Chapter 18 Dr. Dawson Cole
DR. DAWSON COLE
Isteep a tea bag into a mug and listen for the bedroom door. It’s at the other end of my apartment, but my senses zero in on it so much that I barely see what I’m doing in front of me.
I told Emory that the room is hers until she feels comfortable sharing space with me. She knocked that notion down straightaway and told me I wasn’t going to be sleeping on the couch.
Shock wound through me the second I saw her outside of my door, but then it was quickly replaced by a level of irritation that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to explain.
Seeing her suitcase… That look on her face.
I’m not a violent man, but I don’t do well when the people I care about are hurting, and I can see on Emory’s face that there’s pain there. That her heart is going through something.
The creak of the door sounds. I need to oil the hinges, but it hasn’t bothered me enough to make it a priority. The fact I’ve pushed it off for so long allows me the chance to see her before she notices I’m looking in her direction.
Her red-brown hair is tied up into a messy bun, one that I wonder was tied back in the quickness of packing a few essentials. Her cheeks, normally rosy, are pale in comparison and there’s a slight redness around her eyes that I fucking hate seeing.
She walks across the apartment, clothed in a beige thermal set—as she twists her hands close to her chest. Does she think coming here was a mistake?
But then her body visibly relaxes, and she gives me a small smile as she scoots onto one of the stools by the two-seater island.
“I made you tea,” I tell her, using the string to lift the bag from the mug before setting it on the counter. I walk around the island so I can be on the same side as her. “It’ll help calm your nerves.”
That smile she gives me turns into a nod, but it’s reserved, and I can’t help but want to reassure her. I never want her questioning a damn thing when she’s in my presence. Too much has happened, and I don’t want to be another Lance for her.
She wraps her hands around the mug when I extend it to her, and I reach forward, gripping her chin with my forefinger and thumb. I make sure she’s looking at me when I say, “You did the right thing by coming here.”
“Daws—”
“No,” I say, cutting her off as my eyes roam her face. God, she’s fucking beautiful. I’m not sure how I ever thought I’d be able to sit across from her and only counsel her. “Don’t doubt it. Don’t doubt that what I’m saying is true.”
“I don’t want to be a burden. I’ve already overstepped. You’re my therapi—”
I act, because it’s the only thing my brain can think of doing as she tries to convince herself she shouldn’t be here.
This is the only place she should be.
With me and in an environment that makes her feel validated and safe.
My palms cover her cheeks, and I slowly, but quickly, pull her to me, bringing her to her feet. My mouth is on hers before I can properly taste her breath. My lips press against hers, gliding in perfect harmony as I show her how fucking important she is to me. In this moment and beyond.
I’m not greedy with my tongue. There’s not an urgency that says this needs to move into something more as soon as possible. Instead, it’s a quiet promise that I will keep until my dying day, because I’m not letting her go.
I won’t. Not when she’s the one who’s slowly making my heart beat for something worthwhile again. My ex won’t get the last laugh. There’s happiness out there that belongs to me.
My mouth brushes over her soft lips one more time, and then I pull away, our breaths mingling in quiet tune to the beat of our hearts.
With my eyes closed, I press my forehead to hers and say, “Move in with me.”
I feel the shaky breath she lets out. It caresses my chin and lips, making me fearful that she isn’t feeling what I am.
“Dawson, I—”
“I can’t be your therapist anymore,” I tell her.
“I want to be there for you. I want to help you through what you’re going through now and whatever will come up in the future, but I don’t want to do that from a chair across the room from you.
” I inhale her scent and remember the taste of her mouth, how it’s all I’ve wanted since the very beginning.
She should’ve been mine since the moment I laid eyes on her.
“Are you sure?” She says it in a whisper. “I mean, I literally just broke up with my fiancé. Should we really be doing this?”
“Sometimes,” I breathe out, “the best things for us don’t make sense. It’s less about the logic and more about what we feel inside our bodies. So, what’s yours telling you?”
My heart beats rapidly in my chest as I wait for her to answer, as small puffs of air plume out of her mouth and spread over my skin.
Her voice is just barely audible when she says, “It’s telling me that it wants to be around you, Dawson. You make me feel safe, heard, like I’m not crazy for the fears I have and the things I think about.”
That’s the only answer I need. It’s confirmation enough that, while this all seems a little wild, this is exactly what we should be doing. Maybe because this was meant to be the outcome all along. Perhaps fate really did have her falling in that water.
I shift my head, dropping my chin lower so I can press a kiss to her lips. My mouth moves languidly against hers, causing a soft sigh to slip up her throat. I inhale it, using it as oxygen as I allow my lungs to open up and take her in.
I’ll make it my life’s goal to learn every damn thing about her. All the things that make her happy. The things that annoy her. The movies that make up her life, and the moments that make her cry.
