Chapter 5
King
This girl was on a dating app?
She should have men lined up around the circumference of the Earth just to breathe near her.
Not that I’d let them.
I make a note to figure out how to delete her profile from any site that would make some other swinging dick think she’s out there looking.
Because her search for Mr. Right is over.
Her body language is closed off and a little panicky, and I get it. I’m a handful when I’m not so fucking keyed up, but her eyes are telling me there’s something inside her that’s with me already.
Firecracker.
That’s the word that’s been on repeat inside my head since the moment I saw her standing in the bar last night. Even Victor keeping me up half the night playing Call of Duty in my living room didn’t prevent me from waking up hard, dreaming of her soft curves riding my face.
But, Jesus, up close she’s a thousand times more beautiful. She’s a fucking knockout.
She deserves to be painted on the side of some vintage World War II bomber.
The way her green eyes glimmer as she sizes me up with obvious pleasant surprise is making my nutsack tighten and my balls start to fill.
I even forget about the lingering pounding in my head from that beer bottle shot.
“Look,” she says, scratching at the top of her head. She’s so fucking cute, I want to carry her around on my hip for the rest of my life. “Last night needs to stay outside this office. I hope you read through the Code of Conduct that Dr. Hoffman said he emailed you yesterday. You did sign the documents electronically, but that doesn’t mean you read and understood them. This is a platonic, professional relationship. So, we need to forget about last night.”
“I don’t even get a thank you?”
My fingers twitch, wanting them around her throat, desperate to feel her pulse pounding against my hand.
But that’s not the only pounding I’m thinking about.
I imagine rolling down those black stretch pants, stripping the pink t-shirt with its Bristol Empathetic Counseling Yin-Yang logo off her head. It’s making it hard to think of anything but what she might taste like.
There’s a hint of citrus and cherries in the air around her. Sweet and tart. Just like she looks. A vent in the ceiling blows cool air onto my damp hair, making me shiver against the ball of heat ricocheting around inside me like an out-of-control pinball.
Sweat trickles down the indent of my spine as my mouth turns drier than the Sahara. She’s got just the thing to quench my thirst, and I’m not talking about water.
As she stares, her sparkling green eyes narrow, lips popping together as an uneasy and unfamiliar tension centers around my heart.
I fucking care about this girl. More than I should. More than I have ever cared about a woman before.
Except my mom, but that doesn’t count.
How dare she wiggle herself through my hard shell with barely a look?
“I appreciate that you understood I was in an uncomfortable position. However,” She clears her throat with this cute as fuck little defiant stare, her fists pressing into her womanly hips, then finishes, “you need to learn to control your violent outbursts. That’s the reason you’re here. And I do not need a man to save me. I am perfectly capable of saving myself.”
Hell, yeah. Give it to me, firecracker.
“That so?” My eyes drift from hers for a moment, taking in the controlled space around us. Clean, white, neat, without frills or anything that makes the space feel like she belongs here with her unruly copper waves and state-of-the-art curves.
I note the way everything on her desk is set up in grid like organization, and I want to make a mess of her office while making a mess of her more than I want to breathe.
Instead of crushing my lips to hers in a sloppy kiss, then shoving her to her knees, showing her she’s mine now, I say, “I like your hair better today.”
See, Firecracker? I can control myself.
Her eyes snap wide, brow furrowed, silence falling from her open lips as I run the flat of my hand up and down my chest, watching her gaze drop, eyes lighting up before her cheeks ripen deep pink, as she gobbles up an eyeful of my hearty gray sweatpants-salute from down below.
“Mr. Hertzof.” She stumbles for a beat on my name as I reach forward to spin her phone that’s sitting perfectly perpendicular to her keyboard a few degrees to the left. Everything here is at ninety-degree angles. It’s unsettling. “You are here for a service, a platonic service.”
“You mentioned that already,” I reply, running my hand through my hair, wondering if she’s reminding me or herself.
Her face is clean and fresh. Fucking glowing.
Last night she was more made up, but today, she’s all business and more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever seen. And her freckles?
I’m memorizing each one as I wonder if she shaves her pussy bare or if she has a little strawberry blonde bush for me to rub my face against.
