by Max Henry
“Red is all I had.” Boe returns, a drink in each hand.
One red wine in a stemmed glass, and one whiskey in a tumbler. The man is once again asserting control by assuming I’d prefer a more “feminine” drink.
He offers me the wine. I reach for the tumbler.
“I said I’d have what you’re drinking.”
His lip snarls, ever so slightly. “Bottoms up.” Boe downs the wine in two large gulps.
Asshole. I didn’t predict that. Now my only option is to create a scene by refusing the whiskey or admit he won by downing a drink that’s different to his.
“Where did you want to start?” He sets the empty glass down on the low table beside us and then folds his arms.
I weaken at the beautiful lines of his upper body, accented by his stance. Firm round shoulders, sculpted arms, and a stomach that is the literal definition of washboard abs.
“When do you find time to work out in your schedule?” Fuck it. I need this drink.
He eyes me with interest while I take a healthy swig of the alcohol. “Is this a professional question? Or personal?”
“Both.” I lift an eyebrow.
He smiles. “A man can always make time for the things he wants the most.”
“Things.” I nod, pointedly looking around his apartment. “You don’t seem to have many of those.”
“Perhaps I don’t need much.”
I take a seat on the arm of the sofa, legs crossed at the ankles and the tumbler pressed lightly to my bottom lip. “What do you need, Boe?”
If this man were a lion, I’m positive he’d be purring given the look on his face. “I don’t see your notepad anywhere, Edith.”
“Does that stop you from answering my question?” I take another small sip of courage.
He moves a step closer. “No. But it does make me question the intent behind it.”
“The same as I question why you decided to hold the rest of our session here? Where you live.”
I crane my neck back to maintain eye contact as Boe moves closer, his legs either side of mine.
“Perhaps I wanted to see how you’d fit?”
“I’d fit?” I raise one eyebrow before downing the last of my drink.
He doesn’t say any more, instead removing the empty tumbler from my hand. Boe twists to the left, a leg still braced over mine, and sets the vessel down next to the empty wine glass. I pull a lungful of air, certain I’ll drown in his charm if I fail to ready myself now.
“What do you hide?” he whispers, facing me once more. “Who are you really?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
The backs of his fingers graze my cheek in the barest touch. “Edith, baby. I might not be a shrink, but I can tell that underneath this sensible composed exterior lies a much more passionate creature.”
“You assume too much.”
“I understand so much more.” His hand lingers against my face as he leans down to capture my lips with his own.
My breath hitches, my hands finding purchase on the arm of the sofa. I shouldn’t allow this. But I want to. His lips sear against my own, the heat from his touch incredible. One sweep, and then two before he pulls back far enough to search my eyes.
“Let go,” he urges. “Follow your instinct.”
I do as he says.
Boe steps back, clearly confused when I extract myself from between the furniture and him. I run my clammy palms down the sides of my dress, my pulse heavy in my neck.
“I have to write a report on you.” One of the thousands of reasons this is wrong. “I can’t do that if my opinion is biased.”
He cocks his head to one side, the slightest hint of mirth in his gaze. “Engaging with me in a sexual nature shouldn’t change your opinion of my temper with strangers.”
“It’s unavoidable,” I argue. “Not only that, but it’ll be imperceptible how it has altered my opinion once I cross that line.”
The cocky bastard closes the space between us, taking my upper arms in his firm hands. “You admit it then? You do want to cross the line with me.”
“Why do you need reassurance?” I narrow my gaze on him, curious as to why this fine specimen of a man would feel so insecure.
“Perhaps I’m simply a gentleman who wants to be sure I’m reading your body language correctly?”
A gentleman… A smile parts my lips, a chuckle waiting to break free. “I’m sorry. But considering why you were referred to me, a gentleman?”
“Can’t judge me based on one incident, Edith. That wouldn’t be very fair of you, would it?” His fingers massage my shoulders, inching higher towards my neck.
I find myself setting my hands on his hips as second nature. It feels so… normal.
“Why am I here, Boe?”
His chest rises with a deep breath, his focus steady as he gently traces the line of my jaw with his thumbs. “I hoped you’d be able to explain that for me.”
Theories. That’s all I have. Theories. “I wish I could.”
He searches my eyes, palms possessive around my neck before he once again leans down to kiss me. Only, this time I don’t resist. Titles melt away, our relationship nothing more than two adults who could have met under any number of circumstances.
I soften to his touch, lifting my hand to the nape of his neck. My fingers find the trimmed hairs at the base of his head, massaging their coarse tips while my thumb traces the strong muscles in his neck. Boe’s tongue sweeps against my bottom lip, testing, asking. I tilt my head and deepen our contact, aware that our bodies creep closer, our hips brushing against one another.
He repositions his hands to my waist, lifting me with one firm jerk so that I’m held against his strong body. I brace myself with hands to his shoulders, unable to wrap my legs around him due to the restriction of my dress.
“If I’d known therapy could be this fun, I would have started sooner.”
“Fun?” I tease, lifting one eyebrow.
“What else would you call it?”
