I'm a very disgusting man.

Thinking about my best friend's daughter was never enough.

Lusting over her body - her perfect-sized boobs, her perfect sturdy legs, her prim-shaped ass and big smile, and eventually jerking over to her pictures which I have saved on my phone every fucking night.

It was never enough.

And now I'm here, pawing at her while he snores loudly upstairs.

Grinding her perfect ass into my lap. Playing messed up games with a stethoscope?

I should be ashamed of myself.

I am ashamed of myself.

Don't know how I'll ever look in a mirror again after this.

Theresa may be nineteen, a legal adult, and has already given me her consent.

But she's way too young for me; way too off limits.

I'll be fucking forty in a few months' time.

Sadly, it's not enough to stop me, though. Not when I've been dreaming of her every night for months. Not when I barely managed to shrug her off a few days ago.

"Let's go on to the next phase, Theresa." Her throat shifts as she swallows, her breaths coming fast and shallow. She's practically panting, squirming on my thighs, and the sight of her chest rising and falling like that is hypnotic.

Goosebumps prickle over her skin as I place the stethoscope on her chest, right above her neckline. Woomf, woomf, woomf, her heart goes, pounding out an erratic rhythm.

When I rock up beneath her, rubbing our bodies together, her heart skips a beat. Christ.

"You like that," I grit out, my head swimming with triumph. She really wants this? She wants me the same way I want her? "Be honest, Theresa. I can hear it. Your heartbeat. Your body gives you away."

Just like mine is announcing my interest, loud and proud, prodding up beneath her like I might skewer through her clothes. No spare brain cells to be embarrassed right now.

"There are more signs than that, Doc," she whispers, and her cheeks are so bright. She's burning up, lit only by a few dim lamps and the flickering light of the TV screen. "If you go looking for them."

Fuck.

The blanket brushes against my knuckles as I shift my hand beneath the fabric. Soft thighs part, welcoming me in between.

"This is wrong," I mutter, and Theresa rolls her eyes. Twitches her hips.

"I don't care. It doesn't feel wrong."

Yes, it does. Deliciously, perfectly wrong. And it's so messed up, but when I glance over her shoulder to look towards the stairs, the reminder that her father is asleep probing my skin once again, my cock throbs with how badly I want this.

My fingertips trail along silky skin. So warm. Butter-soft.

The damn stethoscope is still in my ears. Theresa takes the end and presses it harder against her chest, slipping it under the neckline of her shirt.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

My middle finger brushes against damp cotton panties, and her gasp echoes through the den.

Thud-thud-thud-

I yank the stethoscope out of my ears and toss it to the sofa. Need both hands for this; need to focus.

"Theresa," I growl, so quiet that she leans forward, straining to hear. Her hips shift restlessly, chasing my featherlight touch, and her legs part wider as I slip one finger inside her panties.

She groans, then claps a hand over her mouth, but it was loud. Too loud.

We both freeze, staring at the armchair together. Two actors argue on screen, and a clock ticks on the wall.

Upstairs, not a single soul stirs.

Christ, Daniel sleeps like a fucking horse. The heavy snore reverberates throughout the house, music to my ears. I sag with relief, a bead of sweat trickling down my spine, and when we turn back to our game, this time our hands are rougher. Desperate.

The blanket rustles, one end slipping onto the floor. So much intensity. So much passion.

In all of my almost forty years.

"Fuck, Theresa." I don't recognize myself as I grit the words against her hair. As I roam beneath her skirt, touching with greedy fingers. "Look at you. All soaked for Daddy. So wet and needy. So ready. So perfect. Tell Daddy what you want. Come on, tell me."

I shouldn't talk like this. Shouldn't stroke between her legs. What the hell has come over me?

Whatever it is, Theresa is in its grip too, because she nods feverishly, scrabbling at my shoulders, lip drawn between her teeth. Her hips rock against my hand, urging me on. My fingers skate across her slick heat, the sounds faint beneath the blanket.

