drwhitly | Closed to formersurgeon

Closed to formersurgeon

Martin Whitly had made a deal with the devil, but he was completely content with that. He had to fake his death with the help of a wealthy professional and relocate to a whole new town. It was still a luxurious lifestyle he was brought into but fairly confined. He would still be used for his skills as a surgeon and a killer, but be paid and housed for it.

He had to wait a few weeks after pretending to be dead - he was sure by then that his ex wife had flushed his ashes down a toilet by this point - before seeking Joan out. He was escorted by the people who had managed to get him out of Claremont and located the place that she had shared with this Sherlock fellow.

He could have spent hours looking through the things collected there, but found his way to her room and stayed there. It wouldn’t do him much good to be spotted by her roommate. His appearance was cleaned up despite his age still showing on his face, but his hair was in better shape. He was still unmistakably him even if he wore a disguise the majority of the time he was in public.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

She hummed against his lips as he encouraged her hand and happily complied, tightening her grip slightly and stroking faster.

"Don't climax like this," she murmured breathlessly against his lips. "I need you to come inside me."

Her increased pace made his breath stall and his eyes close briefly. Martin smiled against her lips, "Then we'd better change positions," He pulled back to remove her hand from him and his from her, pushing her onto her back so that he could easily climb on top, entering her slick pussy abruptly.

"Oh-" He gasped at the feeling he had grown to miss desperately as he gaze down at her.

She gasped as well as he entered her, the feeling of him inside her again after all the time she had spent thinking that she'd never even see him again...

She bent her knees and wrapped her legs loosely around his hips, then rested one hand on his shoulder as the other reached up to caress his cheek, her gaze never leaving his.

"God I missed you," she whispered.

He smiled down at her as he drove himself in to the hilt.

“And I you.” He replied, leaning in to kiss her lips briefly before moving to her neck. His hips were slower now, a bit more passionate as his arms wrapped around her and held them close. His breathing was already heavy from the mix of sensations.

“Thought of this every night.”

She cried out softly as he drove into her, and returned that brief kiss with fervor before wrapping her own arms around him, holding him tightly and moving with him, the two of them undulating together, making love to each other, the pleasure intensifying.

"Me too," she whispered back, her own breath likewise heavy. "I couldn't touch myself without thinking of you. Not even when I thought you were dead."

Martin didn’t lose himself in the moment and chuckled at her comment, “That is the impression I had hoped to have left on you.” Unable to think of another man while she was alone, even after his “death.” It was certainly an ultimate impregnation of her.

His hips briefly gave her short shallow thrusts before driving him to the hilt and grinding against her slowly. “I promise I’ll never leave you wanting again, my dear.” He expressed before kissing her again.

It was possible that impression would have faded with time. That there would have come a day that he wasn't on her mind when she pleasured herself. It was also possible that day would have never come, and his face, his voice, his touch, would have haunted her for the rest of her life.

But she didn't have to find out.

Oh, that grinding felt so goddamn good, and Joan moaned low, her breath rate ticking up.as she worked her hips against his.

"What will you do when I want you in the middle of the night?" she asked breathlessly. Not if, but when.

His eyes stayed locked on her, watching every move of her body and feeling for the nonverbal signals she was giving him.

He brought his lips close to her ear to answer her question with his typical knowing smirk, “Roll over.”

He knew they wouldn’t always be sleeping in the same bed but it was a playful answer.

“Just say the word and I’ll be here,” truly his obligations now were minimal so long as he was available to his employer. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She laughed softly at the playful answer. It shouldn't have surprised her, but it did. She was still getting used to the idea that he didn't want this to be a casual sexual arrangement, where they would satisfy each other's itch and then go home until next time. He wanted to sleep with her in the literal sense. Spend the night together. Share their lives with each other, to whatever extent that was possible. The thought of living together crossed her mind, but she knew it wouldn't work, for a number of reasons. Still, she wanted to spend as many nights together as they could.

"Will you stay tonight?" She knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it.

