by Max Henry
“A work in progress,” I assure her, stalking closer. “Why?”
Her head inclines to one side. “Why do I want to know about your sudden remodeling?”
“No. Why did you come?” I clarify. “Talk to me, Edith.”
“I honestly don’t know.” She fidgets her hands before her, frowning down at them. “I just knew I didn’t want to miss out.”
Fingers beneath her chin, I draw her gaze up to mine.
“Why did you ask me?” she whispers. “Why did you ask me here tonight? Is this you simply using me again?”
My lips curl on one side. “I didn’t ask you.” She doesn’t protest as I tug the tie open on her coat. “I told you to be here. And no. I never used you. I just couldn’t admit the truth, so I lied.”
She shakes her head with amused frustration. “So complicated.”
“You love it.” I guide the dusky pink coat from her shoulders. It hits the floor with a satisfying swish. “What happens with my therapy now?”
She sighs, chest heaving. “I’d rather not discuss Mr. Johanssen with you outside of hours.”
My hands cradle the sides of her full breasts, thumbs tracing the swell. “I do believe I have a vested interest.”
Her gaze follows my caress. “I turned in the report. You’re officially… rehabilitated.”
Good girl. “See,” I say with a smug smile. “It all works out just fine.”
“Molly knows,” she admonishes. “If you want your diversion to stay valid, you need to be more discreet, Boe.”
“Fair point.” My hands cup her neck, thumbs massaging her throat. Goddamn, I want to grip onto this column tight while I fuck the daylights out of her. “I got you a key.”
“Pardon?” Her brow furrows.
I kiss it away. “While I was out. Got one of those little kiosks to cut a duplicate.”
“Boe…”
“Ssh.” She smiles as my finger presses to her lips. “You can thank me later.”
“You’re unstoppable. Do you know that?”
I hoist her into my arms. “Clearly.”
Edith’s legs band around my hips, her pussy so goddamn close to where I really want it. Shuffling my hold, I take most of her weight with my left arm so that I can curl my right hand around her ass. Her slip-on shoes fall to the floor, the leggings she wears barely able to conceal the heat that radiates beneath.
“Did you wear these to try and stop me fucking you?” I ask.
Her hair slides forward to curtain her face as she presses her forehead to mine. “I think we both know that would be an impossible feat, right?”
“Without a doubt.”
“Maybe,” she adds with a sultry lilt to her voice, “you could stop by the office for lunch this week. You know… to celebrate.”
“And?” I start toward the sofa, liking where she’s headed with this.
“And I could wear a skirt.” A breathy laugh escapes her. “No panties.”
“You’re making a dangerous promise, Doc.”
One of her hands cups the back of my neck, the other between us as she traces a tantalizing finger down my throat. “I may even drop a pencil… or two.”
“Fuck.” I thought schoolboy fantasies about my hot-as-hell math substitute couldn’t be topped. But it seems fantasies about your goddamn therapist displaying her cunt for the taking suit my dick better.
She lets out a surprised yelp when I toss her roughly onto the furniture. Edith bounces on the cushions, quickly righting herself as I step out of these goddamn sweatpants. I’m hard, thick, and ready to sink it somewhere warm.
“Strip.”
She hesitates.
“I said get your fucking clothes off, Edith.” I palm my goddamn aching dick.
She slips the leggings off first, discarding them in a tangled pile on the floor. Her fitted T-shirt goes next, revealing an appetizing matching set of barely-there lingerie. Her hands move to slide the panties from her long legs, yet I sure as fuck don’t have time for that.
I gave her an ultimatum by sending that message.
She accepted what I offer without so much as a glance at the terms the minute she walked through my door.
“Forget it,” I grumble, sinking to my knees to level my cock with her. “I’ll work around it.”
She gasps, hands gripping the seat cushions either side of her as I tuck a thumb in the crotch of her panties and wrench them aside. My dick slides in effortlessly, Doc seemingly as ready as I am to get into this.
