Penis Reduction Seduction Ch. 07

Zoe woke long before her alarm. Her body was already restless -- humming with heat and anticipation, her nerves sparking beneath her skin like static before a storm. She lay still, eyes fixed on the ceiling, one hand idly trailing the dip of her waist, fingers brushing the sash of her robe but going no further. Not yet.

Memories of the day before played in vivid, visceral flashes -- the slick slide of his length against her glove, the impossible heft of it in her grasp, the molten splash of his cum striking her skin like it belonged there. Guilt no longer weighed on her. Only hunger.

She dressed with quiet purpose. The robe she chose was blush-pink silk, whisper-light, cinched loosely at the waist, delicate enough that her breath might slip it open. Beneath it: black lace that kissed every curve -- for no one but herself. Or so she told herself.

She pinned her hair in a soft, undone twist, letting wisps fall just so. Just enough gloss to make her lips look like they'd been licked. Her cheeks were already flushed, not from blush, but from the illicit thrill coiling inside her.

Upstairs, she lit a single candle in the spare room. Vanilla and amber softened the air. She laid out new towels, placed the larger sample cup beside them like a sacred offering, and stepped back to survey the scene. Professional. Perfect.

At exactly 7:15 a. m., the doorbell rang.

Nate stood on the threshold in gym gear, hoodie unzipped to reveal a sweat-darkened t-shirt stretched tight across his chest and arms. The duffel bag slung over his shoulder looked forgotten. His eyes, however, were anything but absent. They drank her in slowly, lingering on the dip of her collarbone, the sheen of her robe, the hint of thigh that peeked from its parting like an invitation.

"Morning, Doc," he said, voice low and easy -- but the heat behind his gaze scorched.

"Come in," she said, grateful for the steadiness in her voice. "You know the way. I'll be right up."

By the time she entered the room, Nate was already naked, seated on the edge of the bed. He hadn't bothered with towels. His thick, dark length rested between his thighs, lazy and half-awake -- not yet fully roused, but already stretching with weight and promise. Like something too virile to ever go soft for long.

Zoe paused in the doorway. A pulse of arousal bloomed low in her belly.

He didn't speak. He didn't need to.

The only sound was the flicker of candlelight, and the soft, guilty thrum of her own breath catching in her throat.

Zoe snapped on a pair of gloves, the latex crackling softly in the charged silence. She drew in a steadying breath before speaking, her voice pitched low, calm, controlled.

"We'll proceed just like yesterday."

Her fingers curled around his shaft again -- thick, hot, swelling with every heartbeat like something alive in her palm. She felt him respond instantly, his girth expanding as blood surged beneath her touch. Her other hand joined in, and she began to stroke with unhurried precision, each movement deliberate, confident, reverent.

Every sensation was amplified: the map of pulsing veins beneath taut, silken skin; the impossible heat radiating from him; the sheer heft of him dragging her wrists with each pass. Her thighs instinctively drew together. She was wet already -- soaked just from holding him.

He was magnificent. Still, she couldn't quite comprehend how massive he was -- not just long, but thick in a way that defied reason. Her fingers refused to meet around him, no matter how tight she gripped. And with each stroke, a flicker of awe bloomed in her chest.

What would it taste like?

The question flashed through her mind like lightning, uninvited and yet irresistible. The thought made her fist tighten just slightly, made her breath catch.

"God... that feels incredible," Nate murmured, voice rough with tension.

Zoe didn't reply, but her lips curved into a subtle smile -- small, secretive, wicked. Her strokes gained confidence, becoming firmer, more focused. The wet, obscene sound of flesh on flesh began to fill the room, underscoring the soft stutter of his breath and the taut flex of his thighs beneath her.

His hips tensed. Her grip tightened instinctively, coaxing every drop from him like it was her craft.

"I feel... so full," he groaned. "Like my balls are gonna fucking explode."

"Then we'd better ease the pressure," Zoe whispered, her voice molten, rich with dark promise.

And then he came.

His groan broke from his throat like a growl, and the first thick jet shot into the collection cup with such force it splashed halfway up the inside in one violent surge. She barely had time to adjust before the next wave pulsed out -- and then another, heavier still, until the cup brimmed dangerously.

By the fifth spurt, it spilled over, thick white ropes splattering across the towel with a wet, lewd slap.

"Fuck... sorry," Nate breathed, chest heaving.

Zoe said nothing at first. She simply stared at the cup -- full and cloudy with his seed -- then down at his softening cock, slick and shining with cum and heat, still glorious even in retreat.

"It's fine," she murmured at last. Her voice was soft, but filled with something almost reverent. "We've got what we need."

And then, after a pause, with a glint in her eyes:

"... and then some."

The pride in her voice wasn't medical. It wasn't professional. It was personal. She'd pulled that release from him -- her hands, her touch, her body drawing it out of his like it had nowhere else to go. Like it had always been meant for her.

--------

Back in her home office, Zoe sat down at her desk, hands trembling ever so slightly as she pulled up the patient file. The screen glowed softly in the dim light, casting a sterile hue across her flushed skin.

She stared at the blank field marked "Sample Notes." Her fingers hovered above the keys, but her thoughts were anything but clinical.

Subject produced substantial semen volume.

Observation: excessive quantity. Near overflow.

She paused.

Her jaw tensed as she read the words back to herself. They were cold. Impersonal. A flat, detached translation of something that had stirred her so profoundly it still throbbed through her limbs. Her thighs squeezed together under the desk -- involuntarily at first -- but then she didn't try to stop. The heat that had been simmering inside her since Nate left hadn't dissipated. If anything, it had deepened. Settled low in her belly like a coiled ache.

She exhaled through her nose, steadying herself, and slowly pushed her chair back. The soft creak of the casters was deafening in the silence of the room. With a quiet breath, she reached down and slid open the bottom drawer of her desk -- the one she kept locked, always. Just in case.

Her fingers found it by feel: sleek, discreet, her little emergency escape. The compact vibrator fit perfectly in her palm like it belonged there, warm from the heat it had absorbed from the drawer's darkness. She turned the lock on her office door, her heart thumping now, louder than it should have been.

This wasn't about stress relief.

It wasn't even about Nate's sample.

It was about him.

She leaned back in her chair, eyes closing as she slid her free hand down the front of her panties. Her folds were already slick -- embarrassingly so -- her clit throbbing and tender with need. As her fingers brushed over it, her breath hitched.

"Just a quick one..." she whispered to no one.

But it wouldn't be quick. Not really. Not when the memory was still so vivid -- the sheer weight of him in her hands, the veins bulging against her gloves, the heat, the pressure, the way his voice had caught on that first groan like he was breaking apart in her grasp.

