I entered the room while he was still on his knees.
The position had become ritual — thighs spread wide on the raised medical bed, hands clasped behind his back, back straight despite the trembling in every muscle. The calculated delay protocol kept him just strong enough to hold it, but never strong enough to escape it.
His c**k hung heavy and flushed between his spread thighs, leaking in slow, steady drops that glistened on the sheets below. Sweat rolled down the hard planes of his chest. His golden eyes lifted to mine the moment the door sealed.
“Doctor Sanchez,” he whispered, voice hoarse with exhaustion and devotion.
I walked to him slowly, white coat open, and stopped directly in front of his kneeling form. I rested two fingers under his chin and tilted his face up.
“The healer’
