Page 60 of Black Light: Cured

setting.

I want to jump up, to make my presence and opinion known, but now is not the time. I’ll sit here,

listening to her make bold promises while knowing that I have empirical data to show that she’s not

able to do a damn thing. I’ll make sure to compare his data. To see where he was before starting these

‘treatments’ and where he is at the end of a few weeks.

For her sake, he better either be the same or maybe a little better. If he’s worse in any way, if what

she’s doing is making it so I’ll have to do surgery on him sooner, then she will pay for meddling in my

affairs. It will be a delicious payment too.

There will be no implements. It will be full on medical torture, enough to bring those delicious,

arousing screams to the surface, only to fade into whimpers of need as they spill from her lips. I’ll

make sure she knows who the true professional is and who’s just selling a pipe dream for an

exorbitant amount.

“Mr. St. James?”

Hearing anything other than Master Aiden fall from her lips pulls me back to the present. She

stands there in her oversized scrubs, and all I can think about is pulling those pants down and shoving

my fingers back into her pussy, just to remind her who’s in charge. My flagging erection surges up as I

note the bright red spots on her cheeks as she attempts to remain professional under my heated gaze.

I stand and follow her, my eyes glued to her ass. Even though it was just last night, I want so

desperately to have my hands on her again, to hear her whimpered moans as I drag her to the edge and

refuse to let her fall. As we approach the door, she stands in the entrance and motions for me to step

inside.

For a moment, I can only stare at the crowded space, chock full of Eastern influence. Every inch

is either covered up by a poster depicting things like chakras, meridian points, or anatomy depictions

with odd shadings in various areas. Is this how she keeps everything straight in her head? If she can’t

remember, she just looks over and acts like she knows what she’s doing?

The moment she closes the door behind us, I whirl around, caging her with my outstretched arms.

I’m not going to cross any boundaries, but I will make sure she understands who that client was and

what she’s messing with. Her lips quiver but her lower half is already arching toward me.

Pulling back, I run my fingers through my hair, willing myself not to be tempted by her blatant

arousal. “Did you touch yourself last night?” I find myself growling, all thoughts of basketball or