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147
Dr Knight

We sat at my reserved table in the nightclub, immediately falling into conversation about everything except her name and my profession. We chatted extensively about her ex-boyfriend and other casual topics. If I'm being completely honest with myself, I was interested in her primarily for her physical attractiveness rather than her personality, though she was certainly engaging to talk with.

She had somehow reignited the flames of my old sexual interests that I thought had been extinguished years ago. But this time, strangely, I found myself not wanting to share her with anyone else—I wanted her exclusively for myself, a possessive feeling I hadn't experienced in quite some time.

"Have you been in New York long?" she asked, sipping her cocktail delicately.

"On and off for years," I replied vaguely. "The city never changes, yet it's always different."

I tried to pretend I could resist her captivating physique, maintaining eye contact during our conversation, but I frequently found my gaze drifting to her full, pink lips as she spoke or laughed at something I said.

"You're not really listening to me, are you?" she asked with a knowing smile.

After a particularly energetic song ended, I stood up suddenly and looked down at her with an inviting expression. "Would you like to dance? The DJ seems to be slowing things down now."

She gasped, appearing genuinely surprised by my invitation. "Oh me? I don't know how to dance properly. I've never been good at it."

"Really? I find that hard to believe," I responded immediately, somewhat skeptically. "I bet you're quite spoiled and haven't had to work hard at anything in your life except having fun and hanging out with boyfriends like that Ryan character." My comment was presumptuous and, looking back, completely unfair based on the limited information I had about her.

Her expression shifted instantly, eyes narrowing with obvious offense. "That's the first time anyone has thought of me in such a demeaning way." She turned her face away, clearly wounded by my careless assumption. From her body language, I could tell she was considering leaving our table altogether.

"Wait," I said quickly, regretting my words. "Why are you upset? I was just making conversation."

"Why?" she asked rhetorically, her voice laced with disbelief. "Mr. Whoever-You-Are, you don't know anything about me. So please stop making assumptions about my life. Weren't you the one who called me boyish and a tomboy just a few minutes ago in the hallway? Remember that?"

She crossed her arms defensively over her chest and exhaled an irritated huff, clearly contemplating whether staying in my company was worth the aggravation.

I immediately recognized an opportunity to smooth things over and stretched out my hands toward her in a conciliatory gesture. "You're absolutely right, and I apologize. You're not boyish at all—you're actually the most beautiful woman I've seen in a very long time."

Part of this statement was genuinely true. With her natural features, minimal makeup that highlighted rather than masked her beauty, those charming dimples, and her slightly shy smile—she was genuinely stunning, like a rare, flawless gem that I found myself wanting to possess completely.

Yes, my conscience had often been compromised in the past when it came to women. I recognized this flaw in myself but rarely fought against it.

Only passion typically drove me to the edge of reason, and I was feeling that familiar pull now.

She blushed noticeably at my compliment, her anger visibly softening. "Thank you, Mr...you know, I still don't know your name."

I considered telling her to call me Dr. Angelo, revealing my profession, but then decided against it. I preferred maintaining some mystery between us, keeping our encounter contained to this hotel and this night only. This should be nothing more than a pleasant one-night stand to refresh my spirits before returning to work early tomorrow morning to start my new life.

"Angelo is fine," I said simply. "And you? Just T?"

"For tonight, yes," she replied with a small smile.

I leaned closer across the table, lowering my voice slightly. "T, why don't we go up to my room or yours and continue our conversation there? We could have another drink in private, away from all this noise."

I was intentionally giving her a suggestive hint to gauge her initial reaction. There was always the possibility she might reject my advances, which would be disappointing but acceptable.

She gulped visibly, considering my proposition for a moment before standing up with surprising decisiveness. "Okay," she said in a soft voice that suggested a mixture of embarrassment, hesitation, and contemplation about what might happen between us.

I signaled to a nearby waiter and requested that he send two bottles of wine and some light snacks to my room. "Put it on my tab," I added.

"After you, miss," I said politely and respectfully, gesturing for her to lead the way. I followed her graceful movements as we left the nightclub and headed toward the elevators.

