Page 35 of Black Light: Cured

the desire was mutual. I saw how wet you got when I watched you in the ropes. You can’t deny it. I’ll

admit my methods weren’t proper, but I thought we were just continuing this little tête-à-tête

somewhere else.”

Despite how angry I am, my heart flutters at his words. No. He was not correct in his methods but

knowing all of this stemmed from the fact that he wanted me helps ease the burn a bit. Also, having

him debase himself and admit that he was wrong in front of all these people helps a bit too. Even as

he said the words, it was as if he was chewing glass to get them out.

“Is there anything else you can think of to say? Anything at all?” Klara glares at him, her foot

tapping as she waits for his response.

“Look, I’m sorry. Okay? Is that it? Is that what you’re all waiting to hear?”

Master Kawan turns to me. “It’s a start, I’ll give you that. But for you, miss Lila. Is that enough?

Do not be afraid to utilize me if you want this brought to court.”

“No one is being prosecuted!” Master Aiden cries out, sliding his fingers through his hair to grip

at it in frustration. “I said I was sorry!”

“That is where you’re wrong. She has your signature, your name stating that you read everything

and agreed to it, up to and including legal action. So right now, you’re solely at her mercy.”

“You better make this right, pencil dick,” Master Spencer spits out. “Do good by her, or I’ll haul

you out myself.”

Master Aiden’s lips quirk up in that breathtaking manner that never fails to send my pulse in

overdrive. “Say what you will about me, but this dick is anything but a pencil.”

Heat climbs up my cheeks as the memory of him standing there, cock jutting out proudly, slides

back into my mind. Certainly not a pencil, and if this were a different time and place, I would have

loved nothing more than to have my hands, lips, and pussy all over it.

But this was certainly not the right time.

“I’m not going to press charges. But please understand that what you did was wrong. Not just to

me, but to my entire profession. We have to fight tooth and nail for respect, and you, a surgeon,

demanding a happy ending illuminates just how far we have to go.”

Pausing, I look down at my hands, grateful that I don’t grow out my nails. If I did, I’d have

crescent marks embedded in my palms from how hard I was gripping my hands into fists.

“You don’t have to agree with what I do,” I continue, bolstered by the outpouring of support from