My New Muse (XXX) (Completed)

Chapter 7 (Raw)

"So what kind of birth control would you like?"

This is the question that my gynaecologist, Dr. Hamilton asks me after discussing the pros and cons of each method. We received our blood test results last week, and he's clean (not that I expected him not to be; it was just a precaution) and I booked an appointment as soon as I saw the results, trying to be as proactive as possible.

"Mirena."

He fixes his dark brown eyes on me.

"Well, I have to warn you about the side effects."

He listed them off, and they included.

Ovarian cysts.

Acne.

Nausea.

Weight gain.

Abnormal bleeding patterns.

Infertility.

Ectopic pregnancy.

Blah, blah, blah.

Everything has a shitload of side effects.

I've already made my decision, so I say the sentence that's been on my tongue for the past three minutes:

"Yes. That's the one I want."

***

"So we're good to go?"

This is from David, who isn't even looking at me; he's reading from his phone again.

"Could you at least look me in the face when we're talking about fucking?"

He locks the screen of his phone, and at a speed that is sarcastically slow and places it on the table. He then looks into my face with pure cockiness, and raises his left eyebrow.

"Are you..." He reaches out with the same hand that he was using his phone with - his left hand. Huh. - and grasps my chin, tilting it up.

"Ready to be fucked?" he asks, emphasising on both the f and k, breaking it into two syllables, and then biting his lip and raising his eyebrow even higher.

Goddamn. He went from zero to one hundred so fast, I'm genuinely confused; I'm too fucking confused right now.

I express this confusion, of course, by making a complete fool of myself, trying and failing to form a coherent response.

"I-I-I... I-"

He releases my chin and tilts his head back and let's out a laugh that sounds both sadistic and full of séxual promise.

"Tongue tied?" he asks in a teasing, almost mocking tone.

I feel my cheeks heating up. Goddámnit, I'm blushing. Thank god for melanin, though, because he can't see a thing.

At least, that's what I think.

"I do believe that I see your chocolate skin darkening almost imperceptibly to a darker shade, my dear. Did I make you blush?"
He asks with a twisted, sexy sadistic grin on his face - one that matches the laugh he let out earlier.

As if to confirm his theory, I only blush harder.

"My friends at school, they called me Chicken Hawk. I don't miss a thing."

"Fuck off," I growl.

But of course, he continues to talk, the grin still on his face.

"I've also noticed that you're clamping your thighs together. Your pupils have dilated, and you're unconsciously leaning towards me. Yeah, I'd say you're ready to be fuckéd."