Chapter 5: Premium Treatment
The clinic looked different this time.
Not the bones of it—same antiseptic smell, same too-clean floors, same receptionist with her practiced smile—but the vibe had shifted. Like I’d crossed some invisible threshold. She didn’t hand me the clipboard. Just nodded toward the hall.
“Room 4,” she said. “Doctor’s waiting.”
Room 4 wasn’t the usual box with its sad chair and stack of well-worn magazines. This one had *walls*—actual walls, not just partitions—and a door that locked from the inside. The lights were dimmed, warm instead of fluorescent. A leather exam table dominated the center, black and sleek like something out of a high-end spa.
Stu stood by the counter, gloves already on, rolling a vial between his fingers. He didn’t look up when I entered.
“You upgraded me,” I said.
His mouth quirked. “Premium donor status comes with perks.”
“I didn’t ask for premium.”
“No.” He set the vial down. “But your numbers warranted it.”
The way he said it—like this was purely clinical, purely business—made my skin prickle. I shoved my hands in my pockets. “So what’s different?”
Stu finally turned. His eyes raked over me, slow, before landing on my face. “Everything.”
He stepped closer, gloved fingers brushing my wrist as he took my hand. His thumb pressed into my palm, just once, before letting go. “Lie back.”
The table was cool against my bare thighs when I sat. Stu nudged my knees apart, then reached for a bottle of gel. The snap of the cap was loud in the quiet.
“Full assessment today,” he said, squeezing a dollop onto his fingers. “Standard for premium tier.”
I didn’t believe him.
His touch was different this time—slower, more deliberate. He started at my collarbone, fingers skating down my sternum, pausing to press lightly over my ribs.
“Breathe,” he murmured.
I did. His hands dipped lower, tracing the curve of my hip.
“You’re tense.”
“You’re touching me like I’m made of glass.”
Stu chuckled. “Noted.”
His grip firmed, fingers digging into the muscle of my thigh. The sudden pressure made me jerk. He ignored it, working his way down, kneading the tension from my calves before circling back up.
When his thumbs hooked into the waistband of my boxers, I caught his wrist. “This part of the assessment?”
Stu didn’t pull away. Just held my gaze, unblinking. “Every inch needs to be evaluated.”
His pulse jumped under my fingers.
I let go.
The air was cold against my bare skin. Stu’s gloves were warmer, his hands steady as they mapped me out—palming my length, rolling my balls between his fingers. He took his time, measuring, testing, like he was cataloging every reaction.
“Still impressive,” he mused, thumbing the head. “Consistency’s improved too.”
I bit back a groan. “You keeping stats on that?”
“Mmm.” His fingers tightened. “Among other things.”
The gel was cold when he spread it, slicking me up with slow, methodical strokes. His other hand cupped my balls, massaging in lazy circles.
“You’re holding your breath again.”
“Because you’re—” My hips twitched. “Fuck.”
Stu’s grip shifted, twisting just right on the upstroke. “Better.”
It was. Too good. The pressure built fast, heat coiling low in my gut. I dug my nails into the leather.
“Easy.” His free hand splayed across my stomach, pinning me down. “We’re not rushing.”
I hissed when his thumb swiped over the tip, smearing precome. “Stu—”
“Tell me.” His voice was low, rough at the edges. “What do you need?”
The question punched through me. No one asked me that. Not anymore.
My throat worked. “Let me—”
He squeezed the base, cutting me off. “Not yet.”
The denial was a live wire under my skin. I arched into his touch, chasing release, but Stu held firm, keeping me on the edge with infuriating precision.
“You’re close.” He leaned in, lips brushing my ear. “I can tell.”
His breath was hot. His fingers were relentless.
I was shaking.
“Please.” The word tore out of me, ragged.
Stu’s teeth grazed my earlobe. “Since you asked so nice.”
His hand moved faster, twisting, dragging me under until I came with a choked-off groan, spilling over his fingers.
He didn’t stop. Just eased up slightly, milking me through it, his other hand still gripping my thigh hard enough to bruise.
When it was over, I slumped back, boneless. Stu wiped his gloves clean, then peeled them off with a snap.
“Good yield,” he said, sealing the sample.
I huffed a laugh. “That all you care about?”
Stu paused. Looked at me. Really *looked*, his gaze heavy, lingering.
Then he turned away, tossing the vial into the pass-through.
“Thursday,” he said. “Same time.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
I stayed on the table for a long time, staring at the ceiling, my skin still humming.
*Premium donor status comes with perks.*
Yeah.
I was starting to see that.