7 - Theresa.

We're back to where we began.

I can't believe it. After everything that's happened between us —Max touching me like that under the blanket in my our living room last night, kissing me in his office, licking between my legs until I forget my own name — after all that, the doctor is still holding back.

He's rigid, shoulders tense and jaw hard, tendons standing out in his throat as he fights for control. The head of his cock throbs where it presses inside me.

And I know why he's fighting this. Dr Storm—Max—is a good man, all the way to his core. If you cut him open, you'd find nothing but hero, all the way through. He knows this is my first time, and he wants me to be sure; wants to be gentle.

Well, I am sure. And to hell with gentle.

I want the respectable doctor to come undone. I want him to go all the way in. To be feral. Unstoppable.

Even now, even with a flush on those cheekbones and his brown hair rumpled, his chin slick from my release, there's something buttoned-down about Dr Max Storm. His white coat is flawless; there's barely a crease in his shirt. He's fighting for composure, and he's winning, damn it.

That won't do.

Leaning forward, I press a messy kiss on the doctor's throat. His pulse thrums beneath my lips, and when I squeeze my legs, nudging him an inch deeper inside me... Dr Storm groans. That vibrates through my lips, too.

"Stop holding back." My teeth scrape against his stubble. His hands shake as they leave my thighs, gripping the examination bench instead, squeezing it until it creaks. Like he might rip it from the wall. "Whatever you're bottling up, I can take it."

The doctor mutters something against my hair, but I don't catch it. I don't need to catch it, because I bet I know exactly what he's grumbling about. I bet it's about first times and gentleness and deserving better, and you know what?

Sometimes we need more than words.

My legs flex, spearing me with another thick inch. I tip my head back and sigh, eyelids fluttering, because even though I'm doing all the freaking work, this feels amazing. He's so hard and hot, and the intrusion leaves me breathless. Makes me want to squirm and whimper and beg.

"Are you alright?" the doctor asks, his voice strained.

I answer with another roll of my hips, sucking him deeper. He makes a choking noise, and I give a lazy smile, my eyes still closed. "Better than alright. Though I'd prefer if you helped a little, Doc, I'm not gonna lie. When I pictured us together, you were less... wooden."

There's a beat of silence.

My heart rattles in my rib cage. Excitement fizzes in my veins, because it's coming, I know it's coming—

Thump.

Dr Storm's hips slam into mine, driving the bench against the wall. I blink one eye open, gripping his white coat for balance, and the sight above me pushes the air from my lungs.

He's feral. The calm, restrained doctor, the genteel family friend who always kept a careful distance—that man has burned to a crisp, and a possessive demon is rising from the ashes. This man fucks me with hard, merciless strokes, working his way to the hilt in three thrusts; this man glares down at me, his expression harsh, top lip curled back to show teeth.

"Is this what you wanted, Theresa?" The bench slams into the wall, over and over, and I work my thighs wider, whimpering with need. His thick length saws in and out of me, hitting places inside me that make spots of color dance before my eyes. And his question is desperate as he asks, "Is this what you wanted? Tell me."

The doctor ducks his head, like he can't bear to hear my answer, and sucks a bruise on my throat instead. The bench rattles as he pounds me, body jerking with frenzied hunger.

"Y-yes," I pant, wrapping my arms around his neck. Holding him as close as I can keep him, tilting my head to give him better access to my throat. "This is what I want, Doc. I want you. All of you."

He curses quietly and thrusts harder, hands drifting up my hips, my waist, my ribs. When he reaches my chest, he squeezes and kneads, then pinches my nipples, sending two sharp bolts of pain and pleasure between my legs.

"I..."

I can't think. My heartbeat drums in my ears, and there's a knot of tension winding tighter and tighter, low in my belly. Someone will hear the rhythmic thump of the bench against the wall, but I don't care. In fact, some dark, shady part of me wants them to hear.

The doctor is mine. He falls apart for me.

What would my dad say? I push the thought away, mind reeling.

"Tell me what you want from me." A rough hand grips my hair, pulling me back to meet the doctor's eyes. He's still hungry, run ragged, thrusting hard between my legs, but there's something else there too. A spark of vulnerability. That's what gives me the courage to say it.

"I want you to keep me."

Those shadowed eyes drift closed, tension bleeding from his broad shoulders, and my dad's best friend is languid now as he fucks me. Masterful and possessive and sure of himself. Sure of this.

"I will, darling girl. Christ, I'm going to spread your legs like this every day, you hear? I'll lick you awake every morning and pound you into a trembling mess each night. You're mine, Theresa. Mine to fuck. Mine to love. Mine."

He sounds unhinged, but I love it. I feel the same way.

"Yours," I agree, scratching the back of his neck, and it's a weirdly sweet moment considering the racket we're making. His hairline is damp with sweat, and for some reason that makes my chest ache.

Because he's human. Not the godly figure he seems like sometimes; not the unattainable heartthrob from my dreams. Dr Max Storm is human, he's flawed and real, and he's going to keep me. We're going to keep each other.

No matter what others may think. No matter what others may say.

"Theresa," he says, heaving out each word with great effort, his mouth pressed against my temple. "I'm going to—are you nearly—?"

"Uh-huh." I bite my lip against a smile as a strong hand delves between my thighs, stroking featherlight circles against my clit. Helping me along. And that maddening touch—the ticklish way it feels—

The doctor grunts as I bite down on his shoulder.

We grip each other tight, bodies shuddering. The pleasure wracks me in waves. Wet heat blooms between my thighs, and the clock tick-tick-ticks on the wall.

Finally.

As sounds fade back in, the speakers outside crackle to life, telling everyone in the hospital to keep track of their possessions. I'm so freaking sticky.

And the doctor looks as shaken as I feel as he draws out, tucking himself away, then blinks down at the mess we've made of the examination bench.

"Good thing it wipes clean?" I offer, head woozy but my heart so light.

His tired smile is like a sunrise.