I walked into the clinic that afternoon feeling like a live wire—every nerve ending buzzing, my pussy already slick and swollen from the drive over. I’d spent the morning edging myself again, fingers dipping in and out while I whispered his name like a prayer, stopping every time I got close because I wanted to arrive dripping, desperate, ready to finally break. I wore a simple black dress this time—thin straps, low neckline, short enough that bending over would flash everything. No bra, no panties, just skin and need. My nipples were already tight peaks rubbing against the fabric with every step.

The receptionist was gone again. Dr. Thorne met...