Page 12 of Sacred Blood

“Yes, Sir. I am so naughty, but I need to come. Please, Dr. V–Gaetano, may I come?”

I hoped the use of his first name and saying please would give me what I so desperately needed and wanted, but he was no fool.

“Not until I see tears.”

He shifted forward and then settled back in place. The next swat that landed lit a flaming strip of fire on my ass.

“Ouch!” I kicked my legs, and he swung his thick thigh over mine, boxing me in once again. I wanted to cry in frustration, but the fire in my backside stole every ounce of air as I struggled to process the stinging heat. A dozen strokes later, I gave up the battle and hung limply over his lap, crying like a baby. Having never been spanked, the catharsis came as a surprise and so did the need to be curled on his lap and held in his arms, but even more, the need to feel him deep inside of me.

He stroked my back then, murmuring nonsensical calming words in Italian. When my cries calmed down and I released a shuddering breath, he lifted me up and sat me on his lap.

My hot swollen flesh protested the contact with his hard thighs. He wiped my tears and then ordered me to my knees. I slid off his lap to the floor nestling between his long legs. Gaetano tugged down his scrubs, his huge cock springing forward.

I licked my lips at the drop of precum glistening on his tip.

“Take me in your mouth,” he ordered, “and if you’re a good girl, I’ll give you what you need.”

No need to tell me twice. I opened my mouth eagerly, gripping the base of his cock, I guided my mouth over the silky head. Hollowing my cheeks, I sucked his cock to the back of my throat and swallowed. I’d read enough dirty books to know that swallowing was highly pleasurable for the man. But nothing I read prepared me for how horny doing so would make me. My moans reverberated along his length.

“You do that so well, piccina,” his growly voice sent my endorphin-soaked brain the message for more.

I loved the feel of his velvet-covered steel rod in my mouth. Gripping my hair and taking away my will, he fucked my face. Drool dripped from the corner of my lips to land on my scrubs top, but not for long. He pulled me by my hair to my feet and placed my knees on the huge chair he’d been sitting on.

“Hang on to the back and thrust your backside towards me.”

I did as he said and felt his cock head at my entrance. He was big and not only had I not had a ton of sex in general, but what little I’d had was months ago and I’d tightened with the lack of activity.

He filled me with one powerful thrust of his hips and I fell apart, milking his cock as a powerful orgasm crashed through me. He gripped my nipples through the material of my shirt and bra, twisting. I screamed as another orgasm piggybacked onto the first. My limbs shook with the colossal release, leaving me a quivering pile of goo on the chair. But I hung on like my life depended on it as Gaetano pummeled my needy pussy into submission.

I knew the moment he was about to come, his cock expanded even larger and with one mighty thrust, he buried himself inside me, holding my hips so tight, bruises would surely be left behind. The pain/pleasure barrier blurred, and another orgasm ripped through me. This time, I was unable to retain consciousness and let the orgasm swallow me as I let go of the chair. Gaetano slid out of my now burning pussy and gently carried me, laying me down on something warm and soft, covering me up.

“Rest now,” he ordered.

So exhausted, I couldn’t argue or even respond, darkness claimed me, pulling me down into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Four

Gaetano

Pop, fizz. Ice melted into the scotch resting in the tumbler that sat on my desk. I watched, transfixed, as the amber liquid and water swirled together until they became one, just as Gaby and I had been swirling and melding into one another five days ago.

She had been the best I’d ever had. Her rawness awoke a fire in me that I’d kept contained for far too long. Sinking my cock into Gaby felt like coming home to a place long forgotten. For too long, I’d regarded that as a weakness, but it felt so right at the time. I wrestled with the dilemma, but ultimately decided that caring for her was a series of blurred lines that I wasn’t comfortable dissecting at this time.

The mistake itself wasn't what troubled me. Nurses made mistakes. Doctors made mistakes. Hell, every person in that operating room had likely committed one at some point in their career.

Yet every time I replayed the scene in my head, I kept returning to the same uncomfortable truth.

I was the one in charge.

I was the senior surgeon.

The older one.

The more experienced one.

She had been exhausted.

Frightened.