Christopher’s c*m was still dripping down her neck. Vivian had streaks on her t**s, her thighs, her lips. The air was humid with s*x. Her p***y was sore, swollen, still twitching.
But her eyes?
Still hungry.
“Let’s pretend,” she whispered.
“Pretend what?” he rasped, still breathless, still hardening again like his c**k was running on adrenaline and obsession.
She stood up, wobbled slightly, then walked to the white lab coat hanging over the back of a chair. Slipped it on.
Nothing else.
No bra. No panties. Just his c*m dripping between her thighs and a coat with her name stitched in elegant black thread.
“Dr. Vivian Carter,” he read aloud, licking his lips. “What’s the diagnosis, Doctor?”
She reached for her stethoscope. Slipped it around her neck. Turned slowly, eyes gleaming with
