My Doctor Was My One Night Stand

Elara

His hands went between my legs and cupped my already aching core. A low moan escaped my lips when he started to rub that tiny sensitive part of me.

"Oh... God," I whimpered, pulling him closer to me. His body felt hard against my palm, but his mouth felt amazingly soft grazing on my neck. "I want you inside me, please."

The man growled heavily and the warmth of his breath only made me wetter and hotter. His kisses went down to my chest and when his mouth found the tip of my breast, I gasped in the ticklish sensation.

He sucked on my nipple hard while rubbing circles between my thighs. I felt delirious with every flick and tease of his tongue on the tip of my breasts. I couldn't imagine the extreme pleasure this man was giving me in my dreams.

Of course, this was just a dream. A drunk dream.

"Open wider," my dream man whispered huskily against my chest before positioning himself on top of me. "I'm going to fuck you senseless."

I giggled. I like the sound of his voice saying those dirty words for me. "Yes, do it, daddy," I replied and spread my legs for him.

I was dripping wet already, and I knew that he felt it with his fingers going in and out of my entrance.

The man held both my legs and lifted them over his shoulders. My lips parted in so much anticipation at what he was about to do.

Before I could rethink my decisions in life, his long and hard cock poked at my wet and throbbing entrance. I gasped, the tip wouldn't even fit my hole.

"Open for me, baby," he said and entered me slowly. "Fuck, you're fucking tight—"

"Oh!" I cried when his throbbing cock filled me inside. "Oh, fuck... Please, move—"

As he started to thrust forward, I completely lost it. I could feel every inch of him pulsing against my walls. He shoved deeper and harder, until I couldn't take it anymore and grabbed his massive arms for support.

"Oh, fuck—" I moaned and cried in so much pain and pleasure. "Ah, faster, please—"

Seeing my legs swaying aggressively over her shoulders were a nice view for me. This dream felt so real that even the man on top of me looked like he was actually fucking me for real.

His grunts, his curses, even his huge cock inside me felt so damn real. But this was just a dream. It should be.

With one last shove of his hard and thick length, I felt something warm under my navel exploded and my vision became blurry.

Damn, this must be the heaven.

Until I woke up slowly the next morning, like my body was arguing with itself about whether it wanted to return to consciousness.

For a few seconds, I just lay there, staring at a ceiling I didn't recognize. The sheets beneath me were soft in a way that felt almost wrong, like I had borrowed someone else's reality and fallen asleep inside it.

Then everything came back.

Lila's birthday, drinks I kept telling myself I didn't need but somehow kept finishing anyway, a hallway I didn't remember agreeing to walk through, and a door opening for me.

And then him.

I sat up too quickly but immediately regretted it. A sharp, deep soreness pulled through my lower body, enough to make me freeze for a second. My breath caught, and my hands instinctively clenched the sheets.

No.

My mind tried to push it away, but my body didn't cooperate. It remembered more than I wanted it to. The touch, the heat, a voice low against my ear, steady in a way I hadn't been that night.

I pressed a hand to my forehead. Think, Elara. Don't panic.

I forced myself to breathe more evenly and swung my legs over the side of the bed. My dress was on the floor, wrinkled and slightly twisted. I stared at it for a second before picking it up.

As I dressed, I felt it again—that awareness of him being there. I turned my head and saw him. He was still asleep.

For a moment, I forgot to move.

He lay on his stomach, one arm bent near his head. Dark hair slightly messy against the pillow. There was something about his presence that didn't match the situation. He didn't look like someone who ended up anywhere by accident.

And yet he was here with me. But, I should leave now.

Carefully, I grabbed my shoes and moved as quietly as I could. When I reached the door, my hand hovered over the handle.

I looked back again. He was still asleep, still unknown. "Let's not see each other again," I whispered and left.

Sunlight hit my face like punishment when I stepped outside the hotel. I kept my head down as I walked, but every step reminded me of my body in ways I didn't want to think about.

I stopped at the first pharmacy I saw. I avoided eye contact with the cashier and forced myself to buy the medicine I need.

"It was just a mistake," I told myself quietly. "That's all it was."

But my fingers were still shaking.

By afternoon, pretending it didn't hurt stopped working. The soreness in between my thighs hadn't faded. If anything, it had settled deeper. Every movement felt slightly wrong, like my body had been rewritten without permission.

I stood in front of my bathroom mirror for a long time. I really didn't feel the same. The pain down there was unbearable.

"I just need a check-up," I said out loud, like saying it made it less humiliating. "That's it. I'm just being careful."

I booked the appointment without giving myself time to reconsider.

THE HOSPITAL smelled like antiseptic and exhaustion.

I sat in the waiting area with my hands clasped tightly in my lap, trying not to think too much about anything.

When my name was finally called, I stood too fast that I flinched at the ache again.

"Room 3," the nurse said. "Wait for the doctor there."

I nodded and walked down the hallway, my steps quieter than they should have been. I stopped at the door and knocked once before entering.

The room was dimmer than I expected. A desk sat near the window, neatly organized, everything precise in a way that felt almost intimidating.

No one was in the room. So I sat at the chair beside the desk.

After a couple of minutes, the door opened and a tall man in a white coat entered, looking down at a file. Something about the way he held himself made the air feel heavier.

"Doctor..." I started, then hesitated when my voice came out thinner than I intended.

He looked at me. And when our eyes met, something inside me moved.

"Hi," he said calmly instead.

Something in my chest tightened for reasons I couldn't explain. When he turned slightly in front of me, I was able to see his full profile.

And my breath caught. His strikingly handsome face was very familiar, but I couldn't remember when did I see him.

He glanced at my chart, expression unreadable. "Tell me your symptoms," he said, pen already moving. "Which part is sore and aching?"

I swallowed hard and felt something shift inside me—slow, cold, and unsettlingly familiar.

Why do I have this feeling I had already met him somewhere I wasn't supposed to remember?