She glanced back at me occasionally during our journey upstairs, but I deliberately avoided starting any meaningful conversation until we reached my room. I unlocked the door and held it open for her. "Please, make yourself comfortable," I invited.

She smiled appreciatively and nodded, walking inside with a slight hesitation in her step. I remained in the doorway, explaining, "I'll wait here for the room service. It should just be a minute."

"No rush," she replied, settling tentatively on the edge of an armchair.

I waited patiently for the waiter to arrive with our order. I didn't want any interruptions once we were alone together. The timing was perfect—he appeared with a cart just as I was beginning to grow impatient.

After accepting everything we needed from him, I discreetly flipped the sign on the outside of the door to "Do Not Disturb" before shutting it firmly.

I turned to her with a warm smile, holding up one of the wine bottles. "Would you like some wine?"

She shrugged casually, though I noticed her fingers fidgeting slightly with the hem of her dress. "Yes, but just one glass, please. I don't drink much alcohol. Unless you want me to throw up on you later, which would definitely ruin the mood."

I chuckled at her refreshingly direct humor. "Don't worry about that. I don't get disgusted easily by bodily functions. I won't run away if you get sick."

"Really?" she asked, accepting the glass I offered. "Most men I know aren't exactly—"

I interrupted her mid-sentence, unable to resist any longer. I gently pulled her from her chair into my chest and captured her lips with mine, kissing her hungrily and passionately. I sucked on her lower lip with perhaps more intensity than I intended, as if I hadn't kissed a woman in years rather than hours.

Her taste was intoxicating—a mixture of the fruity cocktail she'd been drinking and something uniquely her. I noticed immediately that she wasn't particularly experienced; her mouth remained closed until I gently coaxed her lips apart with my tongue.

I moved my hands to her breasts, feeling their fullness through the fabric of her dress. She was indeed wearing what felt like a D-cup bra, confirming what I'd glimpsed earlier. When I attempted to slide my hand between her legs, however, she gasped and pulled away abruptly.

"Don't," she said firmly, stepping back.

I blinked in confusion, my desire momentarily clouding my judgment. "Why not? I thought we were both on the same page here."

She scratched the back of her neck nervously, avoiding my eyes. "Well, the thing is... I'm a virgin."

"What?!" I mumbled instantly, genuinely surprised despite her earlier admission in the elevator. Somehow I'd assumed she was just being coy then.

She gulped, misinterpreting my reaction as disappointment. "I'm sorry. I should have been clearer downstairs."

I rubbed my face vigorously, trying to calm my physical response to her. My arousal was becoming increasingly uncomfortable in my pants. "Are you absolutely sure? I mean, you had a boyfriend, right? That Ryan guy?"

She nodded, explaining further, "Yes, but only that one serious relationship, and he ultimately left me because I wouldn't sleep with him. I wasn't ready, and he wasn't willing to wait."

"How old are you, exactly?" I asked directly, suddenly concerned about the significant age gap between us.

"Old enough," she replied with a slight grin, clearly unwilling to share that particular detail.

I stepped back deliberately, creating physical distance between us as I addressed both her and myself. "Okay, time out. We need to slow down here. Let's just have a drink, and then you should probably go back to your room. Okay? This is getting complicated."

"That's probably wise," she agreed with obvious relief.

I nodded, relieved as well that we were making a mature decision.

But after our third glass of wine each, the situation evolved in ways neither of us had anticipated. The alcohol lowered our inhibitions, and she became increasingly affectionate and tactile. She leaned against my chest and wrapped her arms around my neck in a way that was impossible to misinterpret.

I made a halfhearted attempt to stop her progress. "You're getting drunk. You should go back to your room now before we do something you might regret."

She suddenly pulled me down on top of her on the couch. "Please," she whispered against my ear. "I want you to be my first."

"What? No, this is a serious responsibility. You're not thinking clearly because of the alcohol," I protested, genuinely trying to be the responsible adult despite my own compromised judgment.

My resistance crumbled entirely when she took my hand and boldly guided it between her legs. "I'm a virgin, yes, but I'm not underage. I'm twenty-two years old."

"Twenty-two?" I repeated, still hesitating despite the temptation. "Even so, we should wait until tomorrow when we're both sober."

She suddenly said something that effectively demolished my remaining restraint: "Tomorrow I won't be here anymore. This is just a one-night stand, nothing more. Don't worry about consequences—everything ends tonight."

"Everything? As if we never met?" I sought further assurance, a small part of me surprisingly troubled by this stipulation.

She smiled seductively and bit her lower lip before sliding her hand between my legs. "Take me now. Please, Angelo."

In what felt like mere seconds, we were both completely naked, her untouched body beneath mine on the bed. I took my time exploring every inch of her, kissing her thoroughly, moving slowly at first and then more urgently as her responses encouraged me.

The initial penetration was clearly difficult for her, causing her to wince in pain. I wasn't unaware of the fact that my considerable size made her first experience more challenging than it might have been with someone else.

But eventually, we found our rhythm together, both of us expressing our pleasure vocally as we moved in perfect synchronization. It felt unexpectedly intimate and special, despite the circumstances.

Strangely, it didn't feel like her first time with me—there was a natural compatibility between us that was rare in my experience. And from my perspective, it felt almost like a first time for me as well—as if I had never been with anyone before her.

There was an undeniable connection forming between us, something beyond the physical. Even though she had explicitly stated this was only a one-night encounter, for the first time in my life, I found myself wanting to extend our time together indefinitely.

I wanted to find a way to ensure she would return to me after tonight.

Caught between these unexpected emotional revelations and the intensity of our physical connection, I lost control at the critical moment and failed to withdraw as I'd intended. I inadvertently finished inside her.

She immediately noticed and squealed in alarm, "Oh my God! What the hell did you just do?"

She pushed me away forcefully and sat up, trying frantically to clean herself. "You! I might get pregnant from this! Why didn't you pull out?"

"Calm down. You won't get pregnant," I stated with absolute confidence, trying to soothe her panic.

She continued frantically cleaning herself, even using the hem of her dress in desperation. "How can you possibly know that? Are you psychic?"

I said simply and calmly as I stood up from the bed, "Because I have non-viable sperm." I patted her hair reassuringly, trying to comfort her.

Then I walked toward the large window, gazing out at the moon. The nighttime view of the city was truly spectacular from this high floor.

She remained agitated, however. "Nothing is absolute in medicine. Doctors always say miracles can happen unexpectedly. You can't be completely certain."

I groaned in frustration, her persistence unintentionally pressing on one of my most sensitive emotional wounds. This particular topic was extremely painful for me—I had always desperately wanted children of my own. Always.

"I said stop pushing this!" I snapped more harshly than intended.

"I'm a gynecologist. I know exactly what I'm talking about," I muttered, finally revealing my profession.

She looked utterly shocked by this disclosure, her eyes widening dramatically. She cleared her throat nervously before asking, "What? You're a doctor? Why didn't you mention that before?"

She hastily stood up and began putting on her clothes with trembling hands. I watched her in confusion, genuinely perplexed by her strong reaction.

"Why does that matter?" I asked, bewildered by her sudden change in demeanor.

She pushed past me forcefully to reach her shoes. "Because I would have never done this with you. Ever. Not if I'd known you were a doctor."

And with that cryptic statement, she stormed out of the room, leaving me standing there completely confused and surprisingly hurt by her abrupt departure.

She was likely still physically uncomfortable from our encounter—her first time was bound to leave her sore—but something about my profession had clearly angered or upset her deeply. It seemed hypocritical; she hadn't volunteered her own occupation or even her full name, so why was she so disturbed by learning mine?

I didn't dwell on these questions for long, however. I was thoroughly exhausted and needed to sleep before returning to my hospital duties in the morning.

But I have to admit, her distinctive perfume mingled with the scent of her skin lingered in my room and in my consciousness. I dreamed of her repeatedly throughout the night, her image refusing to leave my mind even in sleep.

What was it about this mysterious woman that had affected me so powerfully in such a short time?