Doctor-Patient Confidentiality: Chapter Two Hundred and Twenty Four

The aquarium wasn’t here last week.

That’s the first thing I notice as we step into the Emancipation Room. The walls are still cold, unyielding, filled with the quiet hum of science and control. But now, nestled against the far side of the room, stands a massive tank, water undulating gently behind thick acrylic. The bioluminescent glow from within casts shifting ripples across the floor, light refracting against my bare skin. It’s beautiful. Captivating. A world encased in glass.

The creatures inside are strange and mesmerizing—clusters of starfish latched onto coral, the spindly legs of crabs skittering along the floor, a school of fish with long, gossamer fins that fan out like silk.

I swallow hard. Captive. That’s what they are.

An unsettling mirror to my own sense of being trapped in this impossible situation. Trapped by choices, by need, and by the relentless pull of a man who is both my cage and my key.

Frost’s hand rests on the small of my back, guiding my shaky legs toward a small table set for two in the center of the room. Apparently, it’s already noon. We were in the greenhouse for four hours. 

Fucking for four hours. 

And somehow, my pussy is still throbbing. I’m hyper-aware of my nakedness, of the lingering dampness from the pool, of his violent ejaculation leaking down my thighs, and the way his gaze feels like it’s stripping me further. 

The memory of the groundskeeper flashes in my mind, his distant figure barely discernible as Frost buried himself in me while I pissed in the snow. The obscene rush of arousal I’d felt then unsettles me now. I’d told myself it was the raw intensity of the moment, the way Frost’s cock drove into me while my body gave in, helplessly, to the release of everything—even the primal humiliation of being watched. And then again when I’d fingered myself as he shot hot, creamy cum down my throat.

I glance at the tank, and a pang of unease ripples through me. Live sea creatures on one side, seafood on the other. It feels…wrong.

“You’re frowning,” Frost says, voice smooth as always. I don’t look at him.

“Didn’t realize we were having lunch with an audience.”

His low chuckle rumbles from behind me. “Nervous?”

I glance back at him—breathtakingly bare, the remnants of our last encounter still glistening on his skin.

I lift my chin. “I just think it’s a little cruel, that’s all.”

His head tilts. “Cruel?”

“To eat seafood in front of their brethren.”

Amusement flickers across his face. “You think they understand what’s happening?”

I glance back at the fish. They move listlessly, their movements slow and dreamlike beneath the water. They don’t look concerned.

But still.

I turn back to him. “Would you like it if I ate you in front of a mirror?”

That gets a reaction. His gaze darkens, mouth curling into something dangerous.

“Interesting analogy,” he muses. “Does that mean you’re planning on eating me again?”

Heat flashes up my throat. My lips part, but I catch myself before responding. My silence makes his smirk deepen.

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