“Fine. Heather. Just sit down. Please.” I can almost see the shiver of pleasure my authoritative tone gives her.
Avery sits on the ledge, facing me instead of the crowd below, which is a relief—until she spreads her legs, revealing the blush-pink silk of her panties.
The same color as the blouse she tried to remove in front of me yesterday.
My cock twitches, and I force myself to meet her searing gaze.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” she says, dropping her eyes as her hands slide down her smooth, exposed thighs. “About the way you spoke to me yesterday. I’ll bet you’re a dominant lover. All that repressed anger. Your wife doesn’t like it rough, does she? Spanking. Choking. You could do those things to me, Dr. Keaton. You could do anything you want.”
I swallow the saliva pooling in my mouth. “You don’t know anything about my wife.”
“Oh, but I do. She goes to a spin class at Atlanta Fitness on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays before grabbing a coffee at The Dogwood Café on her way to work. Americano with a splash of almond milk. So sophisticated. I know which barista she likes to flirt with, too. The scruffy one with the man bun. His name tag says Neo, but his real name is Antonio. I know where she gets her nails done, her roots bleached, and how long it’s been since her last Botox injections.”
“Heather doesn’t get Botox.”
Avery arches an eyebrow at me. “She did eleven days ago.”
I feel my pulse pounding in my jugular, but I resist the urge to tug at my collar. “How do you know all of this?”
“I pay attention. That’s what you do when you love something, Dr. Keaton. You pay attention to it.”
“So, you’re in love with my wife?” I’m being obtuse. I’m being petty and obtuse and completely unprofessional.
Stop it. You are calm. You are concerned. You are in control.
“I think you know who I’m in love with.” Avery dips her chin and looks at me with wide, innocent eyes.
They’re the same eyes porn stars make while they’re sucking someone’s dick. Wide and eager to please. I would know because I’ve been watching a hell of a lot of it lately—usually featuring redheads, for some mysterious reason.
“My point is that you aren’t in love with Heather.”
“My marriage is none of your business.”
Avery assesses me with the subtle tilt of her perfect face. Clinical. Calculating. She might be the one threatening to jump, but somehow, I’m the one who’s being analyzed.
“You didn’t even ask where she goes on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” Avery arches an eyebrow.
My stomach churns with dread, but I refuse to ask. I refuse to participate in this line of questioning.
“You know, don’t you?” Avery sneers.
“This is ridiculous. I’m calling the police.” I reach into my pocket for my cell phone.
“She’s fucking the barista.”
I still, my fist curling around my iPhone tight enough to crack the screen.
Heather and I have had our fair share of problems lately, a complete lack of intimacy being one of them, but we’re both just stressed out from work.
“What’s her excuse for not fucking you, Dr. Keaton? Headaches? Exhaustion?”
“Migraines.”
I don’t even realize I mumbled it out loud until the woman with her legs spread before me tosses her head back and cackles.
“She’s not fucking you because she’s getting it somewhere else. She only wants you for your money, Doctor. She doesn’t care about you. Not like I do.”
I clench my jaw, trying to hide the nausea and rage I feel over the thought of Heather having an affair. Sadly, I’m not even upset about the betrayal. It became pretty obvious after we got married last year that she wasn’t interested in much more than my money. It’s the forced celibacy I’m pissed off about. It’s been months since we’ve been intimate, and all the while, I’ve been nothing but patient and understanding. Never pressuring. Never guilt-tripping or pouty. Yet the whole time—
No. Stop it. She’s manipulating you. This is just another one of her tactics. Shut it down. Now.
“Ms. Oliver—” I warn, but the second Avery hears her own name on my lips, her eyes flare in anger and her legs clamp shut.
She spins around so that her feet are now hanging over the edge.
The crowd below screams as the phone in my hand begins to ring.
“Hello?” I grind out, immediately recognizing the number on the screen.
“What the hell is going on up there, Doc? Do I need to call in the crisis negotiator?”
Avery leans forward, glaring at the police chief down below. “I won’t speak to anyone but my therapist, do you hear me?” She yells so loud I can hear it echo on the other end of the phone. “If you send anyone else up here, I’ll jump!”
She kicks the shoe off her right foot, and the crowd shrieks as it bounces off the asphalt a second later.
“You’ve got thirty minutes before we send somebody up, Doctor. Handle it. Now,” the lead officer barks before hanging up.
I stuff my phone into my pocket and loosen my tie another inch so that I can rub the back of my neck.
Fuck, it’s hot up here.
“I told you to call me Heather.” Avery glances at me over her shoulder in sheer delight, her other shoe dangling from her big toe.
“You have my attention. Now, what do you want?”
“The same thing as you,” Avery coos, tossing another four-hundred-dollar shoe into the abyss before turning around to face me again.
The bottom of her tight dress is hiked up over her ample hips, and I’m having a hard time remembering why touching her is a bad idea.
“It doesn’t matter what I want.” I clear my throat, hoping it will help clear my head. “I took an oath…I took vows.”
And you’re certifiably psychopathic.
“Those vows are already broken, Dr. Keaton. Call your wife. Tell her you know about the affair.”
“Sorry, Ms. Oliver. You might be able to manipulate the cops, but it’s not going to work on me.”
Avery’s face darkens at my use of her name. She holds my stare as she reaches into the expensive-looking handbag next to her on the ledge and pulls out a cell phone in a rose-gold case. With no more than three or four taps, she holds the device up to reveal the words Heather Keaton and dialing … on the screen. Then, she presses the speaker button.
I can barely hear the ringing, so I move closer, stopping a mere foot in front of the psychopath on the ledge.
Like a good little puppet.
“Hello?” my wife answers, and my guts twist.
“Heather! Good afternoon! It’s Avery Oliver. I hate to bother you, but I was just looking over the prenuptial agreement you sent over, and there’s a little adultery clause I need to touch base with you about. It says here that in the event of an extramarital affair you get nothing, so I want to be extra sure that your husband won’t find evidence of any kind of…indiscretion…on your part.”
“Oh.” Heather goes silent. “What, um…what kind of evidence?”
I feel like I’m going to be sick.
Avery watches me with a look of triumph as I struggle to process this information. “You know, cell phone records, text messages, emails …”
“What about Snapchat?”
Oh my fucking God. Heather really is having an affair.
I should be horrified. I should be livid. But all I feel is a slippery, buttery warmth seeping through my veins as Avery reaches out and laces her fingers through mine.
“Snapchat is a lawyer’s best friend.” She laughs. “The messages disappear after they’re viewed, so you should be good. Just don’t use the text feature.”
“Okay.” Heather sighs. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
“No problem. Talk soon.” Avery drops the phone back into her designer handbag. Then, she leans forward and wraps her plump lips around the tip of my middle finger where our hands are joine
d. She does it slowly, giving me those big, round, dick-sucking eyes as she takes my third digit deeper into her mouth.
Fuck me.
“You’re her divorce attorney?” I hiss, my cock swelling as her warm, wet tongue slides along the underside of my finger.
“Mmhmm.” Avery smirks as she releases my finger with a pop. “I sent a flyer and a few e-mails to her office as soon as I figured out that she was screwing the barista, and she took the bait. We just had our initial consultation last week. Once I was sure that she was actually going to leave you, I couldn’t hold back anymore. I had to let you know how I feel.”
“By attempting to seduce me during a therapy session?” I try to sound stern, but it’s kind of hard to remain professional when your client is unfastening your belt.
“You ