The night shift carried a heavy silence, one that clung to Dr. Pihu like a lover’s breath. The hum of machines, the soft shuffle of nurses, the sharp click of her heels on sterile tiles—she’d made peace with the solitude. But lately, the silence wasn’t hollow.
It pulsed.
Because Raghav was back.
He showed up every other night, sometimes with a mild flare-up, sometimes for a routine check. Pihu, sharp as a scalpel, saw through it—his blood reports were often pristine, yet he kept returning. Always to the same bench. Always with that earthy, disarming smile. The kind that grazed her skin like a fingertip tracing her bra strap.
She fought to stay professional, but her body was a traitor—her pulse spiking when he murmured “thank you,” her thighs clenching beneath her white coat when his calloused fingers brushed hers.
Raghav wasn’t a chiseled model. But fuck, his voice low, gravelly—slid down her spine like warm honey. His presence solid, unyielding—felt like a haven. And Pihu, who’d spent years fortifying walls, didn’t want safety. She wanted to burn.
That night, rain poured. He walked in soaked, his kurta plastered to his sculpted abs, nipples hard through the wet fabric. Pihu’s breath caught, her eyes lingering on the way the cloth hugged his cock, outlined and heavy.
“You’ll catch a damn fever like that,” she snapped, her voice laced with concern and a heat she couldn’t hide.
“I’m already sick, Doc,” he said, voice rough, eyes pinning hers. “But no pill’s gonna fix what I’ve got.”
Something in her shattered.
“Get in here,” she ordered, leading him to her consultation room. The door clicked shut, locking out the world. She turned, their gazes colliding—no banter, no pretense. Just raw, unspoken truth.
“I see how you look at me,” she said, voice low, trembling with need.
“And I’ve been jerking off thinking about your taste,” he growled back.
He stepped closer. She didn’t retreat.
Their lips crashed slow at first, like tasting wine, then desperate, teeth grazing, tongues tangling. He hoisted her onto the examination table, her white coat falling open, exposing the swell of her breasts, the taut peaks of her nipples straining against her bra.
He kissed her collarbone, then lower, sucking her nipple through the lace, his tongue flicking until she moaned. He paused, eyes searching hers.
“Pihu… you sure?”
She grabbed his hand, guiding it between her thighs, pressing his fingers against her soaked panties. “Feel how fucking sure I am.”
And then it began…
He eased her into Lotus position, her legs wrapping his waist, their eyes locked as he unbuttoned his kurta, revealing a chest dusted with hair. His cock, thick and hard, pressed against her core as he entered her, slow, stretching her with every inch. She gasped, her walls clenching around him, their bodies melding soul-deep, primal.
They rocked together, her fingers twisting in his hair, his tongue tracing her neck, her earlobe, whispering, “You’re so fucking tight.” Her hips rolled, meeting his thrusts, every nerve sparking like a live wire.
Then he flipped her onto his lap, Chair Grind style, his legs folded beneath her. She straddled him, riding his cock hard, her breasts bouncing, slick with sweat. Her moans filled the room as he gripped her hips, growling filth between kisses: “Your pussy’s gonna ruin me, Pihu.”
She clenched harder, nails raking his back, drawing red lines. “Fuck, Raghav, don’t stop.”
He lifted her, pinning her against the mirror, her breasts flattening against the cold glass. In the reflection, she saw her flushed face, her parted lips, his cock sliding deep into her wet heat. He fucked her slow, then fast, watching her unravel. She cried out, and he kissed her open mouth, swallowing her moans, his tongue mimicking his thrusts.
Then came the Wall Thrust. He spun her, bending her over, her hands braced against the mirror. He drove into her from behind, his balls slapping her clit with every thrust. The room echoed with wet, rhythmic sounds—skin on skin, her gasps, his grunts. Her legs shook, pleasure coiling tight.
“Raghav… I’m gonna fuck!” she screamed, her orgasm ripping through her, her pussy pulsing around his cock.
He groaned, slamming deep, spilling inside her, hot and thick, as they collapsed, trembling, tangled in each other’s arms.
Silence returned.
But it wasn’t lonely anymore. It was heavy, sated, sacred.
Pihu lay against his chest, her fingers tracing his jaw, a rare smile curving her lips.
“You coming back tomorrow?” she whispered, voice husky.
He chuckled, brushing her hair back. “Next time, I’m fucking you in your chair.”
She smirked, nipping his lip. “You won’t last three minutes.”
Comments
Post a Comment