Page 4 of Dr. Lillian Harrington
R led the way down the quiet, plush-carpeted hallway, the soft lighting casting shadows that made the whole scene feel dreamlike. Lillian’s breath caught as they reached the door to the room, the tension between them almost suffocating. R slid the key card into the lock, and the door clicked open with a soft, mechanical sound.
The room was luxurious, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a sweeping view of the city skyline. But Lillian barely noticed the surroundings as R closed the door behind them, her eyes dark with intent. The click of the lock echoed in the silence, sealing them into their own private world.
Before Lillian could even catch her breath, R was on her again, pinning her against the wall with a controlled force that sent a jolt of excitement straight to her core. R’s lips found hers once more, and this time, there was nothing holding back the hunger in the kiss. Lillian moaned softly against R’s mouth, her hands fisting in the fabric of R’s blazer as their bodies pressed together, heat radiating between them.
Without breaking the kiss, R slipped the blazer off her shoulders, tossing it to the floor before her hands were back on Lillian, roaming over her body with a mix of authority and tenderness. Lillian’s own hands fumbled with the buttons of R’sblouse, her fingers trembling as she tried to keep up with the pace of her desire.
R pulled back just enough to smirk at Lillian’s urgency, her breath hot against Lillian’s lips. "In a hurry, are we?"
Lillian’s response was breathless, her voice barely a whisper. "You have no idea."
R chuckled, low and throaty, as she shrugged off her blouse, leaving her in nothing but a lace bra that barely concealed the soft curves of her chest. Lillian’s eyes darkened with want as she drank in the sight before her. R was all smooth skin and sharp edges, a vision of power and seduction.
Lillian reached out, her fingers tracing the line of R’s collarbone, the soft skin under her touch sending a shiver through her own body. She moved slowly, savoring the moment as she let her hand travel lower, over the swell of R’s breasts, her thumb brushing over the lace, teasing.
R’s breath hitched, her pupils dilating as she watched Lillian’s every move with an intensity that made Lillian’s pulse race even faster. Without warning, R caught Lillian’s wrist in her hand, pinning it above her head with a firm, unyielding grip.
"Not so fast," R growled, her voice dark and commanding. "You said you wanted to forget everything tonight. Let me take care of that."
Lillian’s heart stuttered at the words, her body instinctively arching toward R, craving the touch she knew was coming. R’s free hand slipped down Lillian’s side, fingers trailing over her hip before sliding up beneath her dress. The anticipation was almost unbearable, the need coursing through Lillian’s veins like liquid fire.
“Tell me what you want,” R murmured against Lillian’s ear, her mouth a breath away from skin, warm enough to make Lillian shiver as if the suggestion alone were a touch. The words slid into her like silk drawn through a ring, smooth andinevitable, and the heat of R’s breath pooled low in her belly until it felt impossible to hold herself upright, impossible to be anything but honest.
Lillian’s answer came out raw, her control long gone, voice catching on the edge of a moan. “You. I want you.”
That was all R needed to hear—permission, confession, surrender wrapped into three small words—and the shift in her was instant, a subtle tightening of intent that Lillian felt before she saw it, like the room taking a deeper breath.
With a swift, unhurried certainty, R’s hand slid higher beneath the hem of Lillian’s dress, the backs of her knuckles grazing the soft crease where thigh became hip, mapping her with a patience that was somehow more devastating than haste. Fingertips teased the elastic edge of Lillian’s underwear, a light, circling touch that made her gasp and fall back against the wall, palms flat to cool plaster as if the building itself were the only thing keeping her upright.
The fabric was an obstacle for exactly one heartbeat. R hooked a finger and drew it aside—not tearing, not careless, simply moving what wasn’t her out of the way—then settled her hand where Lillian burned. The first stroke was barely there, exploratory, the pads of R’s fingers skimming through slick heat as if confirming what her eyes already knew, and Lillian’s body answered helplessly, hips rocking toward contact, breath punching out of her chest.
“Good girl,” R said, so quietly it was almost a thought, the praise grazing Lillian’s nerve endings like another touch, and then there was no more patience at all, only precision. R found the rhythm she wanted and imposed it, drawing slow, deliberate circles that tightened and sweetened with each pass, pausing to gather wetness and press it higher, exactly where Lillian needed it most.
