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Robby is leaned over the sink, shoulders rigid and head hanging low as he white-knuckles the porcelain when Samira slips into the bathroom.
A couple of hours ago he’d told her to go home, used the pillowtalk confessions about her mother she’d let slip from lips loosened by orgasms to twist the knife. Well, he could fuck right off. Maybe he needed to go home and let everyone else get back to work.
He was projecting, as she had come to learn he often did with her. The sinking in her gut at his words, at his tone, had faded and been replaced by bitter remembrance. This was what Robby did, pushed away anyone who got too close, saw too much. She was watching his downward spiral like it was her own personal show. A one man tragedy of his own making.
She turns the lock behind her and leans against the door, waiting for him to acknowledge her. Samira watches the notches of his spine straighten through his scrub top but he doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t say a word.
She huffs and pushes off the door with a roll of her eyes. He reeks of self-loathing. They both know his apology was half-assed, an ineffective attempt to soothe his guilty conscience. And yet, here they are again.
“You seem tense,” she says, matter-of-fact, a clinical observation.
Robby grunts. Still doesn’t move. Probably too afraid to look at her. Coward.
Samira’s fingers show no hesitation as they slide around his waistband, reaching from behind to unhitch the buckle of his belt. The twang of metal is a sharp echo against the bathroom tile.
His inhale is shaky and he seems to remember himself then. He turns to face her, pushing out of her grasp. He looks like a kicked puppy.
She pushes down the urge to sigh. She knows this dance. He’ll play at turning her down, try to convince her and himself that they shouldn’t do this. But in the end she knows that he wants it too much, aches for her in some sadistic way that never truly lets him tell her no.
Samira tries to save themselves both the waste of a back and forth about it. She’s bored of that game.
“I want to help,” she whispers, peering up at him with wide eyes and using that voice that always seems to make him lose control.
Yeah—” Robby gulps around the word, nodding as if still trying to convince himself. “Okay.”
His belt is still open so she just yanks down his zipper. The abrupt zing of it makes his shoulders jump.
Her hand is purposeful as she shoves it into his boxers. There’s no trace of gentleness in her grasp as she wraps around his aching cock and squeezes. When they first started this she had tried to ease him into it, tease him with light fingertips and slow strokes. Now she doesn’t bother.
Samira pulls him out into the humming air of the bathroom. She gives him a few solid pumps and presses her thumb against the slit of his head.
He gasps and much to his dismay, she pulls her palm away to hold it open beneath his chin.
“Spit,” she commands.
He blinks at her for a moment, and she takes the time to notice his blown out pupils and the red beginning to bloom at the tips of his ears. For all his posturing, it’s remarkably easy to get him exactly where she wants him.
He juts his chin down and purses his lips to push the collected saliva into her palm. They both watch it drip.
Samira uses her thumb to spread it along her skin then ducks her hand once again to grip his thick length. He hisses through gritted teeth and grasps at the edges of the sink behind him, determined not to touch her.
She has no such qualms. Her cool palm pushes under the layers of his long sleeve and scrubs to trail up the coarse hair of his happy trail and grip into the fabric over his sternum. Pulling him further down into her. At her mercy.
Robby is panting know, his eyes fixed on the brutal pace she has set as her hand jerks him up and down. His chin bumps against her forehead as she moves but neither of them shift away. This tiny bit of connection the only thing they’ll allow.
She knows he’s close when he can’t help but buck his hips to meet her rhythm. She lets him enjoy the pleasure that’s building, takes him to the very edge of what will be an all-consuming orgasm. Let’s him feel it on the tip of his tongue before she pulls it from his grasp. She doesn’t bring him down with a tapering of her speed, no, she just…stops.
Samira turns to the sink to start washing her hands. Muscle memory clicking in as she dispenses soap and scrubs her skin as she’s done a million times.
He is frozen beside her. His mind trying and failing to understand what is happening. His body screaming at the free fall drop from rising pleasure. Robby bites his lips to keep from begging. So hard he probably breaks skin, but he can’t feel it.
“Excuse me,” she say, as she reaches around him to pull a paper towel from the machine.
Robby just gapes at her but she doesn’t spare him a glance. Simply carries on cleansing her hands and disposing of the wet wad of towel.
Her turn to twist the knife.
She finally looks at him.
“You okay?” she asks, the pleasant hint of smile she saves for patients brightening her face. “If you don’t feel good, maybe you should go home.”
She doesn’t wait to watch the words land on him, knows what it will probably look like anyway. Samira just turns to unlock the door and push it open, no hesitation or care to be cautious as she exits.
Robby can’t move, can only stand there, hard cock resting against his pushed up shirt and mouth gaping open as he watches her leave.