Wickedly Yours

Part 34

Diary of a Lost Girl

I woke up today in a haze, my skin still buzzing with the remnants of last night. I can't remember the last time I felt like this—alive, vibrating with something I can't fully name.

There was nothing pure about it, nothing sacred. It was messy and wrong, and yet it filled every crack inside me, every space that's been empty for so long.

I didn't just feel it in my body, I felt it in my soul, like I've finally opened a door to something I never knew I was capable of. It was wild, it was animalistic, and for the first time in so long, I didn't care about right or wrong. I just wanted to feel.

His hands. I can still feel them on me—rough and searching, like he was trying to uncover something hidden beneath my skin. He was hesitant at first, like he knew he shouldn't touch me but couldn't stop himself.

When his grip tightened, when he dug his fingers into my hips, pulling me closer, I knew I had him. God, did I have him. The way he kissed me, almost desperate, like he was drinking me in—he didn't just want me, he needed me.

For the first time in so long, Severus didn't enter my mind. Not once. There was no guilt, no lingering shadow of him haunting me. Dr. Owens was the only thing that mattered in that moment, the only thing that existed.

And maybe that's why it felt so good. Because for the first time, I wasn't thinking of anyone else. I wasn't thinking of what I had lost or what could have been. It was just me, him, and the raw need between us.

I told him to follow me, and he did. He followed like a man possessed, like a man who had finally given up pretending. I locked the door behind us, and the sound of it—of that final click—was like a release. It felt like I was locking away everything else, everything that had weighed me down, leaving only this wild, untamed energy between us. I turned to face him, and the way he looked at me—his eyes dark, his breathing ragged—it was like he was seeing me for the first time.

I undressed slowly, deliberately. I wanted him to see everything, to feel every second of it. My skin prickled under his gaze, the air thick with tension as I let my clothes fall to the floor, piece by piece.

He didn't move, didn't speak, just watched with a hunger that made my entire body burn. When I was finally bare in front of him, I could feel the power shifting entirely in my favor. He wasn't my therapist anymore, the man with all the answers. He was just a man, vulnerable, human, and utterly mine.

When his hands found me again, it was like everything inside me snapped. There was no hesitation this time. His touch was urgent, almost frantic, like he was trying to claim every inch of me.

His fingers trailed down my back, his breath hot against my neck as he pressed me against him, and I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the tension in every muscle. Every touch sent a spark through me, every kiss ignited something deeper, something I had long since buried.

I pressed myself against him, feeling his body respond to mine, every movement a dance of desperation. His hands moved down my thighs, gripping me so tightly I thought he might leave bruises, but I didn't care.

I wanted him to leave marks, to remind me later of how real this was. My body ached with need, every nerve on fire, every breath ragged as I moved against him, letting him take everything I had to offer.

He wasn't gentle. It wasn't soft or slow, it was raw, primal—exactly what I needed. His body pressed against mine, his hands everywhere, pulling, gripping, claiming me in ways I hadn't let anyone do in a long time.