Sex Therapy

by Jillian Quinn

“No,” I say, pulling down my zipper. “I have urges. This is one of them. I want your lips wrapped around my cock right now.”

  She does as I command once again. Like a good little whore, she listens. Now, she’s all mine.

  I thread my fingers through her hair as she sucks me off, taking me to that point of ecstasy once again. And this time, I tell her how much I love her. Because I do. I mean it. Chloe and I were always supposed to be together. And we both know it.

  After she’s done sucking my cock, she wipes her mouth, and I push up her skirt. “Take off your panties and get over here.” I hit the button on the side of my seat to move it back far enough for her to straddle me.

  She glances around the vacant parking lot, searching for people. No one ever parks in this part of the lot, which is why I like it over here. I don’t have to deal with small talk or people, there are no meaningless conversations on my way to the elevator.

  “Stop worrying, love,” I say, lifting a piece of hair out of her eyes to tuck it behind her ear. Then, I grab the back of her head so I can slip my tongue inside her mouth, holding onto her to deepen the kiss.

  She grinds her soaking wet pussy against my cock, making me harder with each movement.

  Breaking away from her lips, I whisper, “Are you on the pill?”

  “Yes,” she hisses, rubbing her clit. “Jackson…please. Will you fuck me already?”

  “You’re too impatient, love.” I want to play with her a little while longer, but I want this just as bad, if not more than she does. “Listen to me, Chloe.”

  Her eyes open wide, waiting for me to finish.

  “I want you to come for me, come all over my dick. Understand?”

  She nods, and with my help, she positions herself onto my erection, coating my skin with her juices as she slides down, taking all of me at once.

  “Jackson,” she cries out in pain. Chloe closes her eyes as she holds onto my shoulders and rides me, rides me fucking hard and fast, just the way I like it.

  Once she finally opens her eyes, I grip her hips tight, watching as she comes undone for me. I love seeing her this vulnerable yet in control. For years, I had wondered what had happened to her, all while dreaming of this very moment. We always had a future together. Now, she’s mine. And I will never let her go.

  Epilogue

  Six Months Later

  Chloe

  Leaning back against the uncomfortable couch in Jackson’s office, I spread my legs wide enough for him to get a good look. He already knew I wasn’t wearing panties this morning when I left his apartment. In fact, he doesn’t allow me to wear underwear at all. Not unless it’s that time of the month.

  He has rules. Lots and lots of rules. Like a good girl, I follow them. I have gotten used to the structure he needs in his life even though it had taken some time to get used to at first. Now, I’m his girlfriend and his dirty, little whore. His words—not mine. I don’t mind when he calls me his whore or when he spanks me so hard my ass cheeks sting for hours, sometimes days.

  If that’s what it takes to keep him satisfied, he can beat me all he wants. The sex is incredible, the best I have ever had. And I have taken a liking to some of the kinker things he enjoys. Jackson takes me to places I’d never thought possible when I was with Mike. He makes my heart pound and my pulse speed up. Everything I was missing in my life I have with Jackson.

  We have some minor issues. Like the fact, Jackson needs sex an unusual amount of time per day, to the point my pussy hurts and my legs shake so bad I can’t wear heels the next day to work. But I’m not complaining. Not even a little bit. I just know that some days will be rougher than others, because underneath it all, he still has an addiction. Now, he’s addicted to me.

  Instead of banging random women, he has me to fulfill his every fantasy. And I never say no, regardless of the request. The demanding, controlling side of him turns me on, makes me pussy throb. I want to please him in any way I can.

  “It’s called sex therapy for a reason,” Jackson says, licking his lips as he stares between my legs. “So, I think we should start by talking about things we like and don’t like about our sex life. You go first.”

  Staring at Jackson, I push up my dress and rub my clit. “I like it when you do this,” I tell him, maintaining eye contact.

