Ashlyn Rising - Part 3

Lydia knocked softly. Once inside, she stepped out of the black dress without being asked. She left it by the door, panties already gone. Doctor Lang circled once, fingers dragging along the back of her bare thigh. The examination table waited, leather cool against her stomach when she bent over it. He opened her carefully with his thumbs, the pause to study how wet she already was. When he pressed inside, two fingers, he held them there. Heat pulsed around them. He wanted to hear it, so she moaned. He withdrew. The sound of his belt followed, quick metal then the drape of fabric. Lang seated himself with a single thrust that drove the air from her lungs. She clutched the table edge. Each stroke slapped skin against skin, steady, relentless, the slick draw of him leaving her open before he filled her again. He finished deep, breath held, before he pulled out and watched what followed. Release slid down her inner thigh in a slow line. He traced it with one finger, gathering it, and fed it between her lips. Lydia sucked clean without hesitation. "Again," she said, voice rough. Lang answered by turning her onto her back, spreading her knees, and taking his time.