Martin couldn't necessarily seek out women now that he was free. It would be a long time, and he would be much older by the time he could freely seek out anyone new. Joan was already secure and he truly quite liked her so there was no need for this to be a casual affair. Martin had already been married, he appreciated the consistency and loyalty. He would much prefer to live with her to make things easier but understood her restrictions. Maybe one day she could move out to her own place for a front and meanwhile live with him so that they could avoid this Sherlock character.

"Of course," He reassured her, holding himself inside of her as he kissed her once more. "I'll be here when you want me; I'm not leaving you."

Joan had told him about her last relationship, and how she hadn't had another for years. She hadn't been looking, keeping all her hook ups casual, because her work was her life, and because getting close to someone only put them in danger and made her vulnerable. But he understood her work, her need to pour herself into it entirely. And if anyone could keep themselves safe from anyone wishing him, or her, harm, it was Martin.

Something occurred to her, and when their lips parted she stroked his cheek. "We should get on with the sex," she said, a smile playing on her lips. "But afterwards, remind me to tell you about Moriarty."

Sherlock aside, she represented the biggest threat to him and their relationship.

Martin chuckled when she encouraged him to continue, nodding in response. Pulling out, he grabbed her by the hips to turn her over, entering from behind. It wasn't as sensual as it had been a moment ago, but it was getting right to it as his hips we able to move with a more rapid pace against her ass. Massaging her hips, he looked down at the slender curves of her body.

"I especially missed this," he exhaled through his heavy breathing that was picking up again.

Joan didn't struggle as he flipped her over, instead moving as his hands directed. She groaned loudly into her pillow as he began fucking her from behind, and slid a hand between her legs to rub her clutch, her fingers swift as she moaned needfully.

"Me too," she gasped. "Please, Martin, harder."

She didn't have to ask twice, but that didn't mean that he didn't enjoy her begging. He rammed into her with long hard strokes, feeling her wrap around him and getting slicker. With his hands, he spread her asscheeks, a thumb rubbing her tighter hole teasingly as he watched himself enter her with each roll of his hips, slapping harder just as she asked.

"Nnngh," she moaned as he fucked her harder and teased her ass, rubbing her clit faster, driven nearly out of her mind, her entire body burning with pleasure and trembling on the edge of climax.

"Yes...nnngh...Martin..."

Wanting to get her almost there, he felt for her pussy's movements despite his own rapid ones. His thumb pressed in only to the knuckle to aid her pushing over the edge, his climax not far behind, but able to hold off for that perfect timing.

"That's it-" he breathed heavy again, urging her forward as he waited for her body's command.

He didn't have to wait long. The sensation of his thumb sliding into her ass was enough to shove her over the edge, and she came hard, screaming into her pillow, the muscles of her pussy pulsing around his cock.

No one made her come like Martin. Maybe it was because of how shameless he was, how certain, how he knew what she needed and what he needed and didn't stop until they both had it in abundance.

Hearing her scream into her pillow, needing desperately to hold back something that overwhelmed her was exactly what pushed Martin over his own edge. He slammed into her as he released inside of her sex, groaning without care to who heard as he lost himself in the pleasure. He rode it out until his legs felt weak and he had to pull out and collapse beside her on the bed.

His chest rose and fell as he paused for a moment, staring at the ceiling before looking to her, a smile on his lips. “The way you sound...” he just exhaled for effect.

She cried out again as he slammed into her, his climax touching off a ripple of aftershocks within her, her inner walls fluttering around his pulsing cock. She hoped Sherlock wasn't home. Or if he was that he was at least in his room two floors down. He didn't barge in on her when he knew she had a guest, but he would still be curious, and they did not want Sherlock curious.

She rolled over onto her back with her own groan, her whole body warm and tingling and slightly sore between her legs. God, it felt good. She exhaled as well, and turned her head to look at him, smiling back.

"Only you make me sound like that," she said, her eyes sparkling. She reached over to take his hand, interlacing her fingers with his.

“Good.” He smiled in response, interlacing his fingers with hers as well. He would hate for anyone else to enjoy what he did. Things that were only his greatly esteemed Martin. “I’m looking forward to hearing it regularly.” He pulled her in to him, making himself properly laid out on the bed with his head finding the pillow.

