Chapter 6 - Wanting Him badly

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 6

𖣘

Jeffrey's eyes slowly drifted down between the man's legs, a smirk forming on his face. The room went silent, and I could feel the tension because from the man's creased brow, I could tell he and I were thinking the same thing. Jeffrey wasn't just mocking him—he was belittling his manhood.

My breath hitched. This man had no fear at all?

The rumors were true… I finally understood what people meant when they whispered that Jeffrey could ruin marriages, destroy confidence, and shatter anyone's pride. He didn't even need to lift a finger—his words, his daring presence, and that careless smirk were enough.

The man stumbled backwards, his anger flaring but beneath it, I saw something worse... hesitation, doubt. That doubt ate at him faster than the anger itself.

My heart pounded as I glanced between them, yet I couldn't tear my gaze away. I was terrified of Jeffrey, yes. But also drawn to him. Something about him was both dark and intoxicating.

"Maybe you should visit a doctor… ask for pills that help men 'last longer'. Or better yet, go find a gem, someone who won't complain when you finish too quickly. Anything, really...anything to keep you from disappointing the next woman who lets you touch her."

His words made my lips part in shock. The air grew so heavy I almost forgot I had been begging to be touched not long ago. Now, I could only watch, stunned, as this dangerous man played with people's minds like it was a game.

Another punch landed, making me flinch. From the force, I could tell it was painful, but Jeffrey barely moved, barely reacted. He only tilted his head, as if finding the man's desperation funny.

The man's face purpled, a strangled sound escaping his throat as he lunged again, but just as his fist could connect a third time with Jeffrey's already bleeding mouth, another man in a white coat burst into the office and caught the swinging arm mid-air.

"Who the hell is that piece of shit?" the enraged husband growled, struggling against the grip.

"I'm not just a doctor," the newcomer said coldly. "I also studied martial arts. So...compose yourself, or I'll make you." With one shove, he had the man stumbling back in defeat.

And Jeffrey? He only rolled his eyes like a child annoyed that his toy had been taken away.

The other doctor turned to me. "Maybe next time. Doctor Jeffrey is… busy for the moment and can't attend to anyone now."

I nodded quickly, murmured my thanks, and turned to leave. Still, my eyes couldn't resist one last look at him.

He stared back blankly, his face unreadable. No smile, no smirk, no frown. Was he angry? Was he amused? I couldn't tell. But before I could tear my eyes away from him, he suddenly winked at me, mouthing a few words I could read instantly.

"See you tomorrow."

I blinked, heart racing, but I forced myself to walk away. I didn't realize how dark it had gotten outside until I was fumbling for my car keys. I slid into the driver's seat and noticed the clock...7 PM. The session, the confrontation—it had stolen time. My hands trembled as I started the engine and drove home in a daze.

I kept replaying the way Jeffrey's words sliced through the man, the way he stood there unbothered, even as the man punched him. The image of his lips stained with blood.

And for some absurd reason, I had wanted to walk up to him, lick the blood away.

Silly me.

…..

When I finally reached home, entered the bathroom and did my thing, the memory of Jeffrey's touch, the taste of his lips was suddenly replaced by the sound of the fist against his jaw, the cold fury in his eyes, the devastating cruelty of his words.

Why was the punch the only thing replaying in my head?

I took my phone, my thumb hovering over his contact. I needed to know if he was okay. I needed to know because, shamefully, I still saw myself going back to him tomorrow. Because the way he'd touched me felt better than any wholeness I'd ever known.

But I dropped the phone. Calling him would only show him the depth of my desperation. It would be another victory for him.

I didn't want him to know that I enjoyed getting touched by him, that I liked the filthy way he licked my precum and the way he complimented me, 'Healthy and clean.' A shiver ran through me, entirely separate from the fear. I could only imagine his lips sucking me, his tongue... oh God!

With a small, frustrated groan, I snatched the phone again and dialed his number.

'The number you have dialed does not exist.'

I furrowed my brow, lowering the phone and quickly clicking on his profile on the firm's website. Page Not Found. It was deleted.

A cold knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. I rolled my eyes, trying to play it off, and picked up a textbook, but the words blurred. My mind was filled with thoughts of his expert fingers, his bloody smirk, and that deleted phone number.

"I badly want him to touch me again," I muttered to the empty room, my cheeks burning.

...

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