“So fucking wet,” I groan, seating my dick in her. “Makes me wish I’d tasted it first.”
To my surprise, and complete amusement, Edith fixes a wicked smile on her pretty lips before diving a hand between us. Her fingers circle where we’re joined, pinching my cock in their vice before she lifts her hand and offers me a taste.
I suck those goddamn fingers into my mouth and begin to move inside her. Her eyes flutter closed, her head lolling back when I thrust home again—hard.
“We need to get one thing straight,” I say, pulling away from her delicious digits. “The rougher, the better.”
Hooded eyes find mine. “Okay.”
“Will that be a problem?” I circle a thumb around her swollen clit.
She shudders, her muscles clenching tight around the head of my dick as I pull out slowly, torturously. “I don’t think so.”
“You’ll be sore.”
“I don’t care.”
“The kind of sore where it’s uncomfortable to sit the next day.” I want her to have no misgivings about this.
She quirks an eyebrow, shunting her hips toward me to swallow my cock again. “Sounds like fun.”
Palming her tits, I take hold of one and twist hard. “Pain heightens pleasure, Edith.”
She moans in response, mouth falling open. I’d stick my dick in there, but that would mean giving up this exquisite cunt.
“I’ve waited all day for you to fuck me,” she groans. “So do it already.”
“All day?” I query with a slow rock of my hips.
“All day.” Her gaze holds my own. “When you missed your appointment…” She smiles, shaking her head.
I slap her hard on the breast. “Tell me. When I missed my appointment, you what?”
“Boe.” My name is a mere whimper as she clamors to push me deeper.
I inch back to hold her off. “What did you do, Edith?”
“I… I took care of myself.”
Fuck, yes. “Tell me how.” I pull free, dropping down to level my face with her sweet-smelling pussy. “With your fingers?” I push two inside her quivering channel.
“No.”
She writhes on the sofa as I bring her close to climax, curling my finger to her sweet spot. “No? How then?”
“I used… I…” Her breath escapes her as I suckle on her hood, all the while still plying her with my fingers. “Boe, I’m going to come if you keep that up.”
I stop. “Not until you tell me how you got yourself off, Edith. What did you do to make this pussy sing?” I reposition myself on my side so that I can jerk off with one hand while feasting on her honey.
Edith twists at the waist, reaching down to thread her fingers through my hair and press my face to her cunt while she watches me masturbate.
“Talk to me,” I mumble into her.
“I hid a vibrator in my purse.”
Nice. But… “From the start,” I instruct, locking eyes with her over her mound. “Don’t spare the details.”
She groans and grinds, her bottom lip pinched hard between her teeth as I resume eating her out. I could lick this woman all fucking day; she’s just that damn addictive.
“I started with my fingers,” she says on a sigh. “Shut myself in the stall and pushed my skirt up around my waist.”
“Panties around ankles?”
“To the side.”
Fuck. Maybe this wasn’t a hot idea. I may come before she does. “And?”
“I just wasn’t full enough. I,
um, I tried a visual aid.”
I stop licking and frown at her. “Details, Edith.”
Her cheeks blush. “Your profile picture.”
Mental note to self: send dick pic for future reference. “Go on.”
“But it wasn’t enough. So I went back to my office to get my purse.”
I sit up, abandoning my dick. “Wait. You went back through the waiting room and into your office with your cunt all worked up?”
She nods.
I rise to line my cock with her entrance. “How wet were you still?”
“My panties were soaked.” She chuckles, the sound cut short as I push inside. “I worried I’d wet my skirt.”
“So you got your dildo?”
“I took my purse back to the ladies. Told Molly I had a stomach bug.”
I chuckle and resume fucking her perfect pussy.
She leans into the cushions, sweet ecstasy on her face as I stroke her close to orgasm once more. Slender fingers creep between us, her digits stirring mad circles on her clit.
