The door clicked shut behind my last patient, the sterile silence of the exam room a welcome refuge. I leaned against the cool counter, letting out a long breath. Just paperwork now. My hand was already reaching for the next file when the door opened again.The woman who walked in didn’t just enter; she flowed. A cascade of dark hair, a sway in her hips that her simple summer dress did little to disguise. And that smile. It wasn’t the nervous, polite smile of a patient. It was a slow, knowing curve of her lips that landed squarely in my gut. This one is different.“Dr. Evans?” a man’s voice followed, and her husband stepped in behind her, a pleasant-looking man with a kind face. He placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her to the exam table. He doesn’t see it. He doesn’t see the challenge in her eyes.“Please, have a seat,” I said, my voice thankfully steady. I picked up my clipboard, a familiar shield. “What seems to be the issue today?”He did the talking, his concern sweet, almost cloying. A routine check-up, just some lingering fatigue. All the while, she sat perfectly still on the edge of the paper-covered table, her hands folded in her lap. As she adjusted her position, the hem of her skirt slid up, revealing a smooth expanse of thigh. Don’t look. My eyes flicked down anyway, a traitorous glance, before I snapped them back to the safety of my notes.I began the exam, the rituals of my profession a thin veneer over the sudden, low hum in the room. Breathe in. Breathe out. My stethoscope was cold against her chest, and she flinched, then sucked in a slow, deliberate breath. Her lips parted. Her eyes, a deep shade of hazel, lifted to meet mine. They held. A second too long. My hand froze on the instrument. The steady thump-thump of her heartbeat was the only sound, a rhythm that felt suddenly intimate.“Everything sounds perfect,” I managed, pulling away too quickly.Her husband beamed, squeezing her hand. “That’s great, honey.”I asked her to lie back so I could palpate her abdomen. She leaned back with a languid grace that felt like a performance, the thin fabric of her dress stretching taut over the gentle curve of her hips. My fingers pressed gently into the soft skin below her navel. Professional. Clinical.A sound escaped her. A soft exhale that caught in her throat, dipping into a low, sighing note. It wasn’t a sound of discomfort. It was a sound of sensation. My own breath hitched. God. I felt a betraying tightness in my trousers, a rush of blood that had nothing to do with medicine. I shifted my white coat, a flimsy barrier against the evidence of my arousal.She knew. The slight, almost imperceptible parting of her thighs confirmed it. The way her voice dropped to a husky register when she answered my next, mundane question. She wants me to see. She wants me to know.Her husband chatted amiably about his golf game, completely oblivious to the silent, electric conversation happening a foot away from him. He didn’t see the way her teeth caught her plump lower lip as my fingers brushed her side. He didn’t notice her gaze, heavy-lidded and intent, following my every move while I fought to keep my own expression neutral.The final part of the exam was a fresh kind of torment. Checking her reflexes, my fingers wrapping around the delicate bone of her ankle, tapping just below her knee. Her leg jerked, a swift, involuntary motion. And then, as my hand rested there for a split second too long, her thigh muscles tightened… and then went pliant, utterly relaxed under my touch. My eyes shot to her face. A ghost of a smirk played on her lips before it vanished. Teasing me. Right in front of him. The boldness of it was breathtaking.“Well, everything appears to be in excellent health,” I announced, my voice sounding hollow to my own ears. I stepped back, creating a necessary three feet of space.The husband stood, effusive in his thanks, shaking my hand warmly. He was already heading for the door. But she lingered. She slid off the table with that same slow, deliberate motion, her skirt riding up her thighs once more. Her hand drifted down, smoothing the fabric, her fingers tracing a line along her skin that felt like an invitation. A dare.Her eyes found mine one last time. They didn’t smile. They promised. Then she turned and followed her husband out, the door sighing shut behind them.The silence they left behind was roaring.I stood there, my chest tight, my body humming with a tension I hadn't felt in years. She got to me. And we both know it. The professional facade crumbled. I strode to my desk, my movements sharp, and pulled up her file. Eleanor Vance. The name suited her. I typed it into the search bar, my fingers clumsy. A profile appeared. And there she was.Not a patient. A woman on a beach, looking directly into the camera. A crimson bikini. She was seated on a lounge chair, one leg draped over the other, but the angle was deliberate, breathtaking. An invitation. Her smile was the same one she’d given me in the exam room. Knowing.My control, so tightly held for the last twenty minutes, snapped. The ache in my groin was a demanding pulse. I crossed the room in two strides and turned the lock on my door. The click was deafening in the quiet room. My hand was already moving, fumbling with the button of my trousers, the image of her burned onto the back of my eyelids. I dropped into my chair, the leather groaning in protest, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps as I reached for my…

The door clicked shut behind my last patient, the sterile silence of the exam room a welcome refuge. I leaned against the cool counter, letting out a long breath. _Just paperwork now._ My hand was already reaching for the next file when the door opened again.

