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The cool night air brushes over the exposed skin of your legs, making you pull your jacket in tighter as you walk down an empty city street, heading home. It was the first nice day of spring, but by the time evening rolled around, the temperature had dropped more than a few degrees. Unwisely, you had chosen a black mini-skirt for the night, thinking you’d be drunk enough to stand the cold. Instead, when you found yourself at the first bar of the night, surrounded by your friends, your phone had lit up with an unexpected (but hoped-for) text.
Robby: You home tonight?
You blinked at the simple message on the screen, the burn of the tequila shot you’d just taken still bubbling in your throat. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Your friend peeked over your shoulder as she handed you another drink.
“Oooh, who texted you that?” She grinned at you. You looked up at her with wide eyes.
Your other friend suddenly snatched the phone away.
“Hey!” You exclaimed.
“It’s her old-man-doctor-hook-up booty calling her, of course,” she smirked at you over the top of your phone.
“Old man doctor?! What the hell?” Your other friend shrieked at you.
“Oh my god, chill out, it’s just a hook-up. Nothing serious,” You stole back your phone, biting your lip as you began to stare at the text again.
“Well, are you gonna go?”
You looked up at your two friends with guilty eyes. Then you replied to Robby:
You: I can be
He sent a thumbs-up emoji back almost immediately. Your friends laughed as you showed them.
“He even texts like an old man,” your friend teased, making you flush.
For the past months, you’d been at Dr. Robby’s beck and call–cancelling plans with friends, resigning yourself to sleepless nights before work, even waking up before the sun came up just to see him once. It was casual. The two of you barely spoke about your lives outside of each other, let alone define the relationship. But it was addictive.
As you come closer and closer to your apartment, nervousness bubbles in your stomach. Your phone buzzes with another text:
Robby: Here.
Still slightly tipsy, you stumble in your heeled boots over a crack in the sidewalk as you gaze at the text. Despite having seen Robby for a couple of months, you still felt nervous every time. He was hard to read, and you knew that you would be pushing his boundaries if you ever asked him to let you in a little more.
Your breath catches in your throat as you arrive on your block. Robby sits on the stoop of your building, head bowed slightly over his spread knees, earbuds still in. You approach slowly, feeling wobbly from more than the tequila.
His head snaps up as you step up to him on the stoop, moving to put his earbuds away. You end up standing between his spread legs, his brown eyes meeting yours, then roving down over your body. Your goosebumped legs, substantially exposed by your skirt, somehow feel even more exposed under his gaze.
“Hey,” you whisper, hoping to break the heavy silence that Robby often exudes.
“Hey, baby,” he whispers back, offering you a twitch of his lips that could be interpreted as a smile.
One of his big hands reaches towards you, wrapping around the back of your bare thigh and pulling you forward. You attempt to hide the shudder that wracks you at his touch, but the glint in Robby’s eyes tells you that you’ve failed.
“Long day?” You question, rocking on your heels, just to feel his hand tighten around your leg.
He huffs an unamused breath out, “As always.” Then, he reaches up a hand to the juncture between your neck and your shoulder, demandingly pulling you down. “C’mere,” he says under his breath.
You barely have to lean down as your lips meet in the middle, his tall stature, even sitting, seeming to dwarf you. Your hands move to the back of his head and shoulder as you kiss each other hungrily, the immediate intensity of the kiss typical of Robby. As your lips lock together, his tongue teasing your lips, he doesn’t let you forget about the hand wrapped around your thigh, squeezing even as it creeps past the hem of your skirt.
He pulls back just slightly, pulling a whimper from you as you chase his lips. He smirks, his eyes never straying from your own. He rolls his shoulders back minutely, settling into his role of pulling your strings, leading you where he goes, taking care of you. Your stomach dips.
“You taste like tequila,” he notes with a wry tilt to his smirk.
You flush and pull back more. He doesn’t let you go far, hand now entwined in your hair.
“I only had, like, two shots,” you defend.
He just nods, smirk fading into an amused smile.
“Like, two shots, and a tequila soda, but over, like, 3 hours. With food. And water,” you rush out.
“I’m not your doctor,” he laughs, eyes crinkling in the corners.
What are you? You want to ask. Instead, you just roll your eyes, pulling him in to find his lips. He kisses you with a closed mouth once, twice, then leans back again. You groan, making him grin wider.
“And who’d you wear this little skirt for?” He whispers, blinking up at you innocently with his doe eyes. His fingers on your thigh move from being wrapped around to plucking at the hem. You squeeze your thighs together in reaction, face warming. Robby’s eyes take it all in. This was his usual strategy, but he did it differently every time: pick you apart piece by piece until you were putty in his capable hands.
