Diana in Love (Dirty Diana #2)

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Oliver’s gaze flits to my unpacked suitcase, still sitting by the front door. “Were you away?”

“In Fredericksburg.” Both our tones are light, if a little cool. We’re feeling each other out, to see if we’re still in a fight.

“What’s in Fredericksburg? Wait.” He holds up his hands. “Never mind. It really is none of my business.”

“How was the socialite?”

“Her name is Katherine. Nice, actually. Surprisingly nice.”

“Good.” It doesn’t feel good, but I say it anyway.

“She’s not really a socialite.”

“What is she?”

“A baroness.” This melts the tension between us for real and we both smile.

“Your mom must be levitating.” I watch the way Oliver’s mouth can’t help but turn up into a grin, the slight blush in his cheeks. He really likes Katherine. I’m happy for him; he’s met someone nice. And still, my skin burns with jealousy. The same skin that still smells like sex and Jasper.

Before he turns to leave, Oliver says, “Diana?”

“Yeah.”

“I was thinking. What if we went back to therapy?”

“Really?” For weeks after he moved out I had suggested this to him, again and again, before finally giving up.

“I know. I never thought I would say those words either. But I was thinking it might help this process? I don’t want us to fight. Or worse, not fight and just be weird and tense around Emmy. Maybe there are tips to make it easier? Especially if we’re both, you know, dating again.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks up at me from under his thick lashes. “Or maybe I just stop asking you about Fredericksburg?”

His expression is soft, a look I recognize as I’m trying. “It’s a good idea,” I say. “To make sure we’re doing this right.”

“Right.”

“Especially with a new school year coming up,” I say.

“Yeah, we should go back to therapy.” He rocks back on his heels. “For Emmy.”

—

Hours after I put Emmy to bed, I lie awake thinking about Jasper. He’s decided to stay in Texas for an extra week. “I have meetings I can take. People I can see. Especially you.” Then my mind skips to Katherine, trying to imagine what she looks like. I think of Oliver and the last time he was here in this bed, how we almost had sex before he kissed me goodbye through a blanket. The memory makes my cheeks burn with embarrassment.

I kick off my covers and make my way quietly downstairs. I want to feel okay again in this house, even without Oliver here. To fall asleep easily and wake up refreshed after long, restful hours. Instead I stare up at the ceiling and fall asleep for what feels like minutes before my alarm goes off. Then I drag myself out of bed and into work like a zombie.

In the kitchen, I make myself a cup of tea that promises sleep and open my laptop. I pull up the site and scroll right to the comments.

Totally lost myself! Thank you!

Empowering!

Can’t with the raspy voice. Someone get Diana a lozenge!

Where’s the video? Why so cheap?

I read through all the good and bad until I come to a block of comments from the same person—a series of comments that goes on for pages. I keep scrolling, discovering someone has written an entire fantasy in a series of fifty-three comments. The first one simply reads:

I want to fuck my therapist.

But the following comments are long and take up pages:

I’ve lied and told him I’m a sex addict. But it’s not true. I don’t even have real vices anymore. The only thing I’m actually addicted to these days are chocolate-covered pretzels and thinking about fucking my therapist.

His name is Henry and he’s a very kind, sensible man in his late 40s, who collects rare coins. I told him I was dating all the time, which also isn’t true. I told him I was worried I was having too much sex. Another lie. So he gave me the following rules to live by:

No oral sex on the first date. No penetration on the first date. Only after the fifth date can I sleep with someone. If I make it that far. No masturbating in front of my date. I know it seems obvious but it’s helpful to have it in writing, I tell him. Kissing is fine on the third date. No going over to my dates’ houses after ten p.m. when they text me “you up?” Sex does not give me power over anyone. Sex does not make me more worthy. I have a problem, I explain. I need to follow the rules.

I’ve never told him I want to have sex with him. I guess if he’s halfway decent at his job, he’s figured it out by now. And he is so much better than the others. I needed someone stern. A therapist that has a real perspective. The rules are there to help me.

In my fantasy, I call Henry at three a.m. and tell him it’s an emergency. I need to see him now. It can’t wait. He sleepily agrees and tells me to meet him in his office in fifteen minutes. I hear him apologizing to his wife in the background, she’s not happy that he’s leaving.

Henry is waiting in his office when I arrive. He’s wearing a white button-down shirt and gray trousers. A rumpled blazer and wire-rimmed glasses. He’s handsome in a bumbling Hugh Grant kind of way. I smile when I see he dressed in his usual uniform. I’m still in my nightgown. Freshly showered, but still.

When I sit down on the striped couch opposite him, he immediately takes out his leather-bound notebook and looks down. He typically doesn’t look me in the eye during our sessions, focused mainly on his notes.

With his head down, he tells me this is the last time he can meet me this late. Just like he told me last time I fantasized about him. But it sounded urgent, he says. So.

