Chapter 13
Avery
As gently as possible with a body so hyped-up on everything that’s sexy and impossibly arousing, I slide my fingers out of Nic.
She clasped so forcefully around me—she came so fucking hard—that I know to treat this moment as special.
This is no time for smugness or anything of the sort.
Because it’s crystal clear that Nic gave something to me that goes far beyond this climax.
Quickly, I untie her wrists and rub my thumb along them, before gluing myself to her side, folding an arm around her warm belly.
“I need a moment,” she says, her voice barely there.
“Take all the time you need,” I whisper in her ear, then press a light kiss just beneath it.
We lie in silence for a few minutes as her body calms down, her breathing slows, and Nic finds the energy to turn toward me.
“There’s a lot to say,” she says, “but I’m choosing not to say it. For obvious reasons.”
“Okay.” I’m ambivalent about this, too. I’m aware of what I’ve already lost—my therapist. I don’t know all the rules, but surely she can’t keep seeing me as a client after this. But, perhaps, we can see each other in a different capacity.
And how thrilling was it to tie her wrists up like that? The entire afternoon was one big thrill. When I slid my hand down her arm at the party, I had no idea I would, ultimately, end up here. I wanted to—oh, how I wanted to—but I didn’t know if she did. I know now.
I’ve sucked her nipple into my mouth as well as her clit. I’ve had my fingers deep inside her. I made her come until every last muscle in her body shook with pleasure and, perhaps, disbelief.
“I want to make you come, too,” Nic says and my clit stands to full attention.
“You don’t have to,” I reply. What? Why did I say that?
She arches her eyebrows. “You don’t want me to?”
“I, um—” What the actual fuck? Maybe this is why you should never sleep with your therapist. Your subconscious can get really confused. “I do.”
“Are you sure?” She gazes deep into my eyes, as though needing to find confirmation in how I’m looking at her as well. As though my words aren’t enough. “I know this is a mindfuck.”
“It’s not about that,” I admit. “I’m just not always… very good at receiving.”
“Is that why you’re such a top?” Before this can turn into the most inappropriate therapy session ever, Nic shoots me a devilish grin.
“Probably.” She’s so utterly beautiful. I can hardly believe I’m here—that this is happening.
“You must be turned on.” Nic’s voice has dropped into a lower, even sexier register. “What with having just fucked your shrink like that.”
“Fuck yeah.” Never before has feeling vulnerable been so exhilarating.
Her gaze locked on mine, she runs her fingertips along my side. She’s right. I’m turned on beyond the point where I get into my head, into that place where, for some reason, I believe I’m not even worthy of a goddamn orgasm.
Nic’s hand finds my breast. She cups it before skating her fingertip along my nipple.
She pushes herself closer, trapping her hand between our bodies, and kisses me.
Her lips are so soft, her tongue so warm and utterly moreish, I groan into her mouth.
I can only hope it counts as a massive ‘yes, please, fuck me now’.
It must. Because she rolls on top of me, her knee sliding between my legs.
I surrender to her—easily. Because I trust her.
I hardly know anything about her, but I don’t need to, because she knows plenty about me.
Because of all the things I’ve already told her, but also the things I’ve not yet been able to put into words but have expressed in other ways.
By refusing to say them, even. Or through inadvertent body language.
Nic reads people for a living and, now, she’s reading my body and, again, between the lines.
I can only conclude that sleeping with your shrink is the best and the worst idea all in one.
Right now, however, it’s definitely the best.
When her knee touches my clit, I push myself against her.
She kisses me, and her hands are everywhere and, fuck it, I decide here and now that I am good at this.
Sure, tying someone up without warning—that mix of surprise, glee and, usually, magnified lust in their glance—is the biggest thrill of all, but the way Nic is all over me is quickly turning into a close second.
Because it’s her—of course. This isn’t love.
That would be impossible. But it must be the next best thing, although I’m not sure what that is.
And I’m by no means an expert on love either.
But this was easy. All I had to do, really, was slide my hand down her arm and curl my fingers around her wrist. Her response is this.
She’s most likely fucking up a huge part of her life by doing this and my only conclusion is that she must really want this—want me.
And, come to think of it, that is the biggest thrill of all.
“Can I fuck you?” she breathes into my ear.
“Yeah,” I huff out.
“Lick you?”