  “Mmm…” He rubs the dark stubble on his chin, focused on my thumb as I circle my clit. “Keeping going, Chloe. Show me what you like.” He leans forward in his chair and uses his thighs to balance himself.

  “I like it when you finger my pussy, Dr. King.” When we’re in the office, I have to refer to him by his professional name, but at home, it’s Jackson, and in the bedroom, it’s Sir.

  He tips his head in my direction. One firm look is all it takes for me to understand what he wants. So, I get right to it and slip two fingers inside me. I pay close attention as he unbuttons his slacks and removes his belt, waiting for him to take off his pants so I can move onto the next thing on my list. As if Jackson reads my thoughts, he does just that and kicks off his shoes along with his pants and boxer briefs.

  Standing across from me with his massive cock on display, I stop fingering myself, so I can reach out and touch him. My hand barely grazes his hip, but once I latch on, he moves closer, allowing me to take his length in my hand and stroke him.

  “This, too,” I say, looking up at him. Then, I stick my tongue out to lick the tip. “And this.”

  He smiles and takes a chunk of my hair in his hands. “Suck it,” he orders.

  I do as he asks because I never deny him. And I love having this control over him, even if it’s only temporary. He gives me his rules to follow, a list of things he expects me to do each day. I do them. Because I love him. I want to make him happy.

  After he comes in my mouth, I swallow, per his request. He loosens his vise on my hair and takes a step back. I’m out of breath, practically panting from taking all of his cock. He loves choking me with it, leaving me gasping for air as the tears fall from my eyes and the mascara slides down my cheeks. That’s part of his sickness. Or at least I think it is. He’s so forceful when it comes to oral sex so much so that I often wonder why he needs it this rough.

  Jackson bends down to kiss the top of my head and helps me to my feet. He wraps me in his arms, cocooning me in his warmth. This is the side of him I love. After those rough, passionate moments, he flips over to the caring, warm person I know is inside. It’s as if he feels guilty for being this way and needs to find a way to make up for it. He doesn’t show this side to me enough. But when he does, I absorb every second.

  He leans my head against his chest and stokes my hair. “I love you, Chloe. I’m so glad I have you back in my life.”

  “I love you, too, Jackson. I feel the same way. It’s as if our lives are now complete. You…us…this is what I was missing all along. I just didn’t know it until I found you again.”

  “I know, my love. That’s why I think we should make things a little more permanent between us.”

  “Like marriage?” I ask, glancing up at him.

  He chuckles, his laughter shaking through me. “No, not yet. Soon. I thought you should move in with me first. Then, we’ll talk about marriage. How does that sound?”

  I lift my head from his chest and gaze into his blue eyes. “Are you kidding me?” My excitement is uncontainable. I stop myself from jumping up and down, smiling so wide my jaw hurts. “Of course, I will move in with you. Yes, a thousand times, yes.”

  “Good,” he says with a wicked grin that makes me nervous. “Now, that we have that matter settled, get on my desk and spread your legs for me. I need to do a thorough inspection of your pussy.”

  As if I wasn’t already excited about the recent change in events, my body is on fire with the promise of Jackson’s tongue exploring every inch of my body.

  “Yes, Dr. King. As you wish.”

  I bend over his desk, lifting my ass up in the air, and look over my shoulder at him. The games we play are so erotic and
keep me wanting more. I can never get enough of him. Even on days when Jackson fucks me so hard, I can barely stand.

  “Wider,” he says, his mouth twisted up into a smirk as he positions himself behind me.

  “Yes, Dr. King.” I smile and comply.

  While our love may seem strange and corrupted from the outside, it also healed us both. Bad timing and circumstances kept us apart, but those same things are what had brought us back together. Jackson has his demons he needs to address. There’s no denying that. But I learned to love him, down to the darkest part of his soul.

  We have a second chance, a new step in the right direction. And this time, neither of us is going to waste it.

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  TEACH

  If you like professor-student romances, keep reading for a free excerpt of TEACH, the first book in the City of Sinners Series.

  TEACH is available now!

  Read TEACH for FREE with Kindle Unlimited

  Mark Montgomery cares about two things—getting laid and getting paid. He's cocky, confident, sexy-as-sin, and counting down the last few months of college before he can begin his professional baseball career. But there are things Mark must do to survive until his big payday, questionable activities that could get him killed.

  He doesn't want to rope anyone into his mess, especially not Olivia Ford, the woman he takes home from the club, a sexy lawyer who turns out to be his Law and Ethics professor. Their new relationship changes everything. But Mark won’t take no for an answer. Olivia can fight him all she wants, but Mark is the one who will be teaching her a lesson. In her classroom. Bent over her office desk. On the hood of his car.

  Mark is more than a dirty talker who’s good in bed and can throw a ball, but what he does on the side is the one thing that could tear them apart and expose their forbidden relationship to the world.

  TEACH EXCERPT

  CHAPTER ONE

  OLIVIA

  “You can do this,” I mutter. I suck in a deep breath, trying to psych myself up so that I can make it through one more night of work. Except it’s not just one more night. I have repeated the same mantra to myself for months now, and this job never gets easier.

  Staring into the mirror, I hate the person I see—a woman with long fake lashes, too much makeup caked on her face, and a short black wig that itches her head, forcing her to scratch so hard that she looks like a dog who has fleas. None of it is mine; all of it is a facade to lure customers into the club. I hate that I have to work at Club Rave, offering my body to men, shaking my ass for a few dollars. But I’ve chosen this lifestyle as a temporary means to make money.

  The bass thumps through the club, and even in the dressing room, the music vibrates beneath my five-inch heels. Each girl has their own vanity that they use to get ready, but tonight, the boss called in a few extras to entertain a private party, and now, we’re forced to share. On nights like these, the claws come out, and the girls have been known to fight over something as stupid as using the last of the hair spray.

  “Liv,” Donna says from behind me, “we’re on in five. Hurry up. I need to put my face on. Courtney won’t move her ass until she’s slathered on another five layers of concealer, and I have bags under my eyes that make me look like a zombie from The Walking Dead.”

  I don’t see a thing. She is gorgeous and has the body of a goddess. But her looks are not her best feature. Men like her because of her spitfire personality that matches what they see on the outside.

  Her long, dark strands, also as fake as mine, sit above her large breasts that are practically falling out of a sexy referee costume. Most of the girls wear wigs to protect their identities. Donna just so happens to be the daughter of a successful banker in town who would go ballistic if he knew what she did for a living. Unlike me, Donna dances because she likes it. She loves when men throw themselves at her; she even gets off on it.

  We became friends after only one night at the club. I was nervous about dancing in spandex and a crop top in front of strange men, and Donna did everything in her power to make me comfortable.

  I look at her reflection in the mirror and laugh, shaking my head at her ridiculousness. “You look great, as always. Stop fishing for compliments.”

  “But it’s true. I’ve been dragging ass this whole week. I’ll be lucky if I don’t break a heel and face-plant on the bar.”

  I remove a tube of red lipstick from the makeup case on the vanity in front of me. “That’s because you choose to run out for your late-night booty calls with Tony whenever he beckons you.”

  “If you saw the size of him, you’d run right over, too. Trust me.” She places her hands on my shoulders, winks at me, and squeezes down hard enough to cause me to slump in my chair. “You need to get laid, babe. When was the last time you had a good dicking?”

  I burst into laughter. “Dicking? Where do you come up with this shit?”

  She proceeds to make an O with her left thumb and index finger and then sticks her right index finger through the middle, sliding it back and forth at a fast pace, her eyes wide open with a goofy smile splayed on her face. “This is what you need to do before your vagina dries up like the Sahara.” Donna moves to the side of my chair, leans against the vanity, and bends down, as if looking under my skirt.

  I roll my eyes. “What are you doing, weirdo?”

  “Checking for cobwebs.” A smile reaches up to her deep brown eyes, but she holds back her laughter, her face giving away nothing.

  I swat at her arm, but she moves in just enough time, causing me to smack my hand on the edge of the counter. “Damn you. Shut up, and go get ready. We don’t have time to discuss my love life, or lack thereof.”

  “I’m only trying to help. As your breast friend, it is my duty to make sure you stop moping around and find some action. A one-night stand would do you some good.”

  She has a point, but I don’t bother to acknowledge her comment. It has been far too long since my last boyfriend. I’ve finally gotten to the point where I dated so many losers in a row that I gave up on the idea of finding anyone normal in this city. My last boyfriend stole my car and wrecked it, and the one before had a drinking problem.

  Propping her leg up on my chair, she laces up the black leather boots that cover her pale legs and stop mid thigh, accentuating her killer curves. “Is that what you’re wearing out there?” She sets her foot on the floor and moves closer, her eyes traveling down my body in disapproval. “You have to take that off.”

  I slide the red lipstick along my lips and blot with a tissue from the box next to my makeup case. “Why? What’s wrong with what I have on? I wear this every Thursday.”

  “Not this week. Bruno said you had to wear the gray skirt and top tonight. Ya know, the sexy-teacher outfit.” She points at the opposite end of the room, her finger landing on Kerry, who is wearing the same schoolgirl outfit as me.

  Guess I missed the memo.

  Bruno will kill me if I go onstage in the same costume as another dancer.

  I glance in the mirror, checking my makeup one more time, and run a glossy shimmer along my bottom lip before smacking them together. “Whatever Bruno wants.” I stand with my hand held out, motioning toward my chair. “Go ahead. You should finish up here. I’ll get changed, and then I’ll see you in the VIP room.”

  “Perfect.” She plops down on the leather chair. “I’m right behind you. Break a leg.”

  After I change, I walk down the creepy back hallway. In the dimly lit space, the lumpy red wallpaper reminds me of coagulated blood. The lack of ventilation along with the mold and whatever is festering inside the walls and drop ceiling make it hard to breathe.

  At the end of the hall, opposite our dressing room, I open the door to the VIP room and suck in a deep breath, taking in the dense air and the stench
of sweaty bodies. Purple lights illuminate the mirrored walls and ceiling, casting shadows of the men who are sitting on couches scattered throughout the large, open room and standing around the bar that runs along the right side.

  Two girls are dancing, each wrapping her body around a pole at the center of the room. While we’re not strippers, we have to do some pole work on occasion, especially for the high-end clients who book private rooms. Bouncers guard us, as if we were their property. In some ways though, we do belong to Bruno and his club.

  Donna files in behind me and playfully smacks me on the ass, pushing me closer to the stage. Even after three months of working at the club, I still get stage fright for the first few minutes until I get into my groove. But, after I’m on the stage, bar, or whatever spot Bruno has chosen for me that night, I try not to think about the people in the crowd, and I concentrate on the real reason I am stuck working here.

  Donna takes her place on the stage. I follow her lead. Bruno even had the circular platform mirrored, allowing anyone who is standing close enough to see right up our skirts. I purposely wear booty-hugging black shorts instead of the standard thong and fishnets most of the girls wear.

  Moving my hips back and forth to the music, I keep my eyes on the crowd forming in front of me, careful not to focus on anyone in particular. I made that mistake when I first started dancing. A man thought I was making eye contact to signal that I wanted him when all I was trying to do was calm my nerves and pick someone to zone in on. I had done the same thing when I was in law school, and my trick had worked every time. But the freak followed me home for a week after our strange encounter, which resulted in me having to stop by the courthouse to get a restraining order.

  Fun times.

  I’ve heard stories from the girls, some who used to strip, about men who became obsessed with them and thought they were dating just because they’d paid them for a lap dance and tipped well. Unfortunately, the same thing happens in this line of work.