Medicine Man (Page 60)

His body is all tight and carved, as if sculpted by divine hands. His flesh is so warm and darker than mine. Masculine. So fucking masculine.

Paired with his glasses, he looks so old and mature that I’m creaming my panties.

His abdomen tightens when I swirl my fingers around his tight belly button and play with the thicker tuft of hair, disappearing down his pants.

I breathe over his chest and kiss his heart, or where his heart is supposed to be. It might be weathered but it’s dipped in gold. I reach up and lick the side of his neck, rubbing my nails up and down his sides.

His hands are in my hair now, undoing my topknot so he can wrap those strands around his fingers. “Are you done driving me crazy?”

Feeling super turned on and naughty, I reply, “No.”

Simon’s body ripples and he pulls my head back, looming over me. “Willow.”

I blink up at him. “What? You never let me have any fun. Please? Let me have some fun.”

He growls, his jaw working back and forth, his eyes all lusted up. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

I kiss his ticking jaw softly. “Never.”

His chest puffs out with his breath and before he can protest more, I slide down the counter and drop to my knees. I take off my shirt and my bra, baring my upper body to him. His nostrils flare as my naked breasts bounce into view.

“Willow –”

I don’t let him talk. I don’t even want him to think right now. I want to have fun.

“I’m your princess, aren’t I?”

His nod is almost imperceptible, but I notice it.

“Your princess wants to suck your cock. Won’t you let her?”

There’s this need inside of me to show him that I love him. That I want to drink down, suck off his pain, his demons. Reward him for all his hard work. For coming to my rescue even when I don’t need it. On my knees.

“Willow, you don’t –”

“I do. I do belong on my knees because I want to hero-worship your cock, Simon.”

“Ah, Jesus…” He groans, looking at the ceiling.

I guess that’s my cue. I work quickly on his belt – I’m a fast learner so it goes much more smoothly than it did the first time. Lowering his pants and his boxer shorts, I palm his hard cock. I nose his strong thighs, kissing the warm, hairy flesh.

I squeeze his dick, making him growl, making his abdominal muscles clench. And then, I lean forward and catch his shaft in my mouth. His flavor – so musky and erotic – explodes on my tongue and it’s like kissing the great depths of him.

The real him. Rather than his lips.

I swirl my tongue around the head of his dick as both my hands grip the base of his length. My mouth is getting saturated with the musky taste of him because the more I lave his head, the more I lash the vein on the underside of his cock, the more cum he makes for me.

And well, the more cum he makes for me, the more cum I make for him. My pussy is clenching and juicing up like a fruit, and I have to reach one hand down my yoga pants and slather my own wetness, widening my thighs.

“Fuck…” Simon curses, gripping my hair.

As in-experienced as I am, I still know how to draw conclusions from the things he’s done to me. The very first night I came on his cock, he asked me to smack myself with his dick. So I take my mouth off him and slap his wet shaft on my tongue, my lips.

I know he likes to see me all wet and juicy, so I even smack his dick on my face, my jaw, making myself all wet and sloppy for him. Moaning for him. Dying for him. I know he likes to lube his cock with the cream I make for him. So, I gather my moisture in the hand with which I’m playing with my cunt. Then, I take it out of my pants and rub it up and down his arousal, slathering him with my wetness.

I know he likes to be deep, deep inside of me, so I take him into my mouth again and open my jaw wide and shove him down as much as I can.

He groans above me, his entire body shaking.

God, he’s so sexy, so mine like this.

I don’t ever want to stop. I don’t ever want to stop tasting him, tasting his dark skin, drinking down his cum.

It’s mine. He’s mine.

But I have to. Because I wanna do something else too.

I take my mouth off his dick and sit up straight. Making a valley of my tits, I hug his wet, juicy cock and pump it up and down. Like I think about all alone in my bed.

“Goddamn it, Willow,” he grunts, his head bowing forward, his black eyes on me.

He’s spurting pre-cum with my every stroke. And every time I push him up, I lick that pre-cum off his slit.

I do it over and over. Pump him up and down between my tits. Lap up his cream with my tongue, suck on his head like candy. My throat, my jaw, my chest, my entire skin smells of him, is saturated with his cream.

And my vision is filled with him, horny and aroused, shuddering and groaning.

A second later, he takes over. He pushes my tits in his big hands and hugs his own dick with them, tighter, moving up and down. His knees are bent as he pumps himself between the channel I created for him. I rake my nails on his thighs, on his clenching ass, all the while staring up at him, at his turned-on face, his furrowed brow and harsh, mean mouth.

I see him tremble massively, his fingers tugging on my nipples as he comes. Quickly, I close my mouth around the end of his cock so I can swallow his cum. It’s musky and spicy and thick.

After we’re done, he pulls me up gently, cleans me up, putting my clothes back on me. He looks at me like I’m so precious. It makes me wanna blurt out all my feelings for him.

He kisses my entire face and asks, “How many days?”

I stare at his sweaty, beautiful chest before looking deep into his eyes. “Four.”

I want him to say something. Anything. Give me some indication of the future.

Say it, Simon. Say something.

He doesn’t.

His lips are sealed, and his nod is grim and tight.

Neither does he say anything when we meet in the hallway by Beth’s office the next day. He’s staring at the same pictures.

Now, I understand why these photos depict the happiness instead of the crude and gritty reality. It’s because they are a beacon of hope. This place can be dismal and lonely, and that’s why these photos are meant to shine.

I get it now.

I stand by him and say the same thing I said a long time ago. “Interesting photos.”

He faces me, and I look at him with hope. Maybe today he’ll tell me about his dad. Maybe after all this time, I’ve showed him enough. I’ve showed him that I trust him and no matter what it is, my faith in him won’t go away.

But when he speaks, his words aren’t what I want them to be. “How many days?”

“Three.”

He nods and walks away.

***

Two days before The Goodbye, there’s a storm outside. Rain batters and beats this Victorian building, and everyone is cooped up inside. The girls are in the TV room, like most of the patients. I, however, am in the library.

I still can’t believe Beth ordered all these Harry Potter books based on my suggestion. Like, wow. An entire shelf has been dedicated to my favorite series of all time. I need to thank her before I leave.

I’m standing by the shelves, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince in my hands, when Simon walks in. Ever since we met in the hallway yesterday and I thought he’d talk to me about his dad, my heart has been heavy, and I have to really focus to not let it show.

Smiling is the key.