By that point, I can only nod, because her questions have the same effect as a thousand kisses in the most sensitive spot.
She kisses her way down, her hair tickling along my belly, and I want her so much that something happens to me that has, as far as I can remember, never happened before.
That pesky little voice in my head—the one always accusing me of not being good enough at something or other—shuts off.
It goes mute. It’s gone. I’m just my body being worshipped by Dr. Nic Forbes.
She’s between my legs, kissing the inside of my thighs.
Her lips draw closer to my throbbing clit, only to retreat again.
Her fingers seem to be everywhere at once, except the one spot where I really want them.
I bury my hands in her hair. I push myself toward her, my body aching for all of her, for all she’s willing to give. But she makes me wait—probably her way of topping me, no accessories required.
I want her tongue on my clit but I also want this moment—this precious short time just before I explode—to last forever. Because, deep inside, I already know it’s never going to be better than this—than the first time with my therapist.
“Aaah.” My moan reverberates through Nic’s bedroom as her tongue swipes along my clit.
Oh fucking fuck. She’s actually licking me.
She’s actually doing it. And it’s too much.
It’s quite simply too much for my body as well as my brain.
Because I might have clocked her as a hot cougar from the first moment I met her, but I could never have imagined this.
When her fingers demand entrance, I come loud and hard before they’ve even fully slipped inside me.
My clit thumps wildly against her tongue as all of me surrenders to Dr. Nic.
As I become someone so eager to receive, it scares me not a small amount.
“Are you okay?” Nic asks as she shuffles upward. “Hey.” Even though she’s barely been inside me, I smell myself on the hand she brings to my cheek. She smiles and it undoes something in me.
“Fuck,” is all I say.
Nic chuckles in response. She sidles up to me, her body warm like the most comforting blanket, and curls an arm tightly around me.
I’m torn between doing what we just did all over again and just lying here for a while, in her arms, processing and recovering—because it feels like I need to recover from something.
I’m torn because if I don’t do something, it might all just be over.
She might kick me out and I very well might never see her again.
But my body is so satiated, so lazy from that climax, my arms feel like lead, and I just want to lie here with her like this forever.
So I do, even though forever can only last for a short while.
“I don’t want to move my arm,” Nic says, after what might be two minutes, fifteen, or a hundred—I have no idea. “But I also really need to drink some water. Sorry about that.”
“Are you hungover already?” I swiftly decide that joking myself through the aftermath is the best way forward. At least I will have had a laugh.
Nic removes her arm and I’m instantly cold. I fumble with the sheets until I’m covered. She turns toward the nightstand and drinks from a glass of water that must always be there.
“Do you want some?” She hands me the glass.
“Sure.” I take the glass from her and my mind is cast back to the water I gave her at the party—when our fingers touched and my entire body responded. “You did knock back that champagne with gusto.” I give her back the glass.
“I know.” Nic nods. “I shouldn’t have done that, but…”
“But?”
She nods at me as though I poured every drop down her throat personally.
“What? It’s my fault?” I can’t suppress a grin.
“No, but yes.” She shakes her head. “I was starstruck and I wasn’t the only one.”
“For real?” She must be kidding.
“I don’t know how else to explain… what I did.” Nic deposits the glass on the nightstand and slides under the covers with me.
“Ida Burton, Faye Fleming, and Sadie Ireland were there.”
“I’ve known Ida forever,” Nic says, as if it explains everything. “You have something… special.” She rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe I’m saying trite stuff like this.”
“Since when have you, um, felt like that?” I ask. Because I can ask this question now.
“If I’m honest, probably for a while, but I only became fully aware of it this afternoon, at the party. It just hit me. Made me weak at the knees. Very weak.”
“I can take the blame if you need me to.”
“This is very complicated.” Under the sheets, her hand finds mine. Our fingers intertwine. “I’m just giving myself a short period of grace where I don’t have to think about the consequences yet.”
I wish I could say something trite right now, but it would most likely also be untrue—and what’s the point of that?
“Okay.” I scoot toward her. “I’m fully available and ready to go again if you need me to take your mind off things.” Gently, I kiss her smiling lips, then hover over her ear. “Do you have a strap I can use?”
Nic’s body shakes with laughter. “You really are too much, Avery.”
“I am,” I say. “I’m very aware.” It’s why I’m in therapy.