“Finish the story, Edith.” And finish it quick, because I’m apt to blow.
“I propped one leg up.” She gasps, back arcing. “And I fucked myself with the vibrator.” She pants, hips rocking against me. “Oh my God, Boe. I… I…”
“You want me to come in you, baby?”
“Yes. Goddamn it. Yes.”
“What made you come this morning, Doc? What got you over the edge.” I bend over her, kissing each breast and then her throat before she answers.
“You.” Her scream echoes around my apartment. “I pretended it was you.”
Fuck me. I follow her with a groan, our bodies slapping hard against one another as I literally try to fuck myself inside of her. My balls tighten, my climax ripping through me. I shunt my load deep, wishing I could crawl up in there too and relish how fucking amazing she feels wrapped around me.
Edith smiles, a light sheen of sweat over her incredible body. “I thought you said I’d be sore.”
I pull out, slapping her on the side of the ass as I do. “The night’s young, Doc.”
TWENTY-TWO
Edith
My client twists in her seat to glace out the windows at the darkening sky. As the weatherman promised, it’s due to rain. But that’s not the only promise that’s been kept of late.
While she’s distracted, I shift my weight from one ass cheek to the other. I’d love to sit square in the seat and tuck my legs against the chair, but Boe has upheld his end of the deal and kept me so damn sore that I feel it for a solid day afterward.
Constantly. For the past month.
I assumed our fire would fizzle out naturally once we’d both realized our forbidden fruit was forbidden no more. When that didn’t happen after two weeks of furious sex at any and every chance we could get, I suggested he move into my apartment on a trial basis. I honestly thought that like most couples, once we shared living space there would be a litany of bad habits that neither of us could stand.
It seems not.
He spends his days looking for new work—something outdoors—and his nights working me.
And sometimes his lunch.
Plus usually our breakfast.
“Some days I wonder if there’s really any improvement,” my client says, snapping me from my reverie. “But then I look at my new reading space and I know I’m doing better.”
Twenty-three years as a serial hoarder. Cath was referred to me after the authorities were called to her place by the neighbors. From what I’ve been told, they had to clamber over piles of junk simply to reach her. She hadn’t left the house in eighteen months.
“Exactly,” I say with a smile. “We agreed that you’d take this slow so that you don’t shock yourself with the changes, and I think you’re doing that well. But if you feel you could work on more than one room cleared every quarter, then, by all means, we can aim toward that.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She bunches a handkerchief between her fingers, the dainty purple fabric spilling between the gaps. It’s a sign she’s agitated.
“One room a quarter it’ll stay, then.”
We all have our tells. Those little mannerisms that give us away. Most of the time we’re totally unaware we do them. It’s only when pointed out by others that we pick up on the habits.
But with some people like Cath? I let them slide. My little secret. She doesn’t need to know, and quite frankly it would only give her one more thing to unnecessarily worry over.
“We have another appointment in two weeks,” I tell her as I rise from the seat, thankful for the reprieve for my derriere. “Between now and then I’d love for you to think of four things that you’ve rediscovered in your cleaning that you can share with me. Something that sparked joy when you came across it.”
Cath smiles, taking her cue to leave. “I can do that.”
I escort her to the door and ask Molly to double check her next appointment time before Cath leaves. My phone sounds behind me on the desk. I close the door and cross the room to check the message.
You have visitors, Doc.
My heart rate immediately rackets up a notch or two.
Who?
I don’t get visitors often. And when I do, they at least have the decency to forewarn me. I’m not expecting anyone.
You should pick up a bottle of wine on the way home.
Oh, no. No, no, no, no.
I wave a hasty goodbye to Molly, leaving her to lock up, and snag the next lift heading down. The prisoner and his escorting guards all eye me curiously as I cram myself into the back corner. They’re used to riding alone; most people prefer to wait for the next car when they see the men shackled in their jumpsuits.