The points of her nipples are waving hello through the pink fabric of her t-shirt, and I imagine them as the same color. I groan through my teeth, my mouth going from dry to drowning, my gaze devouring the lush lines of her body, already knowing I’m going to spend the rest of my life drinking at the heavenly fountain between her legs.
Which is something I’ve never done with a woman before. Somehow, that felt like too intimate an act with anyone I’d been with in the past. Wrapping my cock in latex and indulging in my baser instincts, until now, felt detached.
But, with her, I want it all. Skin to skin, tongue to pussy. I want to get to know her clit up close and personal. I want her flavor to brand me. To make me hers as much as she’s going to be mine.
The urge to establish a physical connection to her overwhelms me as I brush my fingers down her arm, watching the flush spill onto her chest and goosebumps rise under my touch but she doesn’t pull away.
Sweet torment flows over me like warm honey as I restrain myself from throwing her on top of that desk and sinking home.
“Mr. Hertzof, I really must…” She side-steps away as I lick my lips. Then she notices her cockeyed phone, frowns, and sets it straight again. “If you want me to give Dr. Hoffman a fair report on our session, I suggest you do what you can to get yourself under control.” She nods toward my growing stiffy, making me grin as her fingertips dig into her palms. “It’s not unheard of for a male client to have this sort of physical reaction, but I will not proceed until you return to a flaccid state.”
Flaccid?
Did she just say flaccid?
After my eyes have laid upon your perfection, I’ll never know flaccid again, my dear.
A dark chuckle rattles in my throat. “Not sure we have that much time, baby.”
“I do not allow my clients to use pet names.”
“I’m not just a client. I’m the guy that defended your honor. I think I should be allowed to color outside the lines a little.”
I’m not usually so forward with women. I’ve indulged, yeah, but my seasonal celibacy brought me to a conclusion: my hand is far more efficient and less complicated than meaningless pussy. And relationships? Never found one that was worth the effort.
But, this girl.
This. Girl.
It usually takes an act of God or a baseball bat to the side of my head to make me feel anything besides anger or a ragey sort of competitive focus.
There’s nothing meaningless about this beauty. She’s got mine written all over her.
But, no matter how much my dick wants to break the rules, fuck, I gotta simmer down.
My ‘team comes first’ mantra feels hollow, looking at the swell of her tits and the way she’s not afraid to put me in my place, but still, I’ve got a locker room full of guys, and their families, relying on me getting my suspension shortened and getting the team name engraved on that cup.
This boner-inducing beauty is apparently the key to that door.
No pussy until the season is over.
That’s my hard and fast rule, and fuck if I want to break it.
Unless it breaks me first.
I fucking know if I get off the starting blocks with this green-eyed man-eater, I’ll be ten kinds of distracted and won’t play worth shit.
That can’t happen.
That’s what I tell myself, but persistent new feelings are writhing inside of me like a basket full of cobras, telling me otherwise.
“Mr. Hertzof?” Her curious, wide eyes lock onto mine, making me imagine her legs wrapped around my ass as I bang her up against the white wall, exhaling with every thrust. Oof, oof, oof. Pump, pump, pump. “Are you listening to me?”
She’s smart and in charge. This is her domain. I like it.
“I’m all ears, baby.”
She tsk’s on an eye roll, but leaves the sentiment without admonishment. The way she presses her lips together with a slight lift of one shoulder tells me she’s carrying too much on her own and needs someone to ease her burden.
God, I need to be the man who does that.
“Are you ready to proceed with our session? If you can get yourself under control, I’ll overlook your…reaction.” There’s a soft lift in her voice, and a tsunami of that protective instinct that had me knocking out that asshole last night sweeps through me in a dark rush. “Keep things on a professional level from now on, make some progress, and I’ll write a report to Dr. Hoffman that gets you back on the ice. Keep in mind, our goals here are the same.” She sweeps her hand in the air toward a door. “Shall we?”
“Lead the way.”
Her gaze flicks down again. Even at half-mast, my ‘reaction’ inspires fear and awe. It’s not a point of pride, but when you’ve been playing hockey as long as I have, you see a lot of dicks in showers and locker rooms.
I’m an overachiever when it comes to that particular body part, something that’s earned me an unfortunate nickname from my teammates.
King dong.
Fuckers.
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 her, 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 gets 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.