Zoe pressed the vibrator against herself with trembling fingers, muffling a gasp as the first pulse hit her.

In her mind, it wasn't her own fingers anymore.

It was his hands.

Rough. Big. Confident. She could see him -- towering over her, naked, his eyes fixed on hers with that same mix of need and danger. His cock was heavy between them, thick and slick, still glistening from her touch. He would be watching her now, like this, legs parted in the chair, her hand between her thighs, needing him.

She bit her lip hard to keep from moaning aloud, hips rocking against the toy. Her body was already spiraling -- it didn't take much. Not when every nerve was wired with memories of the way he'd erupted for her, the warmth of his cum as it spilled across her skin, the intensity in his eyes as he lost control.

The release came like a ripple first -- small, tight, shaking -- and then it shattered into a deeper pulse, gripping her from the inside. Her thighs quivered, muscles clenching as she came silently, eyes fluttering shut, mouth parted in an open gasp she didn't let escape. Her head fell back against the chair, chest rising and falling in uneven waves.

A soft, broken sound slipped from her lips -- not quite a moan. More like a name unspoken.

Her hand stilled.

She lay there for a moment, fingers still tucked between her thighs, eyes closed, face flushed, breath slowly calming. The faint buzz of the toy subsided as she clicked it off and held it limply in her lap.

And then, with a slow breath and a shiver of shame and satisfaction, she straightened in her seat, tucked the vibrator back into the drawer, and closed the file on her screen.

Sample recorded.

Follow-up required. Psychological response: uncontrolled.

She smiled faintly at that last line.

Uncontrolled, indeed.

--------

When Zoe opened the door, she looked effortlessly casual -- but Nate saw through the disguise in a heartbeat.

She wore charcoal-gray yoga pants that clung to her hips like second skin, and a soft, pale tank top that framed her breasts with casual cruelty. Her hair was swept up in a loose bun, a few tendrils curling down around flushed cheeks. On the surface, she was all leisure and lightness.

But her eyes told a different story.

There was a gleam in them. Bright and charged.

There was colour in her cheeks.

And under all of it, that unmistakable tension -- need, just beneath the surface.

"Back for round two?" she asked, voice low, teasing. She stepped aside to let him in.

Nate's smile was slow. Confident. "You tell me, Doc."

This time, there were no pretenses. No gloves. No nervous hesitations.

Zoe led him upstairs and into the now-familiar room, and once the door clicked shut behind them, she dropped to her knees with the calm composure of someone fully in control. Her bare hands reached for his waistband.

The moment she freed him, he sprang forward into her palms -- thick, warm, pulsing with life.

She exhaled slowly, almost reverently, her fingers curling around his growing length like she'd missed the feel of it since morning. And she had.

"You're getting faster at this," Nate murmured, his voice laced with a grin -- but husky with arousal.

Zoe's lips curved. "Practice," she said, stroking deliberately, "makes perfect."

Her hands began to move -- firm, sure, and unhurried. There was no awkwardness now, no clinical distance. Just her and him. Skin to skin. Her strokes alternated with elegant precision -- base to tip, slow to fast, a gentle twist of her wrists just at the crest, like she was sculpting something divine.

She was learning him -- not like a student, but like a lover.

Not cataloguing him. Composing him.

She leaned in, letting her breath ghost across the head of his cock, and it twitched in response, leaking a bead of precum that glistened in the afternoon light. She didn't flinch. She watched it roll -- fascinated. Tempted.

Her nipples tightened beneath the cotton of her tank, brushing against the inside fabric as she shifted. She was soaked again -- and growing wetter with every pulse she felt in her palm.

Her hands mapped him like she was reading a language only her body could understand: the thick, prominent vein that ran along the underside. The subtle flare just beneath the head. The tautness of his skin stretched over solid muscle, the way he swelled with each long stroke.

He wasn't just big. He was beautiful. A perfect contradiction -- brutal in size, elegant in shape.

And he was hers, for now. Her patient. Her secret. Her obsession.

She watched his chest rise with each breath, the way his jaw flexed as he fought for control. She loved that. Watching the tension build. Watching him try not to give in too quickly, while she did everything in her power to make him.

"Jesus," Nate breathed. "Your hands..."

Zoe said nothing. Just smiled.

And kept going.

As Nate's breath turned ragged and his hips began to tense, Zoe reached for the sample cup, steady and composed -- like this was just another part of the process.

The first few spurts were powerful and immediate, filling the cup in seconds, the thick streams splashing against the plastic walls with obscene force. But then, just as the next pulse surged through his shaft, Zoe shifted her grip -- slow, deliberate -- angling him away from the container.

The next spurt painted her chest.

Nate groaned, startled. "Did you... do that on purpose?"

She didn't flinch. Another hot rope landed across her collarbone, then another, heavier, streaked between the swells of her breasts, sliding down the slope of her cleavage with a lazy, molten drip.

"Towels were a mess this morning," Zoe said, impossibly calm, lifting the cup with a practiced hand and a devilish smirk. "And we already have more than enough."

Nate could only stare, chest heaving, his cock still twitching in her grasp.

Zoe walked out without another word.

Minutes later, behind the privacy of her bathroom door, she peeled off her top in one slow motion. The fabric clung to her chest, damp and clinging with the weight of his release. She let it fall to the tile floor and stepped in front of the mirror.

She exhaled slowly.

His cum streaked her chest in thick, glossy trails -- pearlescent and still warm, faintly sticky where it had begun to dry at the edges. A single drop dangled from the underside of her left breast like a tear. She touched it, slowly, curiously. Then she smeared it across her skin, dragging two fingers through the mess and massaging it in like it was a serum, watching her own reflection the entire time.

Her nipples tightened instantly -- hard and flushed -- as her hands glided over her slick skin.

It was visceral, the sensation -- warm, textured, obscene in the most beautiful way. She could still feel the heat of him lingering in the release, like his body had left its echo on hers. It didn't just coat her.

It marked her.

Her stomach fluttered. Her pulse throbbed low and deep. The clinical, rational voice inside her was gone -- drowned beneath the wet slide of semen over skin, the scent of him rising with the steam from the sink, the way her body responded like she'd just been fucked raw.

She dragged her fingers down between her breasts, scooping more of the slick fluid and rubbing it in slow, shameless circles. Her breath hitched. Her thighs clenched. Her mind filled, not with guilt, but with a need so rich it bordered on religious.

What would it feel like, she wondered, to let him finish inside me instead?

She didn't answer. Just moaned softly into the silence.

--------

After Nate left, Zoe sat alone in her office, still steeped in the afterglow of what had just transpired. Her body hadn't settled. Not really. The pulse between her thighs still fluttered with aching insistence. Her skin buzzed with memory -- of his cum on her chest, the sheer pressure of him in her grip, the way he groaned like her touch was the only thing tethering him to earth.

She tried to distract herself. She really did.

She opened her laptop -- Barry's laptop -- and clicked into a browser tab, intending to find something anonymous, something quick to help her come down from the high. But as she began typing, the autocomplete stopped her cold.

Cheating wife with BBC

Her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she just stared.

What the hell...?

Her fingers trembled slightly as she clicked.

A video loaded instantly. No delay. No buffering.

The thumbnail alone hit her like a slap -- a prim, well-dressed woman with wedding rings on full display, on her knees before a towering black man. The title burned into the corner of the screen in bold white text: "She loves her husband... but she needed something more."

Zoe's mouth was dry.

This is Barry 's laptop. This is what he's been watching...?

The realization rocked through her -- a flash of heat and disbelief colliding with something far more dangerous: permission.

He'd been jerking off to this?

To women like her being seduced by men like Nate?

She hit play. She couldn't help it.

The scene unfolded in slow, inevitable steps. A husband at work. A wife in soft lingerie. A young, muscled black man walking in like he owned the house, the air, her.

Zoe's breath hitched as the wife whimpered, already bent over the arm of a couch. The man was rough, dominant, but patient -- like he knew he had all the time in the world. Like he knew she would break first.

The wife moaned -- and it didn't sound fake. It sounded real. Hungry. Relieved. Like she was finally getting something she hadn't even known she was missing.

Zoe's thighs clenched, but she couldn't look away.

And then the camera panned. The man came into full view.

He was big.

Thick. Erect. Confident.

But Zoe bit her lip.

Not as big as Nate.

Not even close.

That realization made her wetter than she'd expected. It shot a filthy thrill through her belly. Barry had been jerking off to this man -- fantasizing about his wife being used by someone like that -- but the man on screen didn't even measure up to the real thing.

I 've got better. Bigger. Stronger. Younger.

Her hand was already between her thighs, pushing into her panties, her fingers sliding through slick heat like they belonged there. Her other hand stayed on the trackpad, adjusting the volume as the wife's moans rose in tempo -- guttural, choked, needy.

Zoe imagined herself on that screen.

But not with him.

In her mind, it was Nate.

Nate pushing her to her knees, guiding that massive cock into her mouth, filling her until she gagged. Nate flipping her over, spreading her, stretching her open and pounding into her dripping cunt while she begged for more.

Not just fucking her.

Owning her.

Her fingers worked furiously now, rubbing tight circles into her clit, her breath hissing through clenched teeth.

"Nate..." she whispered, breathless.

It wasn't a fantasy anymore. It was a confession.

And when the orgasm hit, it came hard -- a deep, devastating quake that pulsed through her core and stole her breath. Her thighs trembled violently. Her toes curled. Her hand locked tight over her mouth as her moans escaped, muffled but unmistakably filthy.

She bit down on her knuckles, riding wave after wave until her vision blurred and her body sagged against the back of her chair.

The video was still playing.

But she was done with that version.

She had her own story now. Her own man.

Better than the one on screen. Realer than anything Barry could dream of.

And soon... she wasn't sure she'd be satisfied just watching anymore.

--------

Over dinner, Zoe stirred her wine lazily and said, almost offhand, "Nate's dropping by later."

Barry looked up from his plate, chewing thoughtfully. "Third time today?" he chuckled. "That kid must have a crush on you."

"He's on a strict diagnostic regimen," she replied smoothly, eyes never leaving her glass. "We're collecting consistent samples to monitor changes across the day. It's part of a clinical trial protocol."

Barry raised an eyebrow, but shrugged. "You haven't really said what's wrong with him. What kind of samples?"

"I can't," Zoe said evenly, with the practiced tone of a professional. "Doctor-patient confidentiality, remember? You know the rules."

"Right, right," Barry said, nodding as he reached for his drink. "Of course. Well... I'm glad he's got you looking after him. I'm sure he feels lucky."

Zoe smiled back -- but it was the kind of smile that carried a second meaning, hidden just behind the curve of her lips.

Later, with Barry distracted by the low drone of an action movie downstairs, Zoe slipped to the back door, her bare feet silent on the tile. The lock clicked open with a whisper.

Nate stepped inside like a shadow.

Neither of them said much. They didn't need to. The silence between them was weighted -- thick with anticipation, the kind that hummed just beneath the skin.

She led him through the darkened hallway without a word, her fingers brushing his as they turned the corner into the guest room. The door shut behind them with a soft click that felt louder than it should have.

"We're really doing this with your husband downstairs?" Nate asked, voice low and incredulous, a flicker of excitement in his tone.

Zoe turned toward him, her eyes sharp and shining in the dim light. Her smile was wicked.

"You're my patient, Nate," she whispered, her voice like velvet and smoke. "And I take my work very seriously."

And then, without another word, she sank to her knees.

No hesitation. No theatrics. Just raw, deliberate submission.

She looked up at him as she reached for his waistband, her expression unflinching -- confident. Hungry. Her eyes never left his, even as her fingers found the zipper and dragged it down slowly, reverently.

The sound was soft -- a little rasp of anticipation, metal teeth parting like a secret being confessed.

Zoe's breath hitched slightly as she saw him again, thick and already swelling in expectation. She reached inside, fingers wrapping around that familiar, monstrous weight.

He was hardening fast.

So was she.

And the fact that her husband was just one floor below made every movement, every breath, every slick stroke of skin-on-skin feel dangerous.

Deliciously so.

Zoe's hand moved with expert rhythm now -- slow, deliberate strokes that coaxed every twitch from Nate's thick shaft. But tonight, something shifted in her. She was no longer content to just touch him.

Her free hand drifted lower, hesitating for only a heartbeat before she gently cupped the weight hanging between his thighs.

His balls were heavy. Swollen. Loaded.

She drew in a sharp breath as her fingers explored them, massaging with reverent care. They were tight to the touch -- full to the point of aching -- and so warm, like the heat of his body had pooled there, waiting to be poured into her. She could feel the tension in them, the resistance, the promise.

It was more than arousal. It was awe.

A beast, she thought. A stallion.

These balls could breed.

Her womb throbbed, clenching around emptiness. A deep, instinctive ache bloomed low in her belly. As a woman who had spent years chasing fertility through clinics, cold rooms, and sterile tests -- the sheer virility in her hands nearly undid her.

The thought struck her hard and hot:

What would it feel like to take all of this inside me?

To be filled... to be bred.

"You really need to cum," she murmured, her voice barely more than a breath. "It'll help."