We're breathing hard together, sucking down air. "This is mine," I hear myself say, the words dredged up from deep in my chest. One hand cups her pussy, and I squeeze until she whimpers. "This is mine, Theresa. Do you understand?"

"Holy shit," she mumbles, and I'll take that as a yes. When I press two fingers inside her, Theresa tips back her head, lips parting on a silent cry.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

The word pulses in my ears.

Her body grips me tightly, and a faint warning bell clangs in the back of my mind. The way she's strangling my fingers, the hazy shock in her eyes... she has done this before, right? Because if she hasn't...

Well. I'm more of a bastard than I realized.

"Theresa," I say slowly, fingers pumping between her legs. Dread crawls up my throat. "Are you...? Have you ever...?"

Fingers tighten where they grip my collar, and her blonde hair is in disarray. She won't look at me, but her words are firm. "Don't you dare, Dr Storm. Don't freak out on me now. I'll never forgive you."

Jesus Christ. My hand stops moving under the blanket.

My best friend's daughter. And she's-she was-thank god we didn't-

"Doc," Theresa hisses. "Don't you dare."

The snoring upstairs stops, and I want to kick my own ass. "You deserve so much better than this," I tell his daughter quietly. "Your first time... Jesus, Theresa."

"It's my decision," she says, scowling at my collarbone. "You're what I want, Dr Storm. You're still what I want, even if you're going to be a giant judgy walnut about it."

My surprised laugh turns into a cough. The snoring continues.

And my heart drums as slowly, so slowly, my hand starts moving again under the blanket. Fingertips slide through slick folds.

"Yes," Theresa whispers, eyes screwed shut as she rolls her hips. When she presses her face against my throat; when I feel the brush of lips, the scrape of teeth, I send up a fervent prayer to any deities who might be listening.

I know I don't deserve this, but I want her. No, I need her.

Theresa is my oxygen. I want every detail of this moment seared into my brain.

"That's it, darling girl. Ride my hand. Just like that."

She quakes and whimpers, and I fucking love it. There's another fight scene in the movie, with thuds and grunts floating from the screen.

"Do you feel what you do to me?" I rock up beneath her, tilting her in my lap, and Theresa clutches my shoulders for balance, still writhing against my hand. "Christ, I want you. Need to bury myself inside you, Theresa-"

Daniel suddenly coughs, sheets ruffling, and we both turn to stone. Her snug channel flutters around my fingers, her slickness is smeared down to my wrist, and we're both red-faced and disheveled. If he comes down now...

Holding my breath, I draw my hand from between his daughter's legs. She slithers off my lap to the side, silent except for the rustle of fabric, and leaves the blanket behind to hide my ruined state.

Theresa looks shell-shocked as she huddles at the end of the sofa.

She manages a wobbly smile, squeezing a cushion in her lap.

We don't look at each other for the rest of the movie, and when we say goodnight two hours later at her father's doorway, we're painfully formal.

I have a problem.

A delicate, ridiculously sweet problem.

Because since Dr Storm touched me last night and left me aching, since we came so freaking close and yet fell so far short, I've been in one seriously foul mood.

"What's wrong?" Casey Evans, my boyfriend asks on our way back home from school. Casey and I have been together for three months, and it's been hell trying to force myself to develop feelings for him, while actively lusting over Doctor Storm.

And now, as I sit in his car, meeting his gaze, a part of me feels sorry as I realize that I'll never feel anything remotely strong to what I feel for Doctor Storm for this equally amazing man. Though we've been dating for three months, Casey has never pestered me for sex. He understands me. Has always been there for me. Sometimes I curse the heavens for bringing me across Doctor Storm, because if Doctor Storm wasn't in the picture, I would have fought myself harder to love Casey. "Um, nothing."

"That's a lie, babe and you know it," he says gently. "Is it still the fall? Is it affecting you that badly?"

I've healed from the bad fall I orchestrated to get Doctor Storm's attention, but his question shines light on a new idea. "Yeah," I say, nodding. "I still feel pain in my waist joints. Can we stop by at Doctor Storm's? I won't take long, I promise."

"Anything for you, my love."

I might regret this later, I know. But Doctor Storm started this fire. He can freaking quench it.

Pure, molten frustration swirls in me as Casey speeds the whole way there. Sparks surge through my veins when we pull up in the hospital Doctor Storm works in. I feel Casey's eyes drill holes into me as I make my way inside while he waits in the car, and a swoosh of guilt seizes me once again. But when I step into the bright hospital lobby and smell the tang of cleaning spray, I'm seized with a new fear. What if Doctor Storm has changed his mind? What if he sends me home without doing anything? Without touching me?

No. This needs to happen.

I need to see it through. No matter what.

There's a line already at the reception desk, but I march past to the map on the wall. Carts of medical supplies trundle past, pushed by porters in navy scrubs, and the tannoy reminds us all about the fire exits.

I've been here recently, damn it. Why can't I learn the layout? And why do all the corridors in this goddamn building look exactly the same?

Grumble, grumble, grumble. If he's not here, I'm gonna cry.

After several minutes of scowling at the map, I give up and pick a random corridor, my shoes squeaking against the linoleum. If all else fails, I'll close my eyes and let my pussy lead me there, because by the feel of it... the doctor's got us tethered on a string.

* * *

Dr Storm has a brass name plaque on his office door, and one of those flip signs that says 'Do Not Disturb'. I'd turn around on the spot, sweet aching or no, because I've been raised to respect doctors' time-except his door is propped open and I can see him in there, clicking away at his computer and sighing.

There's no patient in there. No one to bother except him.

I nibble my bottom lip and knock. "Um. Dr Storm?"

Our family friend rockets out of his desk chair, wheels clattering across the floor. Those green eyes are wide, and he stares at me like he's seen a ghost. "...Theresa? What are you doing here?"

Is it really so shocking that I'd be here? After yesterday? Oh god, did I blow what happened between us way out of proportion?

"Theresa," the doctor says, then snaps back to life. He crosses the room in a few strides, then ushers me inside and closes the door behind us. The lock thuds into place.

My mouth is dry.

He looks different here. I knew that, obviously; I saw him at work the other day, but that was before... well. Before.

And today, in his full doctor garb, Dr Storm looks like all my Christmases and birthdays have come at once. The pristine white coat clings to his broad shoulders; his charcoal tie draws a line down that toned stomach. Even the shadows under his eyes are doing something for me. The threads of silver at his temples make my tummy flip.

"Um." I smooth both hands down my front, second guessing my outfit choices. Maybe wearing the skirt and knee-highs again is pushing my luck, because Dr Storm glances down my body, then looks troubled by what he finds. "Should I have made an appointment or something?"

Green eyes meet mine, then soften. "Of course not, Theresa. You're always welcome here," he says, then visibly remembering his job, the doctor adds: "Even when I'm with patient or - "

I hold up one palm, fighting a grin. "I get it, Doc. You're forever loyal to my father."

The smile that spreads on his face is worth getting lost for twenty minutes in the hospital corridors just to see the blush spreading over his cheeks. He shrugs helplessly. "I didn't think I'd see you again, Theresa. At least not...so soon."

What? Why not?

Numbness spreads through my fingers and toes, but I'm proud to say that I act normal. Like my whole world isn't crashing down around my ears. Like my sweet boyfriend isn't waiting for me in the parking lot, clueless as fuck. "As in... you didn't want me to come? You regret what happened yesterday?"

Will I die of this sweet ache?

"I-regret? Theresa, come on." Dr Strom glares at me like I'm the one who's being confusing as hell. "Of course I don't regret it one bit. That was-I will treasure that memory, even if we don't... even if we never..."

A heavy sigh of relief gusts out of me, and I'm surprised the posters don't flap against the walls. This idiot.

"I liked it," I say, cutting across whatever noble meltdown he's having. "No, I loved it. I want to do it again and again, and I want to get to the best part this time. Don't you?"

That perfect chest rises and falls. Little ID cards and a dangling watch hang from his lapel like medals.

"Your father told me about your boyfriend..." Dr Storm begins cautiously, and I close my eyes. I don't find Casey a serious hurdle. I can always break up with him. Dad is the main hurdle. The only hurdle, really, because if we'd met any other way, you bet your ass I'd have thrown myself into the doctor's arms long ago. "Are things serious between you two?"

"No," I say flatly.

He stares at me for a few minutes. "When were you planning on telling me about him?"

I shrug. "Probably never? Casey and I aren't serious. He's not going to be a problem, trust me."

"Do you love him? Your father seems to be quite taken by him..."

"Dad wants me to be happy." Even as I say the words, I will myself to believe them. "But he has to understand that I'm old enough to make my own choices. He'll get over Casey eventually. Maybe he'll be shocked at first, but it'll be fine. It will be fine."

Please, god. Let this all be fine.

"He trusts you more than he trusts Casey. He likes you more than Casey," I whisper.

Dr Storm snorts. "That's only a matter of time. He wouldn't be so pleased if he finds out what we...um...what we did - "

"Who's going to tell him? Definitely not me."

"Definitely not me either. Alright, well... forget your father. Are you sure, Theresa? Because," he says, steering me back toward the examination bench, that hungry glint back in his eye, "I won't be an experiment. This won't happen once or twice, then never again. If we start this, we're in this. Do you understand?"

I nod as my ass hits the bench. He grips my hips and lifts me up, muscles flexing, and Jeez Louise, how's a girl supposed to think straight when that happens?

"These socks," the doctor says, circling one fingertip on my knee before nudging my legs open, "are an act of war."

My spluttered laugh is met with a crinkle-eyed smile. There he is. There's the man I've loved for years.

And though we haven't settled any details, though my father and boyfriend is a hurdle, whether we like it or not... I'm lighter than air as I beam at Dr Storm. He steps between my spread thighs, then bends his face to mine.

"Theresa," he says against my parted lips. His kiss is long and hard and hungry, and my insides fizz as his tongue strokes mine. "Christ, Theresa. How will I ever deserve you?"

My head swims, and I grip the sides of his white coat for balance. But one idea presents itself, right as my pulse throbs between my legs: "You left me aching yesterday, Doc. Why don't you start there?"

His smile is wolfish. "You're right, Theresa. Let's take it again. From the top. And this time? I'll make sure we finish off."

I can't believe my luck.

No, shit. This just feels so damn good to be true.

Just how many times have I dreamed of this? Theresa, flushed, tender and smiling behind my locked office door; her grip tight on my white doctor's coat? Theresa staring up at me like that, hot and hungry?

Too many times to count. This is better, though. This is real.

Never going to let her go after this. Once I taste her, she's mine.

The sounds of the hospital float through the closed door-the calls of doctors and nurses, the beeping equipment, the recorded announcements-but in this room, we're safe in our own world. My pulse thumps in my ears as I kiss Theresa's cheek, her jaw, her throat, trailing my lips over her soft, heated skin.

My knees crack as I lower myself down to kneel before the bench. Theresa hums, winding her fingers through my hair.

"I can't believe this," she whispers.

Her skirt rustles as her legs slide open wider. My eyes lock on the damp spot on her white panties. "Believe it," I tell her, because whole armies couldn't keep me from tasting her now.

My palms settle on top of her thighs. Her muscles twitch beneath my touch, and she's already trembling.

I've never done this before. Never fooled around at work; never chased after a younger woman. Never felt like I'd keel over dead if I don't feel this woman come on my tongue. Theresa remakes me; I'm brand new when I'm with her, and it's just as well.