It’s a dream I had.

A dream? Not a nightmare? he asks.

No. It was a good dream. I was falling. From the top of the building. But I knew I would never hit the ground.

He scribbles this down.

I go on. I was naked in the dream. And the air was so warm. And the fall excited me. It didn’t scare me, I tell him.

It doesn’t have to scare you to be a nightmare. Do you ever hit the ground?

No. It was frustrating. It went on so long without ever landing. Just falling.

How are you feeling now?

Horny.

Henry doesn’t react. Just writes it down.

Actually, the dream makes me want to touch myself.

Henry looks up in surprise. Then immediately back down at his notes.

That is not appropriate in this office, he says.

It won’t take me long. I’m already wet from the dream.

We’ve talked about this. There’s a slight panic in his voice.

You don’t even have to watch, Henry. Look. Just close your eyes and I’ll tell you when to open. I pull my underwear to the side and spread my legs, facing him. I want him to look. I need him to look.

What should I use, Henry? My fingers?

Please. You know this is wrong. Enough of this.

I’ll use my fingers then. I slip two inside me and start to perform. Oh god, Henry. Oh god. This feels good.

Please stop. I’m asking you to stop.

You don’t really want that, do you?

Yes. He’s flustered. I can’t do this.

Fine. But this isn’t working for me. I need more. I slide my fingers out of my pussy, my legs still spread. See?

This isn’t how I run my sessions.

I’ll leave now. On one condition. Can I see it?

See what?

Your cock.

Henry blushes.

No one would find out, I promise.

He studies me for a minute and then sighs. You’ve developed a strategy for when you feel this way. When you feel the need to dominate. Remember the rules.

Show me your cock. And then I’ll go.

Would you like some water? he says, growing increasingly uncomfortable.

No. I want to see your cock. I can tell it’s hard. I can see it stretching the fabric of your pants.

Henry crosses his legs, turning away from me. I show you and then you leave?

I promise.

Henry checks the door to make sure it’s locked, then unzips his pants and pulls out his cock. It’s even better than I imagined. Smooth and thick. Pulsing with excitement.

There. You’ve seen it.

Please let me suck it.

Absolutely not.

But you’re so hard. I think you want to feel what it’s like inside my mouth. What if I just sit on your lap? Is that okay?

He doesn’t answer.

Henry.

I have an early client.

I’ll be quick.

He leans back in his chair and I climb on top of him. My legs straddle his so if he decides to let me go further I’ll be ready.

We’re so close we might as well, I whisper.

I kiss him and he opens his lips slightly, just enough so that I can slide my tongue into his mouth. He moans softly. He’s starting to break. He won’t be able to say no soon.

I could lose my license, he whispers. Please.

Then why is your dick so hard? I’m going to stick it in and you say no if you want me to stop.

I guide him into me and he moans louder and louder. Mmm…mmmmm. But he isn’t saying no.

Please.

Please yes or please no?

But his eyes only widen as I sit back and take his entire cock inside me. He groans out loud and slowly starts to rub my thighs as if coming alive. He can’t hold back anymore. He wants this. I kiss him again and raise myself all the way up to the swollen head of his cock, then slowly, very slowly, lower myself back onto him.

Oh god.

Oh shit.

And finally, he kisses me back. Everywhere. My neck, my lips, my tits. He cups my ass cheeks and I ride him hard.

This isn’t good for you, he says. We shouldn’t…

It’s too late.

We fuck like that for what feels like hours. Henry lifts me up and down, varying his speed and his depth until his thrusting becomes more urgent and he’s rock-hard inside me.

I’m close. I’m so close.

I ride his shaft faster and faster. Up and down until we’re both seeing stars.

God, I’m close.

Then I whisper in his ear, I love the feel of your cock inside me. I love that you did this. I could live with you inside me.

Henry throws his head back in bliss, his dick starting to spasm insideme.

Say it. Tell me how much you like it. That you’ve always wanted it. I smash my hips into his pelvis, securing him deep inside me, and tighten my walls around him.

Henry’s eyes roll back, his mouth open, panting.

Don’t stop, he says.

Tell me.

You’re the fuck of my life! he shouts, and I feel him come deep inside me. A surge of power washes over me as he climaxes. I’m completely satisfied.

I slide off him and open the door to his office before he can stop me. His wife is outside. She takes one look at us and screams. She runs for the exit. His patients are also in the waiting room. Looking at Henry in disgust.

Henry calls to his wife but she doesn’t answer. He scrambles and pulls up his pants. Then he looks at me, scared. What do I do? Tell me what to do. He pleads with me. He looks broken. Permanently broken.

And I realize I’ve just lost the best therapist I’ve ever had.

I don’t know, I tell him. I can’t help you.

But you’ll stay with me. We’ll be together, won’t we…

No, Henry, I say. That would be against the rules.