Lillian couldn’t stop the sounds—little, broken, embarrassing things she would have swallowed for anyone else—and R ate each one with a pleased hum that made the pressure intensify. Heat licked up Lillian’s spine and bloomed across her chest; her knees trembled, and the thin strap of her dress slipped off one shoulder without either of them bothering to fix it. Somewhere behind them the lift chimed and voices drifted past the corridor, the mundane world leaking in, and the knowledge that anyone might turn the corner only sharpened the bliss she was barely holding together.
“You’re so ready for me,” R whispered, the promise in her voice dark and sure, her mouth at Lillian’s throat now, tasting the salt-slick skin there, breath hot against the frantic jump of her pulse. “I can feel it.”
Lillian’s answer was a gasp that broke into a whimper. Her fingers curled in the lapel of R’s blazer and then opened again, useless—the only thing she could hold on to was the rhythm R gave her. The wall at her back felt cool and distant; the only real thing in the world was the steady, ruthless kindness of R’s hand. She pressed Lillian harder against the plaster with her body, pinning her there without bruising, owning the space around her while the pads of her fingers moved with clinical accuracy, the kind of practiced control that made surrender feel not only inevitable, but safe.
“Please,” Lillian managed, not sure whether she was asking for more or for mercy.
R’s mouth curved against her skin. “Then take it,” she said, and changed the angle by a fraction, a tiny shift that stole the rest of Lillian’s breath.
The pleasure built not like a sprint but like a tide, each pass of R’s fingers drawing it higher, each drag of her thumb keeping it from breaking until Lillian’s body ached with it. She could feel herself coming open in stages—hips loosening, breathstuttering, jaw slack—until the world narrowed to the point where R touched her and the precise circle she drew there, patient and remorseless. The smell of her own arousal rose warm and heady; R’s low murmur of approval vibrated against Lillian’s throat and made her toes curl in her heels.
“Eyes on me,” R said, and Lillian managed it, dragging her gaze up from the angle of their bodies to meet eyes that were dark, intent, hungry. There was nothing careless in R’s face, nothing distracted; she looked at Lillian the way a command is given—calmly, completely—and Lillian felt herself fall into that look like stepping off a ledge she’d been standing on for years.
Her body arched hard enough to lift her off the wall and R’s free hand came up to cradle the back of her head, not to restrain but to hold, to keep her from spinning away as the pressure crested. Lillian tried to breathe and made a sound instead, a thin, desperate thing that dissolved into a broken yes as R circled faster, then slower, then pressed just a fraction harder, guiding her up, keeping her there, refusing to let her slip under until she could only shake and beg.
“Let go,” R murmured, and it was less an instruction than a permission Lillian hadn’t known she’d been waiting for.
She shattered on the next stroke. It wasn’t a neat unraveling but a detonation that lit every nerve at once, electricity sparking through her limbs and bursting behind her eyes, her thighs clamping and then flying open under the careful insistence of R’s hand. She cried out, unguarded, and the sound bounced off the hallway like a confession before the city swallowed it; R swallowed the rest, mouth on hers, catching the tremor of her breath as the wave rolled and rolled and would not stop.
R stayed with her through it, holding her up with hip and shoulder and a palm splayed firm at her lower back while the other hand gentled, coaxing pleasure down from unbearable to exquisite, from exquisite to soft pulses that left Lillian shaking.The world came back in sounds and textures—the rasp of wool against her bare thigh, the cool seam of the wall at her spine, the faint trace of R’s perfume, cedar and clean skin—and then Lillian realized her hands were in R’s hair, that she was kissing her like she’d always known how, slow and grateful and adoring.
When the shuddering finally eased, R eased with it, slowing to a stroke that felt like the kindness at the end of a difficult day. She withdrew her hand only when Lillian sagged, boneless, and then she was simply there, pressing small, unhurried kisses to the damp hinge of Lillian’s jaw, to the corner of her mouth, to that spot below her ear that made her sigh.
Lillian blinked herself back into her body. Her chest rose and fell in quick, shaky pulls; her legs felt like they belonged to someone else. When she finally managed to focus, she found R’s dark eyes on her—steady, unreadable, a flame banked rather than extinguished—and in them something she hadn’t let herself name even when she’d felt it: hunger, yes, but also an unspoken need that mirrored her own, the same ache to be met and matched and seen.