“And soon we won’t have to be worried if your roommate heard us.” To not worry of any eavesdropping of any sort would be true freedom. Martin smiled to himself thinking of the life he had been so lucky to obtain.

“Shall I stay the night?” He would do what she preferred for at least this first encounter.

She smiled at the thought of him hearing her climactic scream regularly, and her hearing that groan in turn. What exactly "regularly" would wind up being remained to be seen, but it was still a wonderful thought, knowing that such pleasure and intimacy awaited her...them...in abundance.

She snuggled against him, her head on his shoulder, her body pressed against his. It felt warm and loving and safe. She hummed a little at the mention of Sherlock. "We'll need to get our own place, sooner rather than later." She chuckled a little, brushing her fingertips along his chest. "A love nest."

At his question, she nodded. "Please. I've been wanting to sleep with you for a long time." She remembered what she thought of while he was inside of her, and she tapped his chest lightly. "But I need to tell you about Moriarty before we fall asleep. It's important." As much as she would love just drifting off in that warm, loving safety.

Martin held her to him, chuckling at the name, love nest. He supposed that was exactly what it would be.

“Then I’ll get us a ‘love nest’ this week.” He had money and unique connections; he could make it happen. “Then I’ll come get you.” That way no address was ever in writing to cover their tracks. Just in case of course.

“I as well,” he kissed the top of her head affectionately as they lay in the soft sheets. “I had thought many nights about having you in my arms when I woke.” And it would finally happen.

“Yes, yes- tell me of this Moriarty.”

She nodded. "That works." It was good for them to not have any record of where they were. She had been taught how to establish and maintain safe houses, and imagined that this would be similar. No one should know where they were. Clearly Martin's life depended on it.

She smiled as he kissed her head. "Me too," she agreed. It had been a sign of how her fondness for Martin went beyond her sexual desire for him. Fantasizing about sex was one thing. Once you were fantasizing about waking up together, you knew there was more there than just lust.

He told her to tell him about Moriarty, and she took a breath. "Well, to start, you'd probably like her. She's a lot like you. She's smart, cultured...and a psychopath. She runs an international crime organization. Like a spider in the middle of a web. She has eyes everywhere. There are very few things she doesn't know, especially about Sherlock and me. She's in love with Sherlock. And...even after all this time, I think he's still in love with her."

She frowned faintly. "Actually...I wonder if she might be behind your escape somehow. It's the sort of thing she'd do, help a serial killer fake his death so he's working for her."

“I do love an ambitious woman,” he jested when hearing about this Moriarty. He did enjoy a good love story as well so he perked up when it was mentioned. “Are they former lovers then?”

Martin kept his poker face to appear as if he knew no more than he let on and not adding any more commentary in that arena. “It would be convenient considering my affection for you,” he ponder out loud, looking down at her now with a puzzled expression. “But what does she have against you?”

"They are. They met in London. He was investigating a string of assassinations that she had ordered, so she pretended to be an artist named Irene Adler to meet him and size him up. Figure out if he was a threat. They started a relationship, and then she..." A pause as Joan made the connection. "Faked her death."

She took a breath. The situations were clearly different. For one thing, Martin had never pretended to be someone else, and she had been the one to come to him, without any prompting. Still...

"It nearly killed Sherlock. Sent him into a drug-filled nosedive. He came to New York and his father got him into rehab. And when he got out, his father hired me to be his sober companion."

She knew he wouldn't tell her if he was actually working for Moriarty, for her sake as well as his. But it still worried her. She believed that he would be honest with her, that he wouldn't be using her or pretending to care for her in order to spy for Moriarty. But...what if she was wrong?

"I caught her," she answered. "She came to New York, pretending again to be Irene so she could throw Sherlock off the trail of her machinations. He figured it out, but couldn't catch her. But I realized that she loved him, and that she would go to him if he was in trouble. And she did. I solved her. And she's been obsessed with me ever since."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject