King #2
I try to find some unpleasant distraction as I fall into step behind her, but the vision of her ass moving in those painted-on stretch pants…there’s only so much a mortal man can do.
She leads me through a door on the back wall of her office.
Inside, there’s a fucking bed in the center of the room, then a little futon sort of floor mat with pillows all around, and a soft-looking white fluffy sofa that would be the perfect place to lean her back, settle on my knees and indulge in what I already know is the pussy to end all pussies.
I’m being tested. My resolve is already packing a bag and getting on the first plane out of town. Soft instrumental music plays as one of those oil diffuser things steams on a side table, making the space smell like some exotic, new-age massage parlor.
“Now, with most clients—” she starts, but I cut her off with a wave.
“I’m not most clients.” I sniff, wondering how I’m ever going to be able to leave here today, knowing she has other clients.
Male clients.
Just the thought of her laying down in that bed with another man has rage bubbling inside me.
“As I was saying.” She hardens her jaw, hands on her hips, but her nipples are still on high alert, telling me things her mouth won’t.
“We will start with you laying on your side. I find it’s best for me to then lay behind you.
I’ll ask you some questions, try to feel your energy, and when you are comfortable, I’ll place my hand on your shoulder, maybe.
Or on the side of your head. Just so you get used to feeling a calm, platonic touch with no expectations. ”
“So, you want me to be the little spoon?” I step toward the bed, blood rushing hot into my dick, and there’s no putting that toothpaste back in the tube now.
“Mr. Hertzof—”
“You can call me King.”
“King,” she says with an exasperated sigh, but the sound of my name on her lips sends my brain into spasm. “I noted that is your legal name. Interesting.”
“Had an interesting childhood.”
“I’d like to hear about that… King.” Her smile and the slow blink she gives me while waving toward the bed tell me she’s the thing I’ve been missing. Hearing my name on those plump pink lips seals it.
I’m already looking forward to hearing it again, the moment before those same lips are stretched wide as she swallows the prize I’m saving just for her.
“You get in this bed with other men?” I ask, fists of jealousy punching at my gut as she nods.
“Yes. And women, but most of my clients are men. They tend to be less in touch with their softer, more vulnerable parts. I also use the sofa, the floor. Sometimes holding hands while sitting in the chairs. This is my business.” She squares her shoulders. “It’s what I do.”
“You don’t have any security,” I say, looking around the room for cameras, manically angry that she’s putting herself in danger by lying down and touching God knows who.
“Handling men that get out of hand is nothing new to me.”
A roar of anger catches in my chest, and I want to tear down the building to keep her from putting herself in danger ever again.
She doesn’t think she needs anyone. I plan on getting to the bottom of what makes her tick. I rub my temples with my fingers, knowing she’s going to make my life hell, but I can’t wait to burn.
She crosses her arms, her face tensing like she’s had enough of me, which is not a rare sentiment.
“Now, we can lie down. Or if you prefer to put your head on my lap on the sofa, we can do that. Or we can find a position on the futon on the floor. But, I do think we’d make the most progress today if you would lie down. Let your whole body relax.”
Lie. Down.
My hard-on is not relaxed, and it’s hella uncomfortable, so I acquiesce. Besides, climbing into bed with her, knowing she’s going to touch me, has win-win-win written all over it.
I toe my shoes off, following her lead, leaving them on the floor next to the end of the bed, then launch myself at the cream-colored bedding with a happy grunt, bouncing a couple times before I settle, resting my head on my bent arm and crooking a finger at her. “Ready.”
A grumbling sigh paired with a dismissive head shake do nothing to deter the penetrating lust that this sweet, smart cherub firecracker is pulling out of me.
As she climbs onto the bed from the other side, the mattress shifts and I swear, something in my belly flutters.
Like, Jesus, it flutters, like I’m a lovesick teenage girl. I have no fucking idea what’s happening right now, but I’m all in.
“Now.” Her soft words come from behind, as I shift onto my side and she moves into position behind me.
Her breath is warm on my neck. “Let’s just lie here quietly for a moment.
Let me connect with your energy. The point of our sessions will be to release some of your…
aggression. Allow you to have more control. ”
“Nothing about you touching me is going to give me more control.” I smirk over my shoulder as she tugs back a smile. “But, okay, doc. Let the healing begin.”
I slap my hands together, rubbing them back and forth, before dropping my head into the pillow, shoving one arm underneath and angling my ass back until I make contact with her pelvic region, wondering if…no, not if, how wet she is right now.
“There we go.” She hums in my ear. “I feel your tension.”
“That’s not tension, baby. It’s frustration.”
“What’s frustrating you?” It’s an honest question, and part of me wants to give her a detailed and crude list of all the ways I want to defile her body. But a bigger part of me doesn’t want to scare her away.
Or have her kick me out.
“I’m frustrated laying here with you with our clothes still on,” I say as she starts to huff, but before she can interrupt, I continue. “You want honesty, right? But you have a job to do, and you said we have the same goals, so I’ll do whatever you ask.”
“Thank you.” Her voice softens, and my heart is turning ass over teakettle, thinking of us lying in our own bed. In our own house. With my ring on her finger. “Can you share a memory from your past that first gave you the feeling of having to use violence as a release?”
Her question is specific and sincere. Yeah, I still want to roll over, pin her to the bed and feed her warm, wet pussy every inch of what God gave me. But I also don’t want to disrespect her work. I want to give her whatever she wants, and right now, she wants to help me.
She thinks she can.
I know she can.
But probably not in the way she expects.
“There’s a lot of those,” I answer, not letting my memories drift too far into the darkness.
“See, my aggression, my violence, that’s embedded in my DNA.
It’s what makes me tick. Like other people meditate, I break bones.
Bloody lips. Snarl and spit and extract teeth.
It soothes me. Blanks my mind and somehow gives me a sense of purpose.
There’s no one event that made me who I am. But this is me. Take it or leave it.”
She doesn’t say anything.
Doesn’t admonish me or give me some speech about how I should learn to use my fucking words or some shit like everyone else does.
I’m not an idiot. I know solving every problem with my fists isn’t going to work forever, but I don’t need people pointing out the obvious to me every two fucking seconds like I’m a mindless goon.
Instead, the silence wraps around me like a comforting blanket. Her warmth on my back grows with each heartbeat, until her calming softness seeps down into my bones.
“Is it okay if I put my hand on your shoulder?” she hums in a thick whisper. “Remember, I’ll always respect your consent.”
I hope to God I can do the same. Right now, where she’s concerned, my consent asking skills are hanging by a thread.
I swallow hard, blood pumping into my dick, leaving my extremities tingling.
I want to throw her curvy, sexy package onto her back and listen to her squeal and beg for her King to give her another inch.
“Touch away,” I manage as the warmth in my chest bursts outward, and I want to fucking consume her in the fire she’s lit inside of me.
The soft weight from her hand eases onto the tense muscle of my shoulder, and I swear to fucking God, I hear angels singing.