Page 36 of Dr. Lillian Harrington
LILLIAN
There was a knock at the door. Lillian’s pulse quickened as she stood and made her way to the entrance, her bare feet padding softly on the hardwood floor. She opened the door, and there stood Rebecca—her face unreadable, but her eyes carrying a vulnerability Lillian had rarely seen in her.
"Hi," Lillian said, her voice quiet but warm.
"Hi," Rebecca replied, stepping inside.
Lillian closed the door behind her, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension in the room was thick, charged with something more than just attraction. This was different. This was raw.
Rebecca’s eyes met hers, and Lillian saw the struggle in them—the battle between control and desire, between the walls Rebecca had spent years building and the woman standing in front of her, asking her to let them fall.
Without another word, Lillian took a step forward, her hand brushing against Rebecca’s arm. It was a small, gentle touch, but it was enough to break the silence.
Rebecca’s breath hitched slightly, and then, as if a dam had broken, she closed the distance between them, her lips crashingagainst Lillian’s in a kiss that was hungry, desperate, and filled with all the things neither of them had said.
Lillian melted into it, her fingers threading through Rebecca’s hair as the kiss deepened. This wasn’t like their previous encounters. This wasn’t about power or control; this was something else entirely. It was vulnerable, open, and it made Lillian’s heart race.
They moved together, stumbling toward the bedroom, shedding their clothes along the way in a flurry of heat and need. By the time they reached the bed, Lillian was breathless, her skin burning with the intensity of Rebecca’s touch.
For the first time, there was no holding back. No guarded distance. No careful retreat to the safety of jokes or professional titles. Just the two of them in the hush between heartbeats, stripped bare—first of their armour, then of everything else—until what remained was not performance but truth, not posture but need. The room seemed to lean in and listen; even the city noise outside softened to a distant hush, as if the world understood that this was not a moment to interrupt.
Rebecca’s hands moved over Lillian’s body with a tenderness that surprised them both, the kind that lingered as if committing her to memory—shoulders first, then the elegant slope of her arms, the inside of her wrists where the pulse fluttered warm and fast beneath skin. She touched like someone who knew how to hurt and therefore understood the obligation to heal; she touched like someone who had waited a long time to be gentle. Her palms smoothed across Lillian’s collarbones, thumbs brushing the hollow of her throat, and then she lowered her head and pressed her mouth there, a slow, deliberate kiss that was more vow than appetite. Lillian felt the meaning of it travel through her like heat, felt the way it eased something that had been coiled tight inside her for months.
Clothes were an afterthought, removed without haste, without the urgent tearing of fabric that belongs to other stories. Rebecca untied, unbuttoned, unzipped, each small reveal a considered gift. When the last layer fell to the floor in a soft spill of fabric, there was no flourish, no appraisal; only Rebecca’s breath catching quietly as she lifted her gaze and took in what she had uncovered—Lillian standing before her without defences, luminous in the low lamplight. “There you are,” she murmured, and the simplicity of it undid Lillian more thoroughly than any praise.
Rebecca’s mouth traced a patient path across skin that shivered under every pass: the curve where shoulder becomes neck, the fine line of collarbone, the gentle rise of breastbone. She kissed as if writing a map, unhurried and exact, pausing to breathe against warmed skin before moving on. Each kiss felt like a promise—this is mine to take care of; this, I will not break—and Lillian’s body answered in waves she could neither suppress nor explain, a surrender that was not defeat but relief. When Rebecca’s lips reached the swell of her breast, she didn’t rush; she cupped Lillian first, thumb circling lazily until the skin peaked to her touch, then drew one aching, careful kiss that made Lillian’s spine arch and her hand fly to Rebecca’s shoulder for balance.
There was a careful choreography to the way Rebecca guided her back to the bed, not a shove or a drag but a series of gentle placements, as if arranging a priceless thing. Fingers skated along Lillian’s waist, settled at her hips, coaxed her to lie down. The sheets welcomed them with a cool sigh; the mattress cradled every new curve of closeness as Rebecca came over her, bracing on her forearms so Lillian could feel weight without being crushed, could be held without being trapped. Lillian’s hands moved of their own accord—into hair, along shoulder blades, down the long line of Rebecca’s back—learning texture and heat,discovering the quiet strength in muscle and the silken give of skin.
“Look at me,” Rebecca said softly, and Lillian did, finding not the cold composure she had braced for but an intent warmth that refused to look away. It steadied her. It wrenched her open. The next kiss carried that certainty—mouth to mouth, breath to breath—deeper, slower, a steady claiming that built heat rather than chased it. Lillian’s breath stuttered; Rebecca’s steadied it with her own, easing her into a rhythm that felt inevitable.
When they finally came together, it felt less like crossing a line and more like stepping into a room that had been waiting for them, lights already on, bed already turned down, welcome written in the air. The world around them disappeared; it fell away in soft flakes like dust shaken from a curtain, leaving only lamplight on skin, the slight rasp of sheet against knee, the slow, tidal rise of bodies finding each other’s pace. Lillian’s legs shifted to cradle Rebecca closer; Rebecca adjusted without thinking, a small change in angle, a breath caught, a deeper press that pulled a sound from Lillian that she would never have made with anyone else. She felt gathered, guided, undone with care.
Heat built deliberately, like a tide gathering itself, as Rebecca was on top of Lillian and her fingers were fucking her slowly and deeply. Her mouth was on Lillian’s kissing her deeply and it felt more intimate than anything they had ever done before. Lillian tasted salt and clove on Rebecca’s tongue, felt the quiet strength in her arms, the steadiness in her pace.
“I want you to touch me,” Rebecca whispered and she took Lillian’s right hand and guided it between her legs. She was soaking wet. That was the moment something in Rebecca slipped its leash—an intake of breath against Lillian’s cheek, a barely spoken prayer in a language made of heat and need—and for a suspended instant they were both weightless, balanced on the edge together.
Lillian’s fingers slipped and slid and found their way inside Rebecca for the very first time, plunging in deep and eliciting the most delicious gasp from her. Lillian thought she could happily spend the rest of her life pleasing Rebecca. She felt Rebecca’s body beginning to writhe on top of her, meeting her where she was, taking her pleasure from riding Lillian’s fingers. Lillian felt their bodies synchronizing and she knew they were building together. She felt something incredible building deep inside her.
Their fall was not a plummet but a yielding, wave meeting shore and receding only to return. Lillian’s body fluttered around a pleasure so full it was almost pain, her thighs trembling, fingers digging into Rebecca’s back as if to anchor herself to the only true thing in the room. Rebecca came with her, the heat of her moans heavy in Lillian’s mouth.
Lillian felt Rebecca’s pussy tighten around her fingers as shudders of climax ran through them both again and again. Lillian felt it from the tip of her fingers to the tip of her toes and everywhere in between.
It felt different to any sex she had ever had and she knew in that moment it was because of the connection they shared. There was a tenderness between them that Lillian had always suspected was there, but it took until now for Rebecca to show it completely.
Breathless, tangled in sheets, they found the stillness that comes only after a storm has done its work. Lillian lay open and loose, chest rising in ragged pulls that slowed under the calm of Rebecca’s hands smoothing down her sides, settling her into the bed with reverent little passes—here, love, here—until the tremor left her limbs. Rebecca pressed her mouth to Lillian’s temple and stayed there, the shape of her breath a warm, steadying weight.
Silence gathered in the room like a quilt. The city retuned itself to a far-off hum. Lillian turned her face and foundRebecca already looking, eyes dark and clear, that impossible combination of hunger and gentleness still flickering there. She could have spoken then—something brave, something foolish—but the words would have felt smaller than what had just moved through them. Instead, she lifted a hand and traced the line of Rebecca’s jaw, the curve of her mouth, the wet shine at her bottom lip, a touch so light it was almost not one at all.
Rebecca caught those fingers and kissed the tips one by one, then brought Lillian’s hand to her chest and held it there, over a heartbeat that had not yet learned to slow. “You’re safe,” she said, not as reassurance but as fact, and Lillian felt herself breathe all the way down for the first time in a very long time.
They shifted only to gather each other closer, legs tangled, sheet a careless knot at their shins, skin damp where heat had met and met again. The rhythm of their bodies settled into the quiet rhythm of the room—inhale, exhale; rise, fall—and the promise that had been threaded through every kiss lingered in the air between them. Maybe, just maybe, Rebecca was ready to give more. She had given it already, Lillian thought, in the only way that mattered: not with declarations, but with careful hands and a pace that said stay, with a patience that felt like devotion, with a mouth that told the truth when words were too fragile to carry it.
It was just them—still breathless, still tangled, still lost and found in each other—learning the shape of a future one tender, deliberate touch at a time.
And when it was over, when they lay in the soft glow of the moonlight streaming through the window, Rebecca didn’t pull away. She didn’t make excuses, didn’t gather her clothes and leave like she had before. Instead, she stayed, her arm draped lazily over Lillian’s waist, her breath warm against Lillian’s shoulder.
Lillian turned her head slightly, her fingers brushing against Rebecca’s cheek. "You’re staying," she whispered, her voice filled with quiet awe.