When she murmurs my name in a breathy whimper, my muscles tighten, my stomach constricting under the promise of how wildly amazing it would be to be with her. To tease her. To taste her. To drink in every last drop of her arousal as it wets her inner thighs, all due to my hands and mouth on her.
“Keep saying my name like that,” I growl in a low voice, “and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to keep my hands to myself.”
My eyes, hazy in the loss of all sense, watch as she bites down on the corner of her lip. And then she damn near brings me to my knees when she asks, “Do you want to touch me, Dr. Cole?”
A flare of excitement hits me at the way she says it, but also because she uses my working name, title and all.
My cock grows as I drag my hand down her arm and lower my mouth to the crook of her neck.
Her skin is soft there, and I bite, sucking it into my mouth with a painful spark that makes her moan.
“I would absolutely love to touch you.” My mouth leaves wet trails across her skin, and that familiar ache that feels so damn good sinks into my balls. I’m hard in less than a minute.
All I can think about is her, the way everything about her takes up all the space in my mind. To say I’m obsessed would be an understatement. Hell, I’ve never been this enamored by someone, nor so quickly.
This intense urge to touch myself takes root, but I won’t do that—not until she’s fully satisfied, and the flavor of that is on my tongue and fingers.
“Then maybe you should,” she says.
“I don’t know how much patience I’m going to have,” I say as I continue to pepper kisses on her. I go as far as pulling her shirt to the side and giving her shoulder attention. I’d lick up and down her entire body if she let me.
“Well, you’re in luck, because I just so happen to think that patience is overrated.”
I take in her face, heat evident in her own gaze. She’s turned on, and fuck, if that doesn’t make me throb. “You say that now. You might be singing an entirely different tune once we get started.”
“I think I’ll be okay, and if I’m not—”
I move my head closer to hers and kiss her hard, our tongues tangling in a delicious mess. “If you’re not, then I’ll make sure you are, Emory. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
She grins, and it’s more lighthearted than the one she gave me earlier. I move higher, pressing kisses to the corners of her eyes. They’re still red and mildly puffy from her crying, but if I have any say over it, it’ll be the last damn time tears stain her pretty skin.
“Promise me,” she says in a voice that does things to me before adding, “Promise that you’ll take care of me in whatever ways I need, Dr. Cole.”
“Keep calling me doctor, and I just might spank you,” I say into her ear a moment before I clamp down on her earlobe, but then it hits me. “You like that, don’t you? You like referring to me as doctor.”
“There’s something about knowing what we’re doing, and how forbidden it is, that turns me on.”
She hooks her fingers into her sweat bottoms, and she slowly shimmies her hips until they’re a pile on the floor.
I suck in a sharp breath and look down, realizing that the underwear she’s wearing are skimpy.
I could pull them off in one go. Shred them with my fingertips then plunge my tongue right into her center.
“No matter how close we get, there will be parts of you that’ll always be Dr. Cole to me.”
I drop my hand lower, skimming it over her stomach. My fingertips inch closer to her, dropping below her belly button and into her panties. The first thing I feel is the smoothness of her skin, then comes the roughness of her pubic hair, coarse strands scratching my palm enticingly.
My stomach fucking jumps, and I look down, taking note of the triangular patch of hair just above her clit. Fucking hell. “You were made for me,” I mutter, damn near drooling over the woman in front of me. I’ve always loved hair on a woman down there, especially when it’s well groomed.
My dick throbs a second time—though it’s probably happened more. I’m just too busy paying attention to her to count every single time it jumps in appreciation, in delirious excitement.
I smooth a finger over the hair that's cut short, and when I do, my hand slips, sliding over her sweet pussy at the perfect spot.
Her back arches, and she says, “Dr. Cole, don’t tease me.”
“You having this down here,” I cup her, running my fingertips over the patch, “is a tease in and of its goddamn self. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“I guess you’ll have to find out for yourself.”
“And how do you propose I do that?”
“By continuing on your little scavenger hunt.”
I groan and toss my head back. “Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll survive through the entirety of it. I’m damn near close to coming without even touching myself. Anything more, and I just might fucking blow, honey.”
She smiles. “I like the way that name sounds coming from your mouth when you’re all worked up.”
“I promise you, this won’t be the last time you hear it. Now, tell me what I can do to you.”
Her hands come up, resting on my chest. She’s still standing right in front of me with nothing on her legs. I slowly start to back her up, guiding her to the living room. I want to see how comfortable she is in her own skin.
I drop down onto the sofa once I’m close enough, my hands slipping from her body. When she goes to climb on top of me, I lift a hand to stop her. “Sit down on the coffee table.”
She glances back at the sturdy object. It’s about two or three feet away from the couch. She listens, hesitantly sitting down. My eyes drop to her legs. “Spread them and touch yourself.”
She licks her lips. “You want me to play with myself in front of you?”
I swallow down a hard gulp, my stomach muscles clenching from her saying something so goddamn promiscuous. “Yes, Emory. Show me how much you love yourself.”