Boe takes two steps back before turning to set me on the rear of the sofa. I perch on the backrest, heels hooked around his calves. His arms wrap around me, the gentle tug of my dress tells me he has the zip in hand before I feel the material loosen. Firm palms guide the garment from my shoulders, hungry eyes taking in every inch of exposed skin. The dress pools at my waist while he slips his index fingers beneath the front straps of my bra and runs them down toward my breasts.
I arc my back toward him, sliding off the furniture to let the dress fall to my ankles. He sucks in a sharp breath, palms tracing the contours of my body: breasts, waist, hips, and thighs.
“Tell me you don’t wear lingerie this sexy every goddamn day.” Boe’s fingertips explore the ornate detailing of my lace bra and panties.
“A girl’s allowed to treat herself, right?”
A low rumble sounds deep in the back of his throat. “I think it’s me who has the treat, Edith.” Thumbs hooked in the waist of my panties, Boe kneels.
I lift one leg and then the other, intrigued when he chooses to leave my heels on. Taking my hand in his own, he leads me around the sofa to the wide space before the windows. My heart races as he sets first one, and then my other hand on the sill before he gently guides my hips back toward him.
“Just like that.”
I peer over my shoulder, confused as to why he wants me like this if he intends to walk away. Boe takes a seat on the armchair behind me, legs wide, and an obvious erection tenting his gym pants. I dampen at the sight of him. Such a distinguished looking man when dressed in a suit, yet like this, he exudes only dark and dangerous desire.
“Now play with yourself.”
I should have known. A man who’s addicted to control would never engage in sexual activity that had the partners as equals. I face the window again and rest my forehead against the cool glass before closing my eyes. Slowly, I creep one hand down my belly and between my legs.
The sensual groan from behind me is more t
han enough encouragement.
My first two fingers run a gentle path along the lips of my pussy, back and forth. My flesh swells, the dampness between growing slicker by the second. I catch the shuffle of fabric on fabric from Boe, and then the tantalizing sound of a man who finds relief. He sighs, muttering to himself as I spread my lips apart and tease the sensitive depths with a finger.
“Rock your hips back a little, beautiful.”
My need grows when I catch a peek of Boe, one strong hand wrapped around his length while he leisurely tugs. I obey, arching my back so that my pussy is on better display for him. A sigh falls from my lips, my fingers now alternating between which one plunges my depths, and which one rubs my folds.
I’ve never played like this for a man before. All my past relationships were with men I met through work connections. Men who are as sensible in the bedroom as they are with their choice of tie for the boardroom. A person could almost say I’ve had a very sheltered sex life.
But that doesn’t mean I’m naïve to what else there is to experience.
“Talk to me,” Boe orders. “Tell me how it feels to finger yourself, Edith.”
I can’t. I just can’t. If I orate this experience it’ll end too soon. I don’t want this feeling to rush by. I want to savor it, every damn second of it.
“I’m waiting.” He moves.
Curiosity gets the better of me. I peek underneath my arm to find Boe on his knees, shuffling across the floor to where I stand braced against the window. He rests on his haunches, his fist strangling the thick erection he sports, while he watches my hand with pure unchecked fascination.
“How do you think it would taste right now if I buried my face in that glistening cunt?”
Damn it. My fingers pause, the crest so close. Not yet.
“Talk to me, Edith, otherwise I put this reward away”—he squeezes his cock—“and show you the door.”
“Sweet,” I mutter. “I guess it would be sweet.”
“Guess?”
Boe runs a thick finger around my own, gathering my juices. My knees weaken.
“Tell me.” Reaching forward, he offers the finger to me. “What does it taste like?”
I drink that moisture from his tip without a second thought. Yet another first for me. But for him, I know it won’t be a last.
“Sweet, yet tangy.”
“Let me see.”
Firm hands take hold of my buttocks, my legs barely able to hold me as Boe dives in for his own assessment. My clit quivers when his firm tongue sweeps the length of my pussy. A groan the only noise I can make when he then drives the tip of the muscle deep inside of me.
“Very sweet,” he mumbles against my flesh before having another taste.
I brace both hands on the sill, lips parted and my breaths shallow and fast. Every part of my body tingles, the hum radiating from where Boe enjoys his feast. He finishes with a firm slap to my ass, rising to full height.
“If I told you I’m clean would you take my word for it?”
I barely know the man, but I don’t perceive him as one to lie about something so serious. “Yes.”
“Good, because I need to be in you right fucking now.”
I barely get time to catch my breath before his gym pants are around his thighs and he lines himself with my entrance. We moan in unison, my head tipping back when Boe slides home. My hips move of their own volition, the urge to feel his full length caress my inner walls dire.
He wraps a hand around my low bun, taking hold to pull my head back further. The tautness of my throat makes it hard to breathe, yet the eroticism of the moment leaves me indifferent to the inconvenience.
“Has your opinion changed, Dr. Potts?” he taunts while driving his cock deep. “What do you think of me now?”
“Your ego gets the better of you,” I respond between panted breaths. “You seek validation the only way you know how.”
“Fuck I love therapy.”
“But sex will only ever be a temporary high.” I gasp when he tweaks a nipple through my thin bra. “You’ll never get what you seek until you understand how to connect mentally and emotionally.”
With a final vicious thrust, Boe reaches the desired climax. I follow soon after with his languid, slow thrusts—already disgusted with myself.
As though to cement my assessment of him, he withdraws, spilling the evidence of our union onto the laminate floor before walking away. I take a moment to gather myself, and then swipe the nearest thing I can find to stem the flow until I can clean up: my panties.
I gather my dress and find Boe in the small kitchen, tucked to the right of the living area, slowly working his way through a tall glass of water while he watches me. “Bathroom is at the end of the hall.” He gestures with his drink.
“Thanks.” I make the walk of shame with as much pride as I can muster while clutching my clothing to me.
The room is tiled floor to ceiling with crisp white, the fixtures gleaming silver. I clean myself best I can and redress. My hair takes little to tidy away the strands he pulled free, and thankfully my makeup is more or less untouched.
A quick check of the time shows I’m within the allotted thirty-five minutes. I have no doubt that’s more of Boe’s design than coincidence.
My ass hits the side of the bathtub while I take a moment to process what just happened. How could I let myself get so carried away? At every turn I recognize how he pulls the control from me, and yet I let him do it.
I can’t continue as his therapist with good conscience. I took on my career to elicit change in people’s lives. But change for the better.
Being tangled up with me? That’s not a step in the right direction for Boe.
He needs somebody who can do what the court ordered and get him to prove remorse. He needs somebody who isn’t emotionally invested in him.
What he needs, is another man.
ELEVEN
Boe
A heavy conscience comes as no surprise, but what I didn’t expect Edith to do was sneak out without me knowing. Surely she doesn’t expect to get away that easily?
A man might become self-conscious when a woman leaves without a goodbye.
I set my phone down on the edge of my desk and return to scouring the property pages for any bargains I can acquire and turn for a quick profit. Waves of laughter drift in from the cubicles where the rest of the office share drinks for Susan’s birthday.
I can’t imagine anything worse than having to stand around and make small talk for the sake of “morale”. I couldn’t give a fuck if it’s someone’s birthday. I’ve got no idea how old Susan is, let alone what the hell her job title is. We don’t interact in our jobs, so why should I feel obligated to interact for a personal occasion?
These messages cannot continue.
Regret. I grin at the banner on my phone’s home screen. Her reply was short and simple. I unlock the device and tap out a short response.
In the words of Brittney Spears, oops, I did it again.
To my surprise, her number lights up the phone.
“Good morning, Dr. Potts.”
She sighs down the line. “Boe. What happened was a mistake.”
I chuckle. “No, Edith. Dropping your fresh cup of coffee is a mistake. Forgetting your keys is a mistake. What we did was intentional.”
I’m greeted with silence. For once, I’ve rendered her speechless. She has no comeback.
“I’ve emailed you a list of therapists who can continue your case.”
Or perhaps she had one all along? “I don’t need another therapist.”
“I can’t, in good conscience, continue to see you professionally, Boe.” She lowers her voice. “I told you there was a line I couldn’t cross without it affecting my opinion of you, and I think you can agree we more than crossed it.”
“Yeah,” I snap. “We did. But I’ll say it again. I don’t want another therapist. I want you.”
“You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”
<
br /> I huff a laugh. “You know I won’t.”
She hesitates, a small groan piercing the silence from her end of the line. “There is an alternative.”
“We don’t need alternatives.” All I need is another fix of the good doctor.
“I can conduct sessions via video call.”
“Jesus, Edith.” I lean back in the office chair and kick my heels up on the desk. “Are you that helpless around me?”
“Perhaps,” she whispers.
I massage my forehead with finger and thumb. “What are you worried about? Because if you think I’m going to shout it from the rooftops that I’ve fucked my therapist, I have more class than that.”
“It’s not just me I’m worried about,” she stresses. “If it’s discovered that I had a personal interest in you, now or in the future, my report could get thrown out and you would face jail time, Boe.”
“Have you considered that it’s a risk I’m willing to take?”
She lets out a long breath. “You’re answering on impulse. Think about this.”
“I am.” My feet hit the floor. “And I have.” I hustle across the office and shut the damn door—fuck rules. “You’re all I thought about last night, Edith. Do you have any idea how fucking unusual that is for me?” How goddamn unusual it is, even, that I let her know?
“I think I have some comprehension, yes.”
“My next appointment is in five days. We can talk about this then.”
“Boe,” she pleads. “Listen to me. I won’t let you in here.”
Goddamn it. “Video call, huh?” I lean against the front of my desk, head hung.
“Yes.”
“At the same time?”
“Yes.” Each answer comes quieter as though more resigned.
I need to respect her honor, here. I should be impressed that she has the fucking kahunas to admit she can’t face me in person again without giving in to her carnal desire. Fuck that. I’m mad. Irritated like a kid who’s been told they can’t play with their favorite toy anymore.
“Video call it is, then.”
“Thank you for your understanding, Boe.”