You suck in a breath as both his hands moved to grip your thighs, brushing them up and down, getting further and further up your skirt each time.
“For…myself,” you say hesitantly, nodding slightly as if to make it true. “You know, like, feminism.”
“You didn’t wear it in the hopes I’d text you, knowing I get off at 10 on Fridays?” He tilts his head impishly.
Your stomach turns as you break his gaze with an embarrassed laugh, dropping your head into the crook of his neck to hide. One of his hands comes up to rub your back soothingly. The thing about Robby, you’d found, is that his comfort often came with condescension. Condescension that sizzled straight to your core.
“It’s okay, baby, I get it,” he whispers into your hair, before pulling your face from his neck to give you a look of mock-concern. His fingers frame your jaw with light pressure, feeling your breath under his hand.
“What would you have done if I hadn’t texted, huh?” He questions. “Would you have found someone else to play with you under this skirt?”
Meanwhile, his other hand had slipped entirely under your skirt, fingers spread over your ass as his thumb brushed back and forth over your inner thigh, just below your underwear.
You shake your head slightly as you breathe out, “No, Robby. I would’ve gone home alone and, um, thought about…you,” you admit sheepishly, cheeks red with your honesty.
It’s casual, you repeated to yourself, even as the many nights out the past months, where you hadn’t even glanced at anyone else, flickered through your mind.
“You wouldn’t text me?” he murmurs as his hand on your neck moves down, slipping under your leather jacket to brush over your hardened nipples, peaked under your tight going-out top.
You shake your head again with stuttered breath. “Wouldn’t want to…distract you if you were at work…or wake you up if you were asleep…” You murmured back, your eyes dropping from his eyes to your feet as you realized how much your words revealed your care for him.
He tuts, his hand coming back to your neck and tilting up your chin to meet his gaze again. His other hand continues its ministrations on your inner thigh, oscillating between firm pressure and light sweeping. You could feel your underwear getting damper even as his fingers skillfully avoided it.
“How considerate,” he muses, pulling your face forward to kiss you again, finally with the depth you're accustomed to, his mouth open against yours. You inhale sharply through your nose, falling into him slightly.
Suddenly, his fingers on your thigh move to brush over your underwear, rubbing firmly over your clit. You can’t help the moan that slips out of your throat and into his mouth, causing Robby to chuckle warmly back. You lean your forehead against his as his fingers switch from you clit to brushing over your core, pressing into your hole teasingly, blocked by your underwear.
“Christ, I always forget how wet you can get just from me talkin’ to ya,” he mumbles into your mouth, your lips still brushing. “A little pathetic, hm?” He spreads his fingers on your neck so that his thumb is brushing over your lips.
“Robby,” you try to whisper urgently, but it comes out more as a moan.
“What is it, honey? You know you gotta ask for what you want,” his voice grumbles assertively.
“Want your fingers,” you mumble around his thumb which continued to tease your lips, not pressing hard enough for you to suck it in.
“Out here on your steps, where anyone can see? God, you’re desperate, aren’t you?” He murmurs, hands stopping their ministrations to grab your underwear from under your skirt and begin to pull it down.
Your eyes blink open at his comment, reality rushing back in as the cold air tingles over your skin, and your head whips to look around. Robby doesn’t miss a thing.
“You tramped around a bar letting everyone see you in this little skirt but me,” Robby drawls authoritatively, making your eyes snap back to him. “You don’t mind a few more people getting their fill out here, huh?”
You gape at him as your stomach buzzes with a mix of shame and arousal. He stares right back mirthfully as you obediently step out of your underwear. Your eyes follow his hand as he stuffs your black lace underwear, likely more soaked than you can stand to think about, in his sweatshirt pocket.
“Good girl,” he mumbles as his hands sneak under your skirt with intention, rucking it up just enough to make you feel vulnerable.
You choke slightly, blinking at him owlishly, before diving down to kiss him again. You manage to pull back slightly, even as his fingers find your clit again, gliding over it with ease.
“Only want you to see,” you confess into his mouth, kisses straying into his beard.
You jolt forward with a moan as he lightly slaps your pussy.
“Then you shouldn’t be dressing like such a slut,” he mumbles into your ear, mouthing over it, as your bury your face in his neck again. You lave your tongue over the salty, day-old sweat on the skin between his neck and shoulder, biting down as his finger finds your clit again.
“Only a slut for you,” you whimper into his skin.
Suddenly, his unoccupied hand hooks under your knee, pulling your leg up over his own thigh, so that it's a couple of steps above your other leg. It spreads you out for him to see entirely, your skirt rucked up indecently.
“Robby,” you gasp as the cold air hits your core directly, pulling your head from his neck.
He smiles at your shocked yet aroused expression. “Wanted to see you, sweetheart, like you were saying.”
You swivel your head to look around at the thankfully empty street. “What if someone…passes by, or comes out of their apartment, or…” You trail off as you turned to him again. He stares up at you with condescension gleaming in his eyes as if he has the key to a lock you didn’t know you contained.
“You want me to stop?” he asks, his hands, spanning your thighs, roughly running up and down them. “We can go inside and go right to sleep. You know I got an early morning.”
You tilt your head back to the sky with a groan, fighting the urge to push your hips closer to him. “Fine, ugh, just…put your fingers inside of me already. Stop teasing,” you mutter to him.
“Funny you think you’re in any position to make demands,” he replies, even as his fingers found your pussy again, finally dipping two fingers inside of you and curling them. His other hand grips your hip, sure to leave bruises, keeping you steady in your precarious position on the stairs.
“Jesus, you open up so well for me,” Robby mutters, as if to himself, staring down at where his fingers are disappearing inside of you. “You act all tough, like you aren’t desperate for it, but I know you.” He looks right into your eyes, “You’re easy.”
You can’t help but rock your hips into his fingers at his words, his palm meeting your clit. Your eyes flutter shut as you whimper.
“So worried about people seeing, but you’re grinding yourself onto my fingers like a fucking whore,” Robby continued to mutter, mesmorized by your movements.
“Only for you, Robby,” you manage to whisper, dropping your head to search for his lips again.
He doesn’t let you kiss him, continuing on with his monologue. “You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you,” he muses as you nod reverently, “bet you’d let me fuck you at the hosipital in front of all my doctors. You know, get you naked in the break room, fuck your mouth every few hours for stress relief, your pussy if you’re lucky.”
“Yes, anything, please,” you mumbled as you buried your face in his neck again, face hot with humiliation at how turned on his words made you.
His fingers fuck into you at a faster pace, his other hand stilling your rocking hips as he continues his speech. “Maybe I’d let the other doctors have a turn, huh? Bet a slut like you would love that.”
You whine as his fingers scissored you open, his palm grinding into your clit. “No, Robby, only want you, just you,” you breathe into him.
“See, you say that, but your cunt dripping down my hand tells a different story,” he chuckles patrionizingly.
You pull your head from his neck and roll your forehead against his, panting into his mouth. “I’d do anything you asked me to,” you speak truthfully, voice raw with vulnerability.
Robby’s eyes darken, brows furrowed with repressed emotions as he stares at you. You stop breathing for a second, worried you pushed him too far.
“Fuck me,” he finally mumbles under his breath before capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss, saliva slicking over both of your lips.
He begins to fuck his fingers into you in earnest, you involuntarily letting out little uh, uh, uh s with each thrust. He sneaks in a third finger along with his other two, making you cry out.
“Gonna fit my whole fist in there one day, baby,” he murmurs against your lips.
“Please, Robby,” you whimper, hips fighting to move against his strong hold.
“Gonna come for me, baby? Gonna come where anyone can see you?”
“Yes, Robby, please, wanna come, please,” you mumble deliriously into his mouth, lips brushing over his beard.
“Come for me, baby, c’mon,” he grunts.
As you reach your peak, his fingers move to rub furiously against your clit, pushing you over the edge entirely.
“Just like that, honey, good girl,” he mumbles into the side of your head as your vision whites out.
He pushes his fingers back into you as you ride out the waves, hips stuttering over his hand, legs shaking. You whimper as it becomes too much, pressing your face into his cheek.
He gently pulls his hand away, then gathers you in his arms to sit you fully in his lap. Your lips find each other again in a languid, deep kiss, Robby still muttering praises into your mouth.
You begin to laugh suddenly, and he pulls back with an amused look.
“Fuck, Robby, did anyone see us?!”
“Of course not,” Robby asserts. “You think I’d let anyone else see you like this?”
“I meannnn…it sure sounded like you would,” you tease him even as your cheeks flush.
“You know I’m all talk, baby,” he murmurs, brown eyes looking down at you gently. He kisses you again softly.
“All talk?” You question innocently.
He smirks at you knowingly. “Hmmmm. Maybe not all talk.”
Suddenly, he scoops you up into his arms, making you squeal.
“You got your keys?” He says casually, carrying you up to your door.
“Robby! Put me down, you old man! They’re in my jacket!” You exclaim. You wiggle in his arms, but your stomach buzzes in reaction to his show of strength.
Robby ignores you with a grin, somehow managing to fish out your keys from your pocket and unlock your apartment door. He carries you through the door as if you were his bride, as you both laugh. He presses his lips to your forehead reverently before placing you down in your entryway.
It’s casual, you remind yourself for the umpteenth time.
You were so fucked.