closed her eyes and counted to five. It didn’t help much, but
it gave her
moment of time she desperately needed to save face.
When she opened her eyes again House was still slouched against the
looking at her. He wasn’t smirking quite as much; the look on
of a man uncertain if he’d crossed the line or not, but
out. His eyes locked on hers, and she felt a rush of
House in particular.
“So let me get this straight. In order to get you do cover my
clinic hours this
week, you want . . . manual gratification?”
“Oooh, putting that college vocabulary to work for
you—smart!” he praised.
the more basic terminology will do.” House leaned back
against the exam
relaxing a bit, amused at being in the catbird seat at the
Cuddy had no
options left, personnel-wise, not really, and although she
him to cover her hours, she couldn’t quite bring herself to
he’d do them.
She needed to sweeten the deal, he told her. Hence his request.
Which she was pretending to consider, apparently. House fought his
moment longer, enjoying her embarrassment, because this was his
desperate as she was, she’d never actually DO it, not in a
million . . . .
“All right then. Let’s get started,” she
murmured, and stepped to the door,
locking it. House stared for a second, stunned; catching his expression
bit her lips to keep from laughing out loud. She locked gazes with him,
that pulsing moment House realized his request had gone from a crude
to annoy her into a dare; a challenge of wills and balls.
“I hope you have limber wrists,” he warned her, his
voice a little thick. Cuddy
flicked off the lights, startling him again. She looked over her
“This doesn’t leave this room—“
she warned. House smirked.
“Depends on whether you leave the door open or
not—I’m a distance man
“House—“ she started, but he beckoned her
closer, and when Cuddy was
arm’s reach, he pulled her forward by her shoulders, looking
“Shhhh . . . you’ve set the mood, let’s
see if we can get into it,” he breathed
her face, looking vulnerable for a moment. Cuddy tried to speak, but
House bent his face forward and kissed her.
His lips rested on hers lightly, the merest brush of contact, and
overwhelming warmth of his big, male presence sparked tingles all
body. Cuddy gasped softly, and taking this as an invitation,
mouth more firmly on hers, sliding his hands from her
Cuddy clutched him, drinking him in. Dizzily she let go of thoughts
schedules and reports and agendas, just savoring the prickle of
whiskers against her cheeks, the slippery tease of his tongue wetly
with hers. It took effort to break away long minutes later, but she
House let her for a quick second, then dropped his mouth back on
her in to a deeper kiss, feeling a surge of lust so strong it was
intoxicating. Oh yeah, Cuddy’s mouth was worth plundering, as
in taste as he always thought it would be. Her tongue flicked over
pliant, a wicked little taunt worth sucking.
They kept kissing, shifting against each other. House had his ass
against the edge of the exam table and Cuddy resting against him, her
bracing now against the crinkly paper on either side of his hips. Cuddy
the urge to wriggle; the feel of House’s big hands cupping
her shoulder blades
was nice. When he started to move the right one under her arm for a
though, she pulled up, scowling.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Should—“ he growled back against her
lips, “—be obvious.”
“Copping a feel was NOT on the menu,” she tried to
argue. House nibbled one
her eyebrows, distracting her.
“Yeeah. You have the girls pressed so hard against me
imprinted with my Tee shirt logo—thought I’d make
“This is supposed to be about a hand
job—“ came her protest, even as she
into his waiting palm. House chuckled.
“My hands HAVE a job--ohhh. Always knew these beauties were
flaunt them like Ds, Cuddy.”
She didn’t say anything, the retort melting away under the
talented flick of
House’s thumb against her stiff nipple through her blouse; he
finesse, lightly kissing the corner of her quivering mouth as he did
shivered, and slid her hands from the paper on either side of his hips.
“Greg . . . “ she muttered, a little breathlessly,
“I . . .”
“ . . . love it. Don’t lie to me, Cuddles.
Accelerated heart rate, dilated
bet you’ve got majorly damp panties now.”