I couldn’t care less. I’ve got more chance of being struck by a bus crossing the street than I do being assaulted by a restrained man with two chaperones.
My heels hit the sidewalk as my phone hits my ear. “Tell me who’s at my apartment.”
Boe chuckles down the line. “This is way too much fun.”
I sigh out my nose. “Is my mother there?”
“Get a bottle of red. Pick one that will go great with Italian. We’re ordering in tonight.”
The bastard disconnects before I get a chance to grill him, or in the very least, blackmail an answer out of him. I thumb through to the Uber app as I walk. Like hell, I’m wasting time waiting for a train.
I find myself in the back seat of a European compact car wishing the journey didn’t take so long. I have all of two blocks left to travel, but it doesn’t matter. I could live next door to work and it would still be too far. All that’s needed for Boe to make my life hell is the five seconds it would take him to say the wrong thing.
My mother isn’t a prude, exactly. But she has standards. And if I don’t adhere to them? Let’s say the woman can hold a grudge.
“Thank you.” I exit the car before my driver has time to get the vehicle in park.
My heels clip so fast across the pavement that I make a steady rat-a-tat as I head for my building. Thankfully another tenant enters as I do, holding the security door. I join the guy in the lift and elbow my floor.
“Running late?” he quips, eyeing the simple shopping bag emblazoned with the silhouette of a wine glass.
“Yesterday would have been too late,” I jest back.
He smiles, raising the flowers tucked in his elbow. “Apologizing.”
I exit without hesitation as the doors open on my floor. “Best of luck.”
“You too.”
My stomach flips violently as I approach my door. I can damn well hear them in there. Polite laughter interspersed with animated chatter from… more than one woman?
What the actual hell?
I come perilously close to dropping everything in my haste to open the door.
“Here she is!” My mother crosses the floor, blocking my view of everyone else as she meets me in the entry. “Let me help you with that.”
She takes the wine, leaving
me juggling my purse and coat.
“This will go perfectly with dinner.” Her face lights up as she reads the label on the bottle. “I hope you don’t mind, Edith, but we ordered already. You know how busy these city delivery boys can get. Might as well beat the rush.”
I drop my coat on the hook and loop my purse strap over it. “Not a problem.”
Boe smirks from his casual position in my only armchair. My shoulders lighten when I spot who the other woman is: my mother’s peroxide-blonde best friend, Sue.
“To what do we owe this impromptu visit?”
“Well,” my mother says, preparing three glasses for the wine, “it was supposed to be a surprise.” She lifts an empty vessel and looks to Boe. “Do you drink vino?”
He tips his head politely to one side. “I’ll sort myself, Charlotte. Thank you.”
Ugh. They’re on first name basis already. I shoot Boe a “what the hell” look.
He smiles and pats his leg.
As though I’m about to sit in his goddamn lap…
“Sue and I were uptown for an art festival,” Mom explains. “We thought we’d stop by on the way home, but I think it’s fair to say we were the ones who got a surprise, not you.” She sweeps over to where everyone’s seated, three glasses of wine expertly pinched between her fingers in the way only a seasoned entertainer could. “You didn’t tell me about this delightful man.”
“Stop,” Boe gushes, fixing both of the old ducks with a winning smile.
“I hadn’t felt it necessary to, yet,” I reply dryly.
Mom eyes me with disbelief as she takes her seat beside Sue. “Why on earth not? Did you think you’d jinx yourself, or something silly along those lines?”
Perhaps. “I just hadn’t found the moment, I guess,” I mumble, frantically trying to find somewhere to rest that won’t come off forced.
Boe gently runs his palm the length of his thigh.
The man can keep dreaming.
“Boe said you met through work,” Sue states. “He wouldn’t tell us the story, though. Said he’d leave that up to you.” She lifts her wine to rouged lips.
I hazard a look toward Boe, yet his stoic expression gives me no hint as to what he’s already said and whether it was a lie or not.