Been set in my ways for far too long. Been lonely for too long, waiting for the right woman and not understanding what was taking so long.

This is worth it. She's worth the wait. I press a kiss to one knee, and I'm rewarded with a hiss. The bench groans as Theresa shuffles her hips closer to the edge.

Yes. As I work my way up her thighs, kissing and stroking, this is what I've been craving: the heat of her body; her scent; her sighs. I'm burrowing my way to heaven.

"Theresa." Her name gusts out of me, and I hook her white cotton panties to one side. She's slick and pink and swollen already, shaved except for a strip of trimmed dark blonde hair.

Heaven.

"Theresa." Do I even remember any other words? Does it matter? My knees dig into the floor as I lean forward.

"I-Doc." Fingers tighten in my hair, tugging on the strands. "Oh my god. Oh, shit. That's-oh my god. There. Right there. Holy shit." My chatterbox breaks off with a weak laugh, and I grin against her slick folds. My tongue strokes along her slit, still teasing and exploring. Mapping my territory.

I skate around the bundle of nerves, dipping down to her entrance. Not yet.

"This is... oh, wow." Legs shift, calves draping over my shoulders, and heels dig into my back. "I've pictured this so many times, Dr Storm. Can't believe you're really down there."

"Max," I say, my name muffled against her pussy, then slide both hands under her ass and squeeze. Two perfect handfuls. I knew it. "Call me Max."

Theresa chuckles, urging me on with her heels. "Okay. Keep going... Max."

No fear. Her salty-sweet taste is smeared over my cheeks and chin; her body twitches and trembles with every lick. I won't stop until Theresa is a wrung out mess, and even then she'll have to beg for mercy.

Out there, the hospital tannoy crackles out another announcement. A medical cart trundles right past my office door.

In here, our ragged breaths and the wet noises between Theresa's legs are the only sound.

My jaw cracks. My tongue aches. I keep going, licking and sucking and nibbling, the examination bench creaking every time Theresa shifts her weight. The radiator gurgles to life against the wall, and it's a cold day but we don't need it. We're already steaming over the windows.

"Theresa." I say her name like a prayer, pressing my face between her soft thighs. "Theresa. Fuck."

She's whimpering, her hips twitching up in a stuttering rhythm.

She's close. My girl is close. But maybe I can drag this out longer somehow-maybe I can steal a few more minutes-

Theresa's thighs begin to shake, rattling the bench against the wall, and she lets out a broken wail. Oh, well. I grunt and press closer, lapping at her clit for all I'm worth.

And feeling her heat... tasting the sweet rush of her release...

I was right. Heaven.

My legs are shaky as I push to my feet a minute later, fumbling at my belt. The cool air tickles against my slick mouth.

Shouldn't rush her, but I'm not thinking straight. Can barely undo my own goddamn belt, my hands are shaking so hard, but Theresa leans forward and helps me, yanking on the leather strap.

"Sorry," I pant, gripping her thighs so tight my fingertips go white. Fuck, I'm being such a caveman. Will my touch leave faint bruises tomorrow? Will she hate me for it? "Theresa, darling girl, I need-will you let me-?"

She wrenches my pants open with a triumphant hiss before shuffling her ass closer. "Let you? Is that a joke?"

Uh. No?

But she's drawing my length from my boxers-setting the head against her entrance-

I gulp down air, fighting with every last goddamn functioning brain cell to do this right. My body quakes with the effort of staying still. "Theresa. Look at me. Are you sure?"

Pretty blue eyes glare at me, then roll skyward. Legs wrap around my waist, drawing me closer, and I hold my breath as I touch her slick heat... as I sink the first inch...

"I'm sure," Theresa says in my ear, and when did my forehead drop onto her shoulder like this? My eyes are screwed shut, my hips pressing harder now, hungrier. I want in. "Take me, Dr Storm. Take everything, and don't you hold back."

Jesus Christ.

I will. I will.