Doctors Orders: Part 4

I left the door unlocked exactly as he instructed.

My apartment was quiet at 6:45. I had showered, left my hair down, and put on nothing except a short silk robe that barely reached mid-thigh. No underwear. The ache from the week before had faded, but the memory of it sat low in my body like a promise. I sat on the edge of the couch and waited.

He didn’t knock.

The door opened, closed, and the lock turned behind him with a soft, deliberate click. Dr. Harlan stood in my living room still wearing the white shirt and dark trousers from the clinic, sleeves rolled once, the same calm authority he carried in the exam room now filling my apartment instead.

His eyes moved over me once—robe, bare legs, the knowledge of what was underneath—and something darker settled in his expression.

“Stand up.”

I stood. He walked toward me without hurry, stopped close enough that I had to tip my head back, and tugged the tie of the robe loose. The silk fell open. He pushed it off my shoulders and let it drop to the floor. I was completely naked in front of him in the soft evening light of my own living room.

“Better,” he said quietly. “No table. No time limit. No one in the hallway.”

His hand settled between my thighs, two fingers sliding through the wetness that had already gathered there. A low sound of approval left him.

“You’ve been thinking about this.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He turned me around, guided me to the arm of the couch, and pressed me forward until my hands braced on the cushions and my ass was presented to him. I heard the belt, the zipper, the soft sound of fabric. Then the thick head of his cock rubbed through my folds once, coating himself, before he pushed in with one long, steady thrust that forced the air from my lungs.

There was no pretense of an exam this time.

He fucked me in deep, powerful strokes, one hand gripping my hip hard enough to bruise, the other braced between my shoulder blades to keep me bent over the couch. The angle let him go deeper than the table ever had. Every thrust dragged against the sensitive place inside me until my arms started to shake. The wet sound of him moving in and out of my body filled the quiet apartment.

“Louder,” he said, voice rough. “No one to hear you here.”

I stopped trying to stay quiet. The broken, helpless noises left me freely as he drove into me harder. His hand slid around to my clit and rubbed tight, exact circles in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation built fast and heavy. I came with a sharp cry, thighs trembling, cunt clamping down around him in strong pulses. He fucked me through it without slowing, drawing it out until I was oversensitive and gasping.

Only then did he pull out.

I made a sound of protest. He ignored it, sat on the couch, and pulled me into his lap so I straddled him. His cock—still hard, slick with me—stood between us. He gripped my hips and guided me down onto it in one smooth motion until I was fully seated, stretched and filled again.

“Ride,” he instructed.

I did. Slow at first, then harder as his hands urged me on. He watched my face the entire time, eyes dark, jaw tight, letting me set the pace only until I started to lose rhythm. Then he thrust up to meet me, controlling the depth, the angle, the exact speed that kept me trembling on the edge of another orgasm.

“You’re going to come again,” he said. “And this time I’m coming with you.”

His thumb found my clit once more. The pressure was precise and relentless. I shattered with a broken moan, body locking around him. He followed a few seconds later, burying himself deep and flooding me in thick, hot pulses while his forehead rested against mine. I felt every one of them. The sensation pulled another smaller wave from me until I was soft and shaking in his lap.

We stayed joined for a long moment, breathing hard. His hands stroked slowly up and down my back. When he finally spoke, his voice had regained some of its usual calm, but the heat underneath it remained.

“This works better than the clinic.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll come to you on Tuesdays for now. Same time. Door unlocked. Nothing on underneath whatever you’re wearing.” He lifted his head and met my eyes. “If I decide I want an extra visit, I’ll text. You’ll make yourself available. Clear?”

“Clear.”

He kissed me then—slow, deliberate, the first time his mouth had been on mine. It felt more intimate than anything he had done to my body. When he pulled back he eased me off his lap. I felt the immediate slide of his come leaving me and running down my thighs.

Dr. Harlan stood, fixed his clothes with the same precise care he did everything, and looked at me still naked and marked on my own couch.

“Don’t clean up until after I leave,” he said. “I want you to sit with it for a while.”

He walked to the door, unlocked it, and paused with his hand on the handle.

“Next Tuesday, Ms. Cole. Be ready.”

Then he was gone.

I stayed exactly where he had left me, thighs slick, body aching in the best way, the quiet of my apartment settling back around the evidence of what he had come here to do. The arrangement was no longer hidden behind locked exam room doors or the language of follow-ups.

He would come to me every Tuesday.

And I would leave the door unlocked every time.