“She will.”
“How do you know?”
“When she sees how well you’re doing, you’ll convince her.”
Curled up in his lap, I glance at his face, finally all cried out. “But I’ll have bad days again.”
“So you’ll talk about it.”
“I don’t want to disappoint her,” I whisper.
His arms tighten around my waist, like he’s trying to sink my body into his. “You won’t.”
Conviction in his tone makes me smile and I sigh against his chest. We sit like this, entwined with each other for a few moments. I feel him rubbing his stubble over my bangs, all calm and relaxed.
“My mom thinks I should stay here longer because I clearly have deeper issues.”
His entire body goes stiff. I don’t know why I said that. Maybe to see if he’d say something about it. Maybe he’d ask me to stay. I would’ve laughed, if this wasn’t so epically tragic.
Like Heartstone is a hotel and we both just happen to be here for a vacation. Like he’s not my psychiatrist and I’m not his patient. He can ask me to stay. He can keep me trapped inside these white walls and psychoanalyze me and feed me meds because he can’t let me go.
Because my fixer loves me.
I try to push away from him, heartsick, but he doesn’t let me get away. He grabs the back of my neck and pulls me to him, to his mouth, and kisses the fuck out of me.
Then he teaches me to ride his cock. Slow and grinding and sweaty, our skin slipping over each other. All the while our lips are kissing and our hands are roving. All the while, I’m fisting his hair and he’s plumping my ass cheeks. He’s looking into my eyes with his gray, passionate ones.
When we finish, he whispers, “How many days?”
“Five.”
I wait for him to say something. Anything.
But he doesn’t.
He doesn’t say it the day I ask him to take his shirt off in his office during our appointment. He’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
In my defense, I did the entire meeting without trying to touch him once. I answered all his questions about my meds, my sleep, my group sessions, and individual ones with Josie. I didn’t even try to kiss the life out of him when he said he’d talk to my mom about my lying and explain everything to her. Not that I can’t handle her myself, but just the fact that he wants to do it makes me want to jump his bones and shower him with all the kisses.
“What? I’ve never seen your bare chest. Only flashes of it.” I bat my eyelashes as I spring up from the chair and walk very casually to the washroom. I stop at the door and crook my finger at him. “Please? I just wanna see it once.”
With hooded eyes, he stands up. But before he can take a step toward me, I chirp, “Wear your glasses.”
I go in and settle myself on the counter, ready for the show. A second later, he enters, his gaze intense and sparkly behind his specs, and I bite my lip.
God, he’s so sexy.
I widen my thighs for him and he settles himself between them. Arrogantly, like he belongs there. He does.
I rub my hands over his shirt-covered chest before going for his buttons and popping them up. He only lets me undo three before he snags the whole fabric in the back and takes it off.
“Oh my…” I breathe, taking in his naked chest for the first time.
Gosh, he works out. Well, I already knew he did but still.
Everything is hard and muscled and corded. His shoulders look like a hilly terrain, going down to his bulging biceps. I trace the green vein on his arm with my finger.
“I have blue veins,” I whisper. “I think yours are so sexy.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“You’re almost drooling. That’s how.”
“I’m not.” I squeeze my thighs around his hips, making him laugh.
I bring my fingers to his collarbone, trace the triangle of his throat before moving down to the tight arches of his pecs. I moan as I sink my fingers in his chest hair.
“You’re so big. God, I love how big you are.” Leaning closer, I smell his skin and flick my tongue around his nipple.
He jerks and his palms cage me on either side. “Yeah? That turn you on?”
“Uh-huh.” I’m now at his stomach, all ridged and grooved, slanting down in a V. “It’s like you can put me anywhere. Makes me feel so small.” And cherished.
“You are small,” he rasps, smelling the line of my neck.
His body is all tight and carved, as if sculpted by divine hands. His flesh is so warm and darker than mine. Masculine. So fucking masculine.
Paired with his glasses, he looks so old and mature that I’m creaming my panties.