Doctor Satyromaniac

The Fall

After an hour of lying in the dark with my eyes shut, they finally adjusted to the room's inky blackness when I cracked them open.

What I saw stole my breath, same as it did every time. Sandy-brown curls, soft and wild, spilled across my bare chest. Elise, my angel, lay curled against me, her sleeping form a vision I'd been hooked on since the first moment I saw her.

My arms locked around her slender waist, keeping her naked body pressed tight against mine. Waking up to her like this—her warmth seeping into me, her breath a soft rhythm—had become my addiction. Pride surged through me as I gazed at her exhausted frame, her face peaceful in sleep.

I felt a flicker of guilt for wearing her out earlier. Three times today, and still, I couldn't get enough. As fucked up as it sounds, I was proud of it—proud of how she surrendered to me, how her body responded. Knowing she was here, tangled in my sheets, naked and mine, kept my hunger for her burning.

The thought of her in my bed always hit me harder than it should. No surprise, then, when I felt myself harden beneath the covers. I'd held plenty of women before, but none ever sank their hooks into me like Elise. She was different. Dangerous.

She stirred, a faint moan slipping from her lips, and my blood rushed south.

It was always like this with her—no rhyme or reason, just raw need. Months of therapy sessions together, and I still couldn't explain why she unraveled me. It scared me, how easily she stripped my control. I hated it as much as I craved it, a love-hate dance that left me dizzy.

But right now, I didn't care about answers. Not with the ache growing under the blanket, demanding attention if I had any hope of sleep.

With a silent groan, I slid my hand down my body, careful not to jostle her, and gripped myself. No need to wake her for something I could handle alone, even if I knew it'd be better with her touch. She was spent, so I'd let her rest. For now.

My strokes started slow, deliberate, as an image of Elise straddling me burned into my mind—her hips rocking, taking me deep.

I tightened my grip, her tightness vivid in my memory. My pace quickened, fueled by the thought of her riding me into oblivion, her moans echoing my name like a prayer. Watching her lose herself always got me off more than my own release.

I could almost feel her—petite, fierce, her body clenching around me as she moved faster, harder. Her voice, dripping honey, calling my name...

My abs tensed, my hand flying faster, jaw locked to keep quiet. I was so damn close.

Then her soft hand brushed mine, and I froze.

Shit.

Caught.

"Aiden..." Her voice, that sweet, maddening sound, hit me like a spark.

I couldn't stop myself. I guided her hand to me, wrapping her delicate fingers around my length. A gasp tore from me as she gripped me just right, the way she always did.

I knew I wouldn't last long. Her touch sent electric shocks through me, igniting every nerve. It always did. How could I ever let this go? Her fingers alone set me ablaze, made me feel alive in a way I couldn't explain.

A hiss slipped out as she gave in, her strokes speeding up, making my skin hum with sensation. My hand left her waist, tangling in her soft curls, tugging her head to mine. My lips crashed into hers, bruising, desperate.

She sighed into the kiss, and I took advantage, my tongue parting her lips, claiming every inch of her mouth. God, she tasted so good. Her hand never faltered, stroking me as I devoured her.