Zoe leaned in. Her lips brushed the slick, sensitive crown of his cock in a feather-light kiss. It twitched in her grip. He gasped -- a sound so raw, it made her thighs clench.

She kissed him again -- slower this time, her mouth parting as her tongue traced the rim of his head in a soft flick that made his entire body tense. She could feel him swell even more in her hands.

"Give me your cum," she whispered, voice soaked in lust and submission.

That was all it took.

With a strangled groan, Nate's body jolted forward -- and the first powerful spurt struck her lips and chin in a sudden, searing splash of heat. She didn't flinch. Didn't pull back. Just gasped quietly and opened wider.

The next torrent pulsed into her mouth.

It was hot. Heavy.

Velvety. Salty. Alive.

She could taste his heat and power -- the weight of his lust, the potency of what had been building in those swollen, aching balls for hours.

Her tongue moved instinctively, drawing the thick fluid deeper into her mouth. She moaned around it. It wasn't just about flavor -- it was about possession. About taking something primal, raw, masculine, and making it hers.

Zoe swallowed.

The moment it slid down her throat, her eyes fluttered shut -- not from disgust, not even from surprise -- but from something closer to worship.

She licked her lips slowly, savoring what lingered. Her body trembled as aftershocks of arousal rippled through her. She had never felt so alive. So female. So claimed.

Nate reached forward, brushing a tender thumb along her cheek. His expression was stunned -- not just by his release, but by her reaction to it.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

Zoe looked up at him, her cheeks flushed, her mouth still slick, her eyes wide and glittering with something deeper than lust.

A smile curled across her lips.

"I really am," she whispered.

And in that moment, she was.

Because for the first time in her life, she wasn't just wanting. She was taking.

--------

As Nate descended the stairs, his strides slow and unhurried, he turned the corner and came face to face with Barry.

Barry looked up from his phone, caught off guard, but smiled easily. "Hey, everything going okay up there?"

Nate's pause was a fraction too long.

"All good," he said with a casual shrug, his grin quick and wolfish. "Dr. Z's been incredible. Really taken a load off--"

He caught himself, smirked. "I mean, pressure off."

Barry laughed, oblivious. "She's something else, huh?"

Nate's eyes glinted with something unspoken. "Yeah," he said, voice low. "She really is."

He clapped Barry on the shoulder -- a friendly, heavy-handed pat that carried just a little more weight than necessary -- and turned toward the front door.

Barry lingered for a moment, then went back to scrolling. No suspicion. No clue.

Not yet.

Upstairs, Zoe stood frozen in the bathroom, one hand braced against the sink, the other still holding the damp towel she'd used to clean herself. But not all of her.

A thin trail of Nate's release still clung to the corner of her mouth.

She caught her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes wide, dazed. Her lips -- parted, wet, marked. Her body still trembled faintly with aftershocks.

She reached up slowly, fingers gliding across the last smear of his cum. It clung to her skin, warm and thick, like a kiss that refused to fade.

She brought her fingertip to her mouth. Hesitated.

Then sucked it clean, slowly.

Thoughtfully.

Her eyes closed for a moment.

It was nothing like Barry. Not in taste. Not in texture. Not in meaning.

Nate's cum had been thick and hot and alive.

It had coated her mouth like it belonged there.

It had fed something in her -- not just lust, but something deeper. Something biological.

She didn't know what shocked her more -- the fact that she'd done it... or how right it had felt.

How much she wanted to do it again.

Not as a fantasy.

Not as a game.

But as a woman claiming something she had no right to want -- and now couldn't live without.

She stared at herself a moment longer, pulse hammering.

The mirror offered no judgment.

Just the image of a woman coming undone, piece by piece.

And loving every second of it.

Later that evening, Zoe curled into the corner of the couch beside Barry, wine glass in hand, her legs tucked under her. The soft hum of the television filled the silence between them. Her body was warm -- from the cabernet, from the afterglow, from everything she hadn't told him.

Barry turned to her with a lazy smile. "Oh hey -- Nate said you've been incredible today. Said you're really helping him out."

Zoe glanced over the rim of her glass, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "He's... eager. And very responsive to treatment," she said smoothly.

Barry chuckled, oblivious. "That's great, babe. You're really making a difference."

She sipped her wine, savoring the taste -- though it wasn't what lingered on her tongue. Not really.

Her nipples still tingled faintly, hidden beneath her oversized sweater, a ghost of sensation from earlier. Her thighs pressed together as she shifted on the couch, a subtle movement, instinctive. Her body was betraying her again.

And her mind?

Her mind was already back upstairs -- kneeling, tasting, wanting.

Tomorrow.

More samples.

More tension.

More boundaries to blur.

More of him.

Zoe tilted her head back against the cushion, the wine glass resting delicately on her stomach. She stared at the ceiling with a smile that Barry didn't see.

She was already waiting for the next knock at the door.

--------

The email came through at 6:37 a. m.

Zoe hadn't been sleeping.

She lay curled on her side, her phone gripped loosely in one hand, the other resting against her thigh. The glow of the screen lit the hollows of her face in the still-blue morning. Her eyes burned with exhaustion and something else--something she couldn't name.

A single message blinked into focus:

JustDoctors Portal

Dr. JJ has responded.

She tapped it open with a heavy thumb.

"Sample volumes appear stable. You've gathered more than enough material for comparative analysis. At this point, further collection may not be necessary.

Consider ceasing sampling until test results return.

Advise maintaining standard health monitoring in the meantime."

She read it again. Then once more, slower.

Her chest tightened.

That was it? Just... stop?

No more samples.

No more sessions.

No more contact.

The words should have brought relief -- validation, even. A professional boundary reinstated. But instead, they hollowed something out in her. A quiet ache unfurled just beneath her ribs. The kind that came not from guilt, but from loss.

She lowered the phone to the mattress, staring into the greying light that crept through the curtains.

It wasn't just about the samples anymore. They both knew that.

They'd passed the threshold long ago.

She sat up slowly, her bare thighs brushing against cool sheets, the soft morning chill curling around her shoulders. Her hand still tingled faintly with phantom memory -- the stretch of his cock, the weight of his balls in her palm, the hot flood across her tongue. Her nipples peaked beneath her camisole without warning.

She ran a hand through her hair and exhaled. She would have to tell him. She should tell him.

But she didn't move right away.

Because to tell Nate would be to end the game. To sever the last fragile thread of illusion. Without the clinical mask, what they had left was just... want. Raw. Exposed. Real.

And real was dangerous.