His slight crudeness made her scowl, but even as she pressed a hand to
chest to push him away, House caught it and licked her palm, letting
stubble tickle the tender center of it. “Love that
thought—see?” Carefully he
guided her hand down to the thick ridge along his fly, where the denim
Cuddy gave a little groan of protest. “That can-NOT all be
“You’re right—I grafted parts of a
Clydesdale in during my Urology rotation,”
he told her, pulling his most sincere face. Cuddy took a moment to kiss
again, her hand sliding along his crotch.
“I don’t remember sitting in on THAT organ donation
committee,” she teased
back, nipping his upper lip. The temperature in the exam room had gone
several degrees, and it wasn’t the only thing rising. Cuddy
nibbled his way down her neck, taking time out to lick along her
“Black market deal, from Budweiser,” House replied,
his words muffled
her skin. “You rub nice, through denim.”
Cuddy looked down and watched her splayed hand stroke him; House gave
rumble of pleasure. When she looked up, he was staring at her again,
half closed in pleasure and provocation.
“So about that hand job?” he prodded softly.
It only took a minute to find the tube of K-Y in the drawer with
thermometers, and unzip House’s fly. Cuddy touched him; the
thick rise of
erection fitted into her hand, her fingers curling around the blunt
heat of it
as she squeezed lightly. House throbbed, lifting his shoulders and
face up to the ceiling in a gasp of pleasure.
He dropped his hand down over hers, wrapping his grip over her small
tighter squeeze as his other hand slid around her waist, pulling her
House pressed his mouth against her ear through her hair, his husky
slow and unfocused. “Like this. Harder—-feels
Breathing erratically, Cuddy squeezed, marveling in the suede softness
skin stretched so tightly over his rigid erection. Heat radiated off
she could feel the thick veins on it. She stroked, the lubricant
fingers glide over the length of House’s prick. He made a
happy sound deep
“Damn it, that’s niiiiice—“ he
confessed, guiding her fingers up and down in a
slow, deliberate pump of pleasure. House licked her cheek, and moved to
Cuddy again; she opened her lips for his questing tongue.
House tugged her to straddle his good thigh and kept kissing her;
thrusting himself into her slick fist as the lubricant made little wet
the darkened exam room stroke after slow stroke. The scent of musk
rose up; Cuddy felt the subtle change as his cock thickened and
shallowed out. She pressed herself against his thigh, hot and
her own moans low and urgent.
“I’m . . . going to come—“
House whispered her urgently, “Lisa—ohhh . .
Cuddy squeezed his prick again, following the sweet pressure of his
hers, and pushing hard, rubbed herself against his thigh more urgently.
shuddered, his free arm around her tightening as he moaned into her
Thickly, the first hot gush spurted up, dribbling down through their
Others followed, but Cuddy was beyond caring for the moment as she
herself, burying her face against House’s shoulder, her own
between her thighs in pulsing throbs of uncontrollable pleasure.
For a few moments they clung to each other, breathing hard, stunned
boneless. Cuddy nipped at House’s jacket lapel, not meeting
his eyes as she
tried to think of what to say.
She couldn’t come up with anything, although the wild urge to
to mind. When she risked a glance up at his face, House looked
“Youuuu---“ he accused, breaking into a grin. Cuddy
lifted her chin, all too
aware of how red her face must have been. She reluctantly let go of
softening prick and turned to the sink, turning on the tap, sticking
under the water.
“Yes, well let’s say I got caught up in the moment,
all right? I assure you it
won’t happen next time—“ The minute the
words left her mouth she flushed
House pushed himself away from the exam table and reached for
“You said it—-the next time.” Carefully
he reached over and tipped her face
towards him, kissing her softly. “This is why
you’re the dean—-your talent for
negotiating with the staff. MY staff in particular.”
“Greg—“ she muttered, still flushed. He
kissed her again, and smiled.
“So this works the other way too, right? If I
need to get out of clinic
hours . . . ?” he let the sentence trail off. Cuddy
stared at him a long moment,
but she couldn’t hold her serious expression; the
corner of her mouth went up slightly.
“I’m open to negotiations anytime next week, Doctor
He whistled softly. “Count on me to lend a hand, Doctor
They left the exam room together, each clutching files, both of them