Beneath the Surface

Rain tapped against the windows as thunder murmured in the distance, wrapping the night in a hush that made the world feel far away. In their bedroom, shadows danced across the walls, flickering with the soft glow of candlelight. The kind of night that called for secrets.

Andrea stood at the edge of the bed in one of Doc’s old shirts—worn soft with age, draping over her thighs, swallowing her frame in a way that made her feel both cozy and inviting.

Doc was already lying back on the bed, shirtless, watching her with that slow-burning gaze of his—half curiosity, half hunger. She caught it and tilted her head with a teasing smile. “You're staring again.”

“Still memorizing,” he said, echoing her words from before.

She crawled onto the bed slowly, deliberately, straddling his lap without ever breaking eye contact. “Then I want to give you something to remember.”

Doc’s breath hitched. His hands moved instinctively to her waist, but she gently pushed them back down onto the bed.

“Let me lead tonight.”

His eyes darkened with anticipation. “You sure?”

She nodded. “I want to know what you look like when you let go. Completely.”

There was a pause—a quiet moment of surrender—before he gave a single, slow nod. Andrea leaned in and kissed him, tender at first, but deepening quickly. Her hips rolled against his, teasing the edges of both patience and desire.

She whispered into his mouth, “I want to see the parts of you you’ve kept hidden.”

Doc’s voice was low, raspy. “You already have more of me than anyone ever has.”

“Then show me the rest.”

Something shifted.

His fingers twitched against the sheets, his eyes searched hers, and slowly, almost reverently, he let himself fall into her hands—into the space she carved with warmth and control.

Andrea kissed down his chest, tracing the path with her tongue, tasting the salt of his skin and the edge of vulnerability that lay just beneath it. She took her time, mapping every inch of him with her mouth, her fingertips, her breath.

When she returned to straddle him again, his hands finally came to her thighs, not to take control—but to feel. To be grounded in her.

Their connection deepened with every minute—their movements unhurried, experimental, open. Andrea whispered her desires as she moved, asking for what she wanted, giving permission for the same in return. And Doc, ever the giver, began to unravel under her.

He told her what he loved. What he thought about late at night. What made him ache.

And she gave it to him—not just in touch, but in presence.

In the raw honesty of her gaze.

In the way she let him be soft and wild all at once.

They moved together in slow waves, building tension, letting it crest and fall, only to rise again. Every moan, every shudder, every breath drawn between them was another line in the story of their bodies learning each other all over again.

And when they finally came—seconds apart—it was with their foreheads pressed together, eyes open, hearts exposed.

Afterward, the room was quiet but humming with energy. Andrea lay against his chest, their legs tangled, sweat cooling on their skin.

Doc traced lazy circles on her back. “That was… different.”

“It was us,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Unfiltered.”

He smiled into her hair. “Let’s keep going there. Wherever this is.”

She nodded, already drifting toward sleep. “We will.”