The woman who walked in didn’t just enter; she _flowed_. A cascade of dark hair, a sway in her hips that her simple summer dress did little to disguise. And that smile. It wasn’t the nervous, polite smile of a patient. It was a slow, knowing curve of her lips that landed squarely in my gut. _This one is different._

“Dr. Evans?” a man’s voice followed, and her husband stepped in behind her, a pleasant-looking man with a kind face. He placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her to the exam table. _He doesn’t see it. He doesn’t see the challenge in her eyes._

“Please, have a seat,” I said, my voice thankfully steady. I picked up my clipboard, a familiar shield. “What seems to be the issue today?”

He did the talking, his concern sweet, almost cloying. A routine check-up, just some lingering fatigue. All the while, she sat perfectly still on the edge of the paper-covered table, her hands folded in her lap. As she adjusted her position, the hem of her skirt slid up, revealing a smooth expanse of thigh. _Don’t look._ My eyes flicked down anyway, a traitorous glance, before I snapped them back to the safety of my notes.

I began the exam, the rituals of my profession a thin veneer over the sudden, low hum in the room. _Breathe in. Breathe out._ My stethoscope was cold against her chest, and she flinched, then sucked in a slow, deliberate breath. Her lips parted. Her eyes, a deep shade of hazel, lifted to meet mine. They held. _A second too long._ My hand froze on the instrument. The steady _thump-thump_ of her heartbeat was the only sound, a rhythm that felt suddenly intimate.

“Everything sounds perfect,” I managed, pulling away too quickly.

Her husband beamed, squeezing her hand. “That’s great, honey.”

I asked her to lie back so I could palpate her abdomen. She leaned back with a languid grace that felt like a performance, the thin fabric of her dress stretching taut over the gentle curve of her hips. My fingers pressed gently into the soft skin below her navel. _Professional. Clinical._

A sound escaped her. A soft exhale that caught in her throat, dipping into a low, sighing note. It wasn’t a sound of discomfort. It was a sound of _sensation_. My own breath hitched. _God._ I felt a betraying tightness in my trousers, a rush of blood that had nothing to do with medicine. I shifted my white coat, a flimsy barrier against the evidence of my arousal.

She knew. The slight, almost imperceptible parting of her thighs confirmed it. The way her voice dropped to a husky register when she answered my next, mundane question. _She wants me to see. She wants me to know._

Her husband chatted amiably about his golf game, completely oblivious to the silent, electric conversation happening a foot away from him. He didn’t see the way her teeth caught her plump lower lip as my fingers brushed her side. He didn’t notice her gaze, heavy-lidded and intent, following my every move while I fought to keep my own expression neutral.

The final part of the exam was a fresh kind of torment. Checking her reflexes, my fingers wrapping around the delicate bone of her ankle, tapping just below her knee. Her leg jerked, a swift, involuntary motion. And then, as my hand rested there for a split second too long, her thigh muscles tightened… and then went pliant, utterly relaxed under my touch. My eyes shot to her face. A ghost of a smirk played on her lips before it vanished. _Teasing me. Right in front of him._ The boldness of it was breathtaking.

“Well, everything appears to be in excellent health,” I announced, my voice sounding hollow to my own ears. I stepped back, creating a necessary three feet of space.

The husband stood, effusive in his thanks, shaking my hand warmly. He was already heading for the door. But she lingered. She slid off the table with that same slow, deliberate motion, her skirt riding up her thighs once more. Her hand drifted down, smoothing the fabric, her fingers tracing a line along her skin that felt like an invitation. A dare.

Her eyes found mine one last time. They didn’t smile. They _promised_. Then she turned and followed her husband out, the door sighing shut behind them.

The silence they left behind was roaring.

I stood there, my chest tight, my body humming with a tension I hadn't felt in years. _She got to me. And we both know it._ The professional facade crumbled. I strode to my desk, my movements sharp, and pulled up her file. Eleanor Vance. The name suited her. I typed it into the search bar, my fingers clumsy. A profile appeared. And there she was.

Not a patient. A woman on a beach, looking directly into the camera. A crimson bikini. She was seated on a lounge chair, one leg draped over the other, but the angle was deliberate, breathtaking. _An invitation._ Her smile was the same one she’d given me in the exam room. Knowing.

My control, so tightly held for the last twenty minutes, snapped. The ache in my groin was a demanding pulse. I crossed the room in two strides and turned the lock on my door. The _click_ was deafening in the quiet room. My hand was already moving, fumbling with the button of my trousers, the image of her burned onto the back of my eyelids. I dropped into my chair, the leather groaning in protest, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps as I reached for my…

A doctor's routine exam takes a heated turn when a patient's subtle, seductive behaviors ignite an intense, forbidden attraction. The doctor struggles to maintain professionalism as the patient's husband remains oblivious to the charged atmosphere, leading to a climax of tension that leaves the doctor grappling with unspoken desires. The doctor's subsequent actions reveal the depth of his arousal and the lengths he will go to satisfy it.

She made my dick hard during her check-up while her husband sat beside her

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