every time I shifted on the thin mattress. My phone stayed dark. There was no new messages. She was already gone, living whatever new life she thought she deserved. I told myself I did not care anymore. Even the lie tasted weak.

Jamal came in for morning rounds like nothing had happened. He checked the charts, asked the usual questions, shone a light in my eyes. His fingers brushed my wrist longer than needed when he took my pulse. I swallowed hard and looked away.

That night I could not sleep. The hallway lights were already dim. I got up, pulled the gown tighter, and walked around the corridors. My feet carried me toward the supply closet near the end of the hall. I did not plan it. I just needed air that did not smell like antiseptic and regret.

The door opened behind me and Jamal stepped in and shut it. The click of the lock sounded loud in the small space.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said.

Without replying, I turned and grabbed the front of his coat first.

“Do not talk,” I said. “Just do it.”

Something dark flickered in his eyes. He shoved me back against the metal shelves; bottles of drugs rattled, about to break but he didn’t care. His mouth crashed onto mine for half a second before he spun me around. He yanked my gown up and the air hit my bare ass. I heard the sound of his belt, then the wet slide of spit or lube, I could not tell which.

He pushed in hard. No slow stretch this time. My mouth opened with a sharp cry. His hand clamped over it immediately.

“Quiet,” he growled against my ear. “Unless you want the whole floor to know how much you love taking cock.”

He fucked me like he was angry about it. Short, brutal thrusts that made the shelves shake. My cock slapped against the cold metal with every stroke he gave. When a moan still slipped past his fingers he pulled his hand away and cracked his palm across my cheek.

The sting lit me up. My hole clenched around him and he slapped me again, harder, and kept pounding.

“Look at you,” he muttered. “Sneaking out of your room just to get used in a closet. Straight men do not do this, Mike. Straight men do not bend over and beg with their bodies.”

I could not answer. His hand was back over my mouth. Tears pricked my eyes from the force and the shame and the way my cock leaked steadily onto the floor. He reached around, gripped me tight, and stroked in time with his hips. The dual sensation wrecked me. I came with a muffled shout, spilling over his fist and the shelves. He followed a few thrusts later, burying himself deep and flooding me again.

We stayed like that for a few breaths. Then he pulled out, fixed his clothes, and left first. I cleaned up with a paper towel that smelled like bleach and walked back to my room on unsteady legs and a wrecked mind.

The next morning he walked in holding a folder instead of the usual chart. His face gave nothing away.

“I received transfer papers,” he said. “ I’d be transferring to another hospital in a different state. I leave this afternoon.”

The words landed like another slap. I sat up slowly.

“Just like that?” I asked.

“Just like that.” He replied.

The room went silent then he locked the door again. This time there was no pretense of comfort or calm. He stripped the gown off me completely and pushed me onto my back. My legs were shoved wide.

“Spread them. Wider. At least let’s fuck one last time before I leave.”

Without hesitation, I did. He slicked up fast and sank in to the hilt in one long thrust. The burn was familiar now. Welcome, even. He set a punishing pace right away, the bed frame slamming the wall in a rhythm that left no doubt what was happening. One hand pinned my wrists above my head while the other was being shoved into my mouth whenever my eyes started to close.

“Keep them open,” he ordered. “I want you to watch while I ruin this hole one last time.”

Filthy sounds filled the room. The wet slap of skin, my broken moans his low grunts. He talked the whole time, voice rough.

“This ass was made for cock. You can cry about your wife all you want, but your body tells the truth. It opens for me. It milks me. It comes when I tell it to.”

He shifted angles and nailed that spot inside me over and over until my vision blurred. My cock bobbed untouched between us, red and dripping. When I reached for it he slapped my face again and snarled.

“No. You come on my cock or not at all. Same rule as before.”

I lasted longer than I wanted to. Pride or stubbornness, I was not sure. In the end it did not matter. The pressure built until it snapped. I came hard, untouched, ropes striping my chest and stomach while my ass locked down around him. The clench pulled his own orgasm out of him. He drove deep, cursed, and pumped me full one final time.

When he pulled out, cum followed in a slow leak that ran down my crack onto the sheets. He stood over me for a moment, breathing hard, eyes dragging across the mess he’d just made, then he cleaned up with the same calm efficiency as always. Coat back on. Sleeves fixed. Folder in hand. Back to work.

He paused at the door.

“Take care of yourself, Mike.”

I did not answer. I could not find words that would not sound pathetic. The door closed and his footsteps faded down the hall.

I stayed exactly where he left me. Legs still open. Cum cooling on my skin. And my cheeks still warm from his hand. The room felt bigger and quieter than it had any right to.

I stared at the door for a long time as reality began to hit me. My wife was gone. The ring meant nothing. The only person who had touched me like I mattered in weeks was already on his way to another state.

While I was back here, alone.

I guessed that everything I ever enjoyed had to leave my life eventually.