Eventually, she stood and padded across the room. The carpet was cool beneath her bare feet. She pulled on a silky black chemise, the kind that clung like a whisper, then layered a short robe over it -- enough to be decent, not enough to hide the curve of her hips. She tied it loosely and tugged her hair into a casual ponytail, the kind that said nothing's wrong -- even when everything was.

Downstairs, Barry was hunched over the sink, brushing his teeth, hair tousled and t-shirt wrinkled.

It was the weekend, so he had the day off -- a rarity in itself -- but a routine Saturday morning errand run was always his ritual.

"Heading out to grab the paper and pick up a few things from the store," he said around a mouthful of mint foam. "You want anything?"

Zoe stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed lightly over her chest. "No, I'm good," she said. "I might just tidy up a little. Get some laundry on."

Barry rinsed, spat, and leaned in to kiss her cheek. "Alright, sweetheart. Be back in an hour or two."

She watched him go.

The moment the door clicked shut, she turned toward the stairs -- heart thudding.

Because she hadn't told Nate yet.

--------

Exactly seven minutes later, the doorbell rang.

Zoe's heart gave a small, traitorous leap -- but her face remained calm as she moved to answer it.

Nate stood on her porch, dressed in loose grey joggers and a hoodie that clung slightly to his damp chest. His hair was still wet from a shower, the scent of soap and heat drifting in behind him. His smile was easy -- that slow, crooked smirk that knew exactly what it did to her.

"Morning, Doc," he said, voice rich with mischief.

She stepped aside, her robe swaying lightly at her thighs. "Come in," she murmured. "Let's go upstairs."

No pleasantries. No tea. No pretense.

Upstairs, in the soft quiet of the spare room, she gestured to the bed. Nate sat at its edge with familiar ease, legs spread, hands resting on his thighs. He looked entirely at home -- but also alert, watching her with the kind of attention that made her stomach flutter.

Zoe stood across from him, holding her arms gently at her waist.

She hesitated -- not out of uncertainty, but gravity. This meant something.

"I got a message this morning," she said finally. "From a trusted colleague. He reviewed the data we've collected so far -- and according to him, we've gathered more than enough material for analysis."

She paused. "Which means... no more sampling. No more cups."

Nate's expression flickered -- just for a second -- before settling into something amused.

"The cups are breaking up with me?" he asked, feigning a wounded look. "Damn. I thought we had something real."

Zoe laughed -- unexpectedly. It loosened something in her chest. The guilt. The tension. He had a way of doing that.

"I'm afraid so," she said, smiling. "They've served their purpose."

Nate's gaze didn't waver. "But the pain's still there," he said softly. "That... fullness. The pressure. When I'm not releasing, it builds fast. It gets bad."

Zoe inhaled slowly. Her chest rose with the weight of everything unsaid.

Then she stepped forward -- one quiet, decisive pace. Her voice was gentler now. Intimate.

"Then maybe I can still help," she murmured. "Not as a doctor gathering data. But as someone who cares. As someone who doesn't want to see you in pain."

She swallowed.

"At least... until the results come back."

Nate looked up at her, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, reading every flicker across her face.

He nodded once -- not with hesitation, but with quiet understanding. He knew exactly what she was offering. Exactly what she was risking.

"I'd like that," he said. Then, with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, he added, "You can help me through my breakup. With the cups."

Zoe rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered.

She had just taken a step off the edge.

And she wasn't turning back.

Zoe sank to her knees between Nate's spread thighs, the quiet rustle of her robe settling around her like smoke.

This time, it felt different.

No pretense. No sterile context to hide behind. Just her, on the floor, looking up at the young man whose body she knew better than her own husband's -- whose heat had ruined her for anything less.

She reached for the waistband of his joggers, fingers slipping beneath the soft fabric. There was no hesitation now -- only ritual. She peeled them down slowly, savoring every inch as his cock came into view, thick and rising, already half-hard and impossibly heavy.

Her breath caught -- not from surprise, but from memory.

She'd touched him so many times, and still, her body reacted like it was the first. Her pulse skipped. Her mouth watered. Her cunt clenched.

"No more gloves," she whispered, her voice husky with need as she wrapped her bare hand around him. "We're past pretending this is clinical."

The moment her skin met his, he let out a soft, guttural groan. She felt the smooth heat of him against her palm, the thick shaft pulsing under her fingers like something alive. Her other hand joined, because she needed both -- he demanded that.

Veins throbbed beneath the silk of his skin. Her fingers moved with slow, confident control -- not performing, but possessing.

"You feel so full," she murmured, more to herself than to him.

"I am," Nate said through gritted teeth, his voice barely above a breath. "I've been aching all morning."

Her eyes flicked up to his. "We don't need to rush," she said gently. "But Barry's only out for a little while."

Nate's mouth twitched into a grin, breath quickening. "Then I won't waste your time."

Zoe's hands began to move faster, her rhythm deepening. She didn't need to look down -- she knew every inch of him now. The way he thickened and swelled under her touch. The way his hips lifted subtly, like his body was begging for more without needing to speak.

The friction built quickly -- wet, slick, obscene.

She leaned in closer, her chest brushing his thighs, and the heat between them grew humid. Her nipples dragged faintly against her robe, sending a jolt through her core. She was so wet it hurt.

"You feel better already?" she asked, her voice low, intimate -- a secret passed between lovers.

"God, yes," he whispered, his hand curling into the sheets.

His cock twitched in her grip -- once, then again -- and she knew.

Zoe didn't flinch.

"Let it go," she whispered. "Let me have it."

Then it came -- he came -- in thick, violent spurts that pulsed from the base of him like an eruption. The first shot caught her forearm, hot and shocking. The next struck her chest, soaking through the thin silk of her robe and sticking to her skin. Another burst, and another -- warm, sticky ropes painting her clavicle, her throat, the swell of one breast.

Still, she stroked him -- slower now, almost tender -- coaxing the last drops from his tip as his body sagged in relief.

His cock twitched weakly in her hand, sensitive, softening, glistening.

Zoe looked down at herself -- chest marked, skin glowing, breathing shallow. His cum clung to her robe like a claim. She brought her wrist to her mouth, licked a drop from her skin, and closed her eyes for a beat, just feeling.

When she opened them, Nate was still watching her -- slack-jawed, flushed, eyes dark with something between disbelief and reverence.

She smiled, slow and knowing, chest rising with every hot breath.

"No cup required," she said softly.

And she didn't need to say the rest:

Just me.

--------

Barry returned just before noon, the front door swinging open as he juggled a grocery bag of warm pastries, a newspaper tucked under one arm, and a disposable coffee tray that wobbled dangerously in his grip.

"Your hero has arrived!" he called out with exaggerated bravado.

From the kitchen came Zoe's voice, low and sweet: "Kitchen table, hero."

He stepped in -- flushed from the cold -- and took one look at her... and stopped mid-stride.

"You're glowing," he said, blinking.

Zoe glanced up from the cutting board where she was slicing fresh fruit. Her robe clung a little too perfectly to her waist, and her cheeks were flushed with a healthy, post-orgasmic color. She smirked -- all innocent mischief.

"Maybe I'm just excited for a croissant," she said.

Barry set the tray down with a small laugh. "Right. Definitely not from yoga, answering emails... or some sort of stress relief?"

Zoe let that hang in the air, her knife gliding effortlessly through a ripe peach. The silence stretched just long enough to make him shift in his seat before she finally looked over and offered a slow smile.

"Just a little tension earlier," she murmured. "All gone now."

He stepped forward and kissed her cheek -- soft, affectionate, oblivious.

"Well," he said, "whatever it is, it suits you."

They sat together at the table, sipping coffee and sharing pastries, the conversation meandering -- soft, simple domesticity. But Zoe was watching him, behind her lashes. Studying the way his eyes lingered too long on the curve of her thighs. The way his hand kept drifting to touch her wrist, her hip, her knee. He was always hungrier for her when she glowed like this. When she looked... ruined.

And now, she wanted to play.

She leaned in a little closer, her voice lowered.

"So," she said, dipping a piece of melon into her yogurt with casual elegance, "you mentioned watching something... stimulating?"

Barry gave her a sheepish grin, cheeks pinkening. "Yeah. Watched a little porn yesterday."

"Oh?" she tilted her head. "What kind?"

He hesitated, his eyes flicking down to her cleavage before snapping back up. "Just regular stuff, mostly. But there was this one scene... interracial."

Zoe arched an eyebrow, lips curving. "Interracial?" she repeated slowly, savoring the syllables. "That's... interesting."

Barry scratched the back of his neck. "I don't know. Ever since we got that, uh... that big black toy, it's been kind of stuck in my head."

Zoe stood, her movements unhurried, feline. She circled the table behind him, fingers trailing across his shoulder blades as she passed. Then she leaned down, lips close to his ear.

"What exactly stuck?" she whispered. "The woman on her knees, maybe? Begging for it? Or the way she opened up for someone... bigger?"

Barry's breath caught. "Maybe both."

Zoe smiled against his cheek. Then she straightened and stepped back.

"Stay right there," she said softly, voice suddenly full of sultry command. "Room service will be right with you."

And just like that, she disappeared down the hall -- hips swaying, hair trailing loose over her back.

She wasn't just playing along anymore.

She was rewriting the fantasy.

She disappeared down the hall without another word.

Barry sipped his coffee, smiling to himself -- amused, aroused, and clueless. But when she returned a few minutes later, his breath caught in his throat.

Zoe didn't walk into the room. She owned it.

Gone was the soft domesticity. In its place: a goddess dressed to ruin him.

She wore a French maid costume -- one from a long-forgotten Halloween, but now transformed into pure weaponry. The bodice was jet-black and satin-slick, hugging every curve, cinched tight at the waist until her generous breasts spilled over the lace trim like an offering. The skirt? A teasing scrap of fabric -- black with frilled white lace that barely grazed the tops of her thighs. Beneath it, sheer stockings clung to her toned legs, held in place by delicate garters, and glossy black heels clicked seductively with every measured step.

Her thick waves of dark hair framed her flushed cheeks, a tiny lace headband perched among the curls like a crown.

And in her hand? The black dildo.

Not hidden. Not shy.

She carried it like a baton of authority, tapping it lightly against her palm as she sauntered in.

Barry's jaw dropped.

"Holy... shit."

Zoe smiled -- slow, dangerous.

"Well, well," she purred, slipping into a thick, sultry accent that made her sound foreign and forbidden. "Looks like housekeeping arrived while the guest was still enjoying his private entertainment."

She twirled on her heel -- not too fast -- giving him a full view of her round ass as the skirt flipped up just enough to flash a glimpse of sheer lace stretched across her backside. She bent low, hips cocked, pretending to dust the coffee table with a slow, teasing stroke of her hand. Her thighs tensed as she moved, perfectly framed by the tops of her stockings and the shimmer of her heels.

Then she straightened, turned, and held up the dildo like she was about to issue a citation.

"I found this under your bed, sir," she said playfully. "Very naughty."

Barry laughed, eyes wide with awe and disbelief. "Jesus... you look--fuck, Zoe, you look incredible."

She took a slow step closer, letting the dildo trail up her thigh, over her corset, finally resting it just below her breasts.

"Now listen carefully," she said, her tone dipping low -- darker now, more commanding. "If you've got a cock the same size as this... or bigger..."

She paused, letting her eyes drag across his body like a searchlight.

"... then I'll let you fuck me right now. Right here. On this hotel bed."

Barry blinked. His throat moved as he swallowed, visibly flustered. "Wait--really?"

Zoe leaned in, her voice a velvet razor.

"Go ahead, Mr. Monroe," she whispered. "Take it out."

Barry's hands fumbled at his waistband, trembling with eagerness as he freed himself. His cock sprang forward -- stiff but modest, achingly human.

Zoe gave it a quick, almost clinical glance -- and then, with slow theatrical flair, lifted the black dildo beside it.

The contrast was almost comical.

She raised her brows in mock surprise, then tilted her head. "Oh, honey..." she purred, voice thick with amusement and something darker. "Looks like you'll just have to watch the maid clean up by herself."

Barry groaned, his cock twitching helplessly at the humiliation. His breath stuttered as Zoe straddled his lap, grinding down -- not on him, but on the thick dildo pressed tightly against her soaked panties.

"You can pretend it's yours," she whispered, lips brushing his ear. "But we both know whose cock this really is."

Barry moaned, already pumping himself slowly, his eyes glued to the image of his wife in costume, playing the slut for a fantasy he could barely handle.

Zoe stood, heels clicking against the floor, and bent forward in front of him -- offering him a perfect view of her ass as she tugged her panties to the side and guided the dildo between her slick folds. She gasped as the head pushed in, her body stretching to take it -- slow, thick inches disappearing inside her.

"Ohhh... fuck," she moaned, voice ragged with pleasure. "So much better than that little cock you've got, Mr. Monroe..."

Barry whimpered, his hand stroking faster now.

Zoe didn't slow down. She mounted the toy with ease, her hips rolling, her thighs trembling as she sank down again and again, moaning like the maid from Barry's porn -- but this was no act.

She rode the dildo with wild, grinding desperation, her breasts bouncing against the tight black corset, sweat beginning to bead at the base of her neck. Her fingers teased her clit through the lace, her moans raw and real.

"Fuck me... stretch me out... ohhh--yes... just like that..."

She wasn't playing to Barry anymore.

In her mind, the cock inside her wasn't silicone. It was hot. It pulsed. It claimed.

It was Nate's.

Every bounce, every gasp, every desperate cry of pleasure was for him.

Barry watched, eyes wide, panting as he stroked himself to the show -- his flushed wife, dripping and trembling, fucking herself stupid on a cock he couldn't compete with. And he loved it.

She came hard.

Her body arched, shuddering, her breath catching as her orgasm ripped through her like a wave. Her thighs clenched around the toy. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream as she came on something too big for her husband to give her.

Moments later, Barry groaned behind her, his own release quick and needy -- spilling across his stomach as he slumped back into the couch.

Zoe curled beside him a few minutes later, still flushed and glowing, her costume disheveled, her body humming.

"You're incredible," Barry whispered, voice still shaky with afterglow. "Seriously."

She smiled softly, kissed his cheek like a good wife.

"Tomorrow," she whispered, voice silk. "You can pick the next scenario."

But as her head rested against his shoulder, her thoughts drifted elsewhere.

Because the next scenario was already forming in her mind.

And Barry?

Barry wouldn't be the one starring in it.

--------

The late afternoon sun filtered through the blinds in long golden streaks, striping the walls of Zoe's bedroom like fingers -- warm, quiet, and slow. The air still carried the faint scent of sweat, perfume, and her earlier roleplay -- remnants of lace, cum, and power. She'd tidied up, yes, but the ache between her thighs hadn't been touched. Not truly. She still pulsed with need. Still glowed.

And now he was coming.

No clinical pretext.

No justification.

Just heat. Just hunger.

A knock at the back door -- sharp, precise, familiar.

Zoe's pulse quickened as she made her way down the hall, barefoot on hardwood, her robe grazing the backs of her thighs. She opened the door with a quiet smirk already lifting the corners of her lips.

"Right on time," she said, eyes flicking over him.

Nate stood tall and loose in a sweat-darkened T-shirt and gym shorts. He was still flushed from a run, skin slick with a fine sheen of effort. He looked raw. Male. Edible.

"You okay?" she asked softly, eyes darting -- without shame -- to the outline between his legs.

He grinned, that boyish smile tinged with a growing swagger. "Pressure's back. Like I've got bricks strapped to me."

Zoe's eyes darkened, her voice turning velvet. "Then we should do something about that."

Upstairs, the silence between them thickened with promise. They didn't speak. They didn't need to.

Zoe turned her back to him, standing at the edge of the bed. Her fingers reached for the buttons of her blouse, undoing them slowly -- one at a time -- with the kind of control that made Nate's mouth dry.

She slipped the blouse from her shoulders with practiced elegance. No bra. No hesitation.

Her breasts spilled free like a blessing -- full, round, perfectly natural. High on her chest with just the right weight, they swayed slightly with her breath. Her areolae were wide and dusky, nipples thick and diamond-hard from arousal and the whisper-cool air of the room. They twitched as the fabric fell, responding like they knew they were being watched.

Nate froze where he stood.

"Holy fuck, Zoe," he whispered, reverence dripping from every syllable. His voice was low, tight. "You're so... goddamn sexy. Your tits are perfect. I've been dreaming about them."

Zoe smiled, slow and knowing, as she turned to face him fully -- her bare breasts rising and falling with every steady breath. She stepped forward, her hips rolling like water, her eyes locked to his.

"Good," she said. "Because now... you're going to feel them."

Zoe gave a slow, wicked smile as she perched on the edge of the bed, her fingers brushing beneath the heavy curve of her breasts, teasing them together like she knew they were his favorite sin. She lifted them deliberately, full and ripe, cupping them like an offering.

"No more cups," she purred, squeezing them tightly so her cleavage swelled with lewd invitation. "Guess you'll just have to find somewhere else to put your cum."

Nate stood frozen, his cock already pressing hard against the fabric of his gym shorts. His voice was hoarse. "Are you serious?"

Her smirk deepened. "Dead serious."

She patted the space in front of her with her free hand. "Come here, baby."

He stepped forward, and Zoe reached out with practiced hunger, tugging his shorts down in one fluid motion. His cock sprang free -- thick, veined, already twitching with anticipation. She didn't hesitate. Her fingers wrapped around him, slow and possessive, stroking his length as her thumb swept through the gleaming pearl of pre-cum at the tip.

"You've been thinking about this all day, haven't you?" she murmured, eyes locked on his cock as she stroked.

He gave a ragged laugh. "Since this morning. Since your mouth."

"Mmm," she hummed, biting her lip. "Good. Because these--"

She leaned in, letting her breasts settle around the base of his cock, "--have missed you."

The feel of him against her bare skin made her moan softly. He was hot and hard, his cock resting perfectly in the deep valley between her tits. She adjusted, lifting and pressing them together until the thick shaft was completely engulfed in her soft, slick flesh.

"Ready?" she whispered, her eyes glowing as she looked up at him through dark lashes.

"God, yes," Nate breathed.

Zoe started to move -- slow, controlled strokes at first, rocking her body forward, pressing her breasts around him as his cock slid through the warmth of her cleavage. His head peeked out at the top with every stroke, swollen and flushed, leaking onto her skin.

The sound was obscene -- wet, rhythmic, delicious.

"You feel that?" she teased, her voice low and electric. "That's my tits hugging your cock, baby. So warm... so soft. You could fucking sleep in them."

"Jesus," Nate gasped, his hands gripping her shoulders now, trying not to lose control.

"You love this," Zoe continued, her tone filthier now. "You love how my fat tits wrap around your big fucking cock. So thick... it's like they were made just to milk you."

Nate's moans deepened, his hips starting to buck gently into the rhythm, helplessly chasing her movements.

Zoe's tongue flicked out, catching just beneath the swollen head when it reached the top of her stroke. She licked it slowly. Teasing. Worshipful.

"Mmm... fuck, you're leaking for me," she whispered, catching the slick bead with her tongue. "You're right there, aren't you? I can feel it."

He was shaking now, legs taut, the tension radiating through his whole body. His eyes rolled back as her breasts tightened around him, her hands pressing them harder, faster, the glide obscene and relentless.

"Come on, baby," she urged, breath hot against his cock. "Show me how much you need this. Don't hold back. Let me have it."

That was it.

With a strangled, raw groan, Nate erupted.

The first hot blast struck Zoe's neck and chin, sliding down her collarbone. Another coated her chest, thick and glistening. Her tits were painted in ribbons of white -- across her nipples, between the curves, dripping from her skin like liquid sex.

She didn't flinch. Didn't slow.

She kept pressing, milking every last drop from his cock as it twitched between her breasts, her tongue darting out to clean up what she could reach.

"Fuck..." Nate gasped, panting, trembling.

Zoe finally let him go, his cock sliding from her cleavage with a slick, wet sound. She looked down at herself -- covered, claimed, her skin streaked and shining.

Then she dipped a finger into a thick line across her breast and brought it to her lips, sucking it clean with a slow, hungry hum.

"Definitely better than any damn sample cup," she said, licking her lips with satisfaction.

Nate could only stare, glassy-eyed and breathless. "You're... fucking unbelievable."

Zoe smirked and rose, her chest still slick with cum, owning every inch of her flushed, filthy beauty.

"I try...," she said with a wink, handing him a towel.

As he cleaned himself up, she stood at the mirror, topless and proud, her tits glistening with his release. Her gaze met her own reflection, and she didn't see shame.

She saw power.

He was hers now.

And she hadn't even really started.

--------

The television flickered quietly in the background, casting a soft strobe of shifting shadows across the living room. Warm light danced across Zoe's bare legs as she sat curled on the couch beside Barry, one foot tucked beneath her, the stem of a half-empty glass of red wine resting between her fingers.

Her eyes were on the screen -- but she wasn't watching.

Not really.

Barry laughed at something the sitcom actor said, and Zoe offered a polite smile, the kind that passed easily in dim light. But her thoughts were elsewhere.

Upstairs.

At the mirror.

Her tits still damp from the heat of Nate's release.

She could still feel the slow drip of his cum down her chest. Still taste the salt of him at the back of her throat. The image of his face -- breathless, reverent, ruined -- had imprinted itself on her in a way she couldn't quite shake. That look. That need.

It hadn't faded. Not even now. Not with Barry beside her.

She shifted slightly, and the knit of her sweater dragged across her nipples -- still stiff, still aching -- beneath the camisole she hadn't changed out of. A slow pulse throbbed low in her belly.

"You've been quiet tonight," Barry said, his voice low as he reached over and ran a hand slowly down her thigh. "Still thinking about our little maid game?"

Zoe turned to him, her smirk subtle but edged. "Maybe."

"Because that was..." He exhaled, his smile boyish, eyes glassy from wine. "That was incredible. I don't know where you pulled that from, but I've been thinking about it all day."

Zoe took a sip of wine, savoring the weight of it on her tongue before swallowing. Then she glanced at him, her voice feather-light but probing.

"Can I ask you something?"

Barry blinked, curious. "Of course."

"Have you always had that interracial fantasy?" she asked softly. "Or... did something spark it recently?"

Barry hesitated, fingers curling on the throw pillow beside him. "I guess... it's been there. Lurking," he admitted with a shrug. "But watching some stuff lately just brought it up again. That interracial thing. I don't know. It kind of stuck."

Zoe didn't react right away. Her gaze held steady -- calm, but sharp. Calculating.

"What about it stuck with you?" she asked, tone deceptively casual.

Barry scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. "I think it was just the way the wife was," he said. "She wasn't just being fucked... she was into it. Lost in it. Like... she needed it. Bad."

Zoe's lips curved into something more dangerous than a smile.

"Ever since we brought that big black cock into the bedroom..." she murmured, swirling her wine, "you haven't been able to stop thinking about what it represents, have you?"

His eyes flicked to her mouth. "Kind of hard not to."

Zoe leaned closer, brushing a kiss across his cheek -- light, affectionate, practiced.

Then she stood slowly, letting the hem of her sweater rise just enough to hint at bare thigh.

"Well," she whispered, her voice like silk wrapping a blade, "maybe I'll surprise you again soon."

Barry grinned, eyes lit with anticipation. "I'm counting on it."

Zoe turned toward the hallway with a faint smirk, hips swaying as she walked away -- but inside, something had shifted.

He was asking for the fantasy.

And she was living it already.

A little while later, after the movie faded into credits and silence, they climbed into bed.

Barry was out in minutes -- his soft breathing turning to light snoring as he melted into the mattress beside her.

But Zoe... couldn't sleep.

She lay on her back, eyes open, staring into the shadows that stretched across the ceiling. Her skin still tingled. Her body thrummed -- not with nerves, but with something deeper. More electric. Arousal that refused to settle. Thoughts that refused to stop.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, slicing through the quiet.

JustDoctors Portal: New Message from Dr. JJ

Zoe's breath caught as she picked it up, thumb already moving.

"Given the range and consistency of your samples, I believe we're near completion.

However, to fully rule out hormonal fluctuation, one final collection may be beneficial -- ideally between 2-4 a. m., when natural production rhythms shift.

A controlled, private setting is best.

If the patient is trusted, a supervised overnight stay would be ideal.

Maintain discretion.

- JJ"

Zoe stared at the screen. Once. Twice. A third time.

One more sample.

One final release.

In the middle of the night.

It would mean Nate... staying over.

She glanced at Barry, asleep beside her, peaceful and unaware -- his mouth slightly open, his hand curled loosely beneath his cheek.

It was the weekend. No early alarm. No obligations. She could make it work.

Her fingers moved before she could talk herself out of it.

We may need one last sample. 2-4 a. m. I'll explain tomorrow.

She watched the message deliver.

The three dots blinked. Then vanished.

No reply came.

Just the silence of a house that didn't know what was coming.

Zoe set the phone down. Rolled onto her back. Tried to breathe.

Eventually, sleep claimed her.

But peace... didn't.

In her dream, she was standing at the foot of the bed -- naked, flushed, her skin glowing in the low amber light.

The room was thick with heat and silence.

Behind her, she felt him. Nate.

His chest pressed to her back. His hands slid down her waist, across her hips, then between her thighs with no hesitation. No permission asked. No words needed.

She gasped, arching into him, her breath catching in her throat.

He didn't ask.

He took.

Zoe moaned as her palms hit the bed, her knees wide on the mattress, her ass lifted high. And then he was there -- thick and hard, filling her inch by slow, relentless inch.

She cried out, not from pain -- but from fullness. From being stretched. Owned.

"You want this?" he growled into her ear.

"Yes..." she gasped, eyes fluttering closed.

"Say it again."

"I want you."

Each thrust slammed into her with punishing rhythm, shaking her to the core. The dream blurred around her, heat and sound and motion, until her orgasm exploded inside her like fire -- sharp, hot, uncontrollable.

She came with a cry.

Zoe jolted awake with a soft gasp, her chest rising fast.

The room was dark. Barry still slept beside her.

But her panties were soaked. Her thighs trembled.

She brought a hand to her heart. It thundered.

And all she could think about was tomorrow...