Playdate 03

//in a world without STDs. That's what fantasy is for, right? Part 1 & 2 is floating around//

As I finish typing my last medical note for the evening, I hear a knock on the door.

I glance at the corner of my laptop before closing it shut, Privacy and all that. It's late, who the fuck is here now? My last appointment was over half an hour ago, and all of my colleagues are usually gone by now.

I begrudgingly slide my bare feet into my heels, in case it's someone worthy of my professionalism.

As I open the door, I register the familiarity of his arrogance before anything else.

I bark out a laugh, unable to stop myself, at the audacity and absurdity of this moment.

"Dr. Baqir, this is... unexpected."

"Dr. M" he says teasingly, as he turns on the charm with his eyes crinkling. Even in casual jeans, he is stunning, his broad shoulders and light brown eyes doing all the talking for him.

"We do different kind of work," I say, allowing my lips to smile a little. I rest my head against the doorframe, blocking his entry. I look him up and down, noticing the muscles of his forearms and the high end wine store bag in his grip, remembering that same grip on my hips.

Fuck.

"Yes, I can see that," he says, as he points to the empty waiting room with plush chairs and calming generic artwork (not my choice). "Your work is... messier."

I roll my eyes and nod at the gift in his hand - "I don't like wine."

Al looks unperturbed, the excessive confidence reminding me of how much I had wanted to take him down a peg the first time we had a drink together. And also how much I wanted to fuck him.

He leans just a little closer into me, and his cologne hits me, bringing back vivid memories of his hand grazing my collarbone, of being fucked from behind on his kitchen island.

Fuck him. And his random fucking visit.

"Do you usually show up without calling?," I ask, not quite willing to let him in just yet.

"You did ask about house calls, and I'm in your town. It's not wine, by the way - it's an 18 year single malt from Japan."

"Why are you in my town?"

"I'm speaking at a conference - about ER protocol and procedure."

I lean close and I feel the desire radiating off of him.

"And you said my work is messier?" I ask, eyebrows raised.

As Al grins, I re-realize how much I wouldn't date him, hell, I wouldn't usually fuck someone like him but the chemistry, in all of its mutually aggressive cockiness, is primal. And stupid. Doing things I usually never do, saying snarky things that I usually don't say.

"Are you going to let me in?" He asks, breath minty, brown eyes mischievous.

Both of us can sense my inner conflict as I contemplate letting him into my office. He's so close, I see the evening stubble on his jaw. His jaw that was very good with rimming my asshole. He senses me melt and just when he leans in to close the gap between us, to kiss me, I pull away, expressionless.

He's thrown off for half a second before I stop my teasing.

"Come in," I say with a grin.

"You're such an asshole," he mutters jokingly, as he drops his backpack on the floor and puts the booze on my work desk. Very close to my laptop.

"You care about where things are placed too?" Al teases, watching my expression before moving the bottle to the floor.

"I guess we're all control freaks in our own way," I say with a laugh.

"Are you calling me a control freak?," he asks with a smile.

"Of course I am," I say snottily, as I turn away from him to shut the door.

Guess we're doing this?

As my fingers touch the cold of the door handle, my gaze rests on the latch wondering if I give in to my desire to lock it or be a grown up and suggest we go for a drink in an appropriate place.

His hands circle my waist, making the hair raises on my arms, and my hormones make my decision for me.

As soon at the latch clicks, all feigned restraint is gone. Al's hands run over me and his teeth graze against my neck, while he pulls me close against him.

I shudder, grabbing his hands and placing them on my tits as I grind onto him, feeling his cock start to harden.

I spin around and drop to my knees, grabbing at the cold metal button on his jeans, yanking them and his briefs down his muscular quads.

His cock is beautiful, semi-hard, and I smile when I notice some stubble. Guess even he can have some stubble between waxes.

I take his cock in my hands. I look up at him and slowly lick the tip. With each lick, my tongue covers more of his shaft, and I watch him look mesmerized.

Spit dribbles out of my mouth and I let it, knowing the impact it was having on him,feeling his hardening cock twitch at the sign of my arousal.

Who ever said you lose power when giving blow jobs?

Midway, I stop to smile at him, and he grins back, placing a hand on my head, fingers weaving through, touching my scalp.

"Take your shirt off," I say, before tilting my head and licking up his shaft.

He lets go off my hair and pulls his shirt off.

"Fuck, you're a vision," I say, taking his pecs, his abs, the ridiculous definition in his arms. There was something glorious about being fully dressed, while he's basically naked.

"So are you," he says, fingers weaving through my hair again, tugging from the roots just a little.

I groan, my nipples harden, my pussy drips.

"Are you going to let me fuck your mouth?" He asks.

My saliva-coated lips wrap around his cock, letting him know his answer.

My head tilts back, cheeks filling out as his cock pushes in. My hands caress his ass, and I pull him close. I can barely breathe, his pubic bone flush against my nose as he fucks me hard.

I groan, muffled around his cock, as I inch closer and closer to orgasm, the familiar tingle and drip telling me everything I need to know.

Al's fingers rub my scalp, and just when he tugs my hair, I cum hard, somehow managing to protect his cock from my teeth.

"I need to fuck you."

I nod in a daze, and I flop down onto the rug, still overwhelmed from my orgasm. He's standing over me, hard as ever, and the carpet feels deliciously scratchy beneath my finger tips.

I pull my dress off, and he flips his shoes and jeans off his feet. Al drops down to my level, unclasping my bra before his teeth latch onto my aroused nipple.

""I thought you needed to fuck me," I whisper, feeling the arc again coming up from my last orgasm.

In response, his hands rip my tights and panties off me, my shoes flying off, hitting the couch with a thud.

He buries his face between my legs, the softness of his tongue and warmth of his breath making me spread my legs for him.

With each lick, I moan, feeling closer and closer to another orgasm, I'm so wet, I can feel pussy juice dribbling out between my ass cheeks.

I roll onto my belly, somehow knowing I wanted to feel the rug beneath me.

"This position?" He asks, as I hear the rip of a condom wrapper.

I turn to watch him sheath himself, while I run my hands over my tits, over my mouth.

Once he's done, he makes a circular motion with his hand and I grin, flipping back onto my belly. Al slowly lays on top of me, his weight feels delicious, overwhelming, and when I spread my legs, he slowly pushes in.

"Fuck," I whisper into the rug.

His hands run across my shoulders, leaving a trail of goosebumps as he finds my wrists, which he pulls up, pinning them over my head.

The groan that escapes from my lips is guttural, and I cum once more.

"I think you might like being dominated, Aisha," he whispers, his hair brushing against my ear.

"Fuck," I seethe, unsure if his comment was right, not excited about him potentially being right, and yet my hips keep slamming into him, wanting his cock.

Al leans into the fucking, hands weighing my own down, as he starts to slam in and pull out. With each thrust, I rub against the carpet, his wrists holding my hands in place.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I mutter, trying to keep quiet as I'm bucking against his thrusts.

"Who are you keeping quiet for, Aisha? There's no one here," Al says, as he pulls out and slams into me again.

I groan out loud, no longer muffled, and beg, "Fuck me, Dr. Baqir."

In response, he suddenly stops - tormenting me with a half-filled pussy.

"Are you serious?" I groan irritably, wriggling a little to turn, difficult with my hips and wrists trapped under him.

From the corner of my eye, I see his amusement and his jaw sets as he places more weight on me, which somehow feels deeply arousing.

"What do you want, Aisha?"

"Fuck me, please." He's got me begging, how embarrassing.

"Louder."

"FUCK ME!" I yell, tilting my hips into him. Even without seeing him, I know he's smiling with satisfaction. He increases his pace and with each thrust, I groan louder.

My nails dig into the carpet, as we settle into a fast and heavy rhythm that will give us carpet burn.

I feel that familiar sensation again, tingling in my lower abdomen and before I reach my orgasm, I wriggle my wrist out from his grip and palm my clit before slapping it gently.

My world comes undone, my pussy spasming all over his cock, I think he's cum but I don't even know, I'm just overwhelmed by the flooding of hormones, the arc of this orgasm.

When I come back to my body, I notice the sweat between us, the stick of pussy juice beneath me, the unopened wine bag from the corner of my eye, and god damn it the soreness of my hips.

Al starts to slowly pull out and off me, flopping onto my side, delicately taking his now filled condom off.

When he looks back at me, he looks as I feel, light, amused, exhausted. His body is covered in sweat, and I see the redness on his knees, his elbows.

I roll towards the wine bag, wincing as my hips touch the carpet. I reach for the bottle, intrigued. I smile at the gold and black, lifting the heavy bottle out, ripping off the black seal. I'd only had the 12 year Yamakazi before. I pull the cork off and take a swig, the warm amber liquid awakening my taste buds.

"Interested in helping me wash this rug?" I ask jokingly, as I stand up to hand the bottle to him.

He takes a swig, a long one, and I watch sweat trickle down his neck, landing in the crevasse between ab 2 and 3. Who has time for this kind of fitness, I don't get it.

Al raises his eyebrow at me,"Interested in coming to the cocktail hour at my conference? Its black tie."