His hands were all over me, not a single inch was left untouched— I tried to return the gesture just as sensually as he was working on it, but I failed to even utter a word in the waves that crashed against my sensitivity every now and then. Eventually I was held back from speaking anyways when I pressed our lips together in a feverish kiss.
So feverish that I wanted to rip the clothing off my body, so feverish that I needed strong opium to milden my excruciating affliction. My opium seemed beautifully alive. My patient was brought back a piece of his vividness.
But was I treating my patient, or was he treating me with what almost evolved into something that demanded our clothes on the cold tiles beneath our feet?
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tempest of lust • jungkook
FanfictionIn the tempest of her psychotic pleasurable desire will a doctor be able to treat her mentally sick patient, or will she turn out to be the one begging for satisfactory treatment generated by her patient's own hands? With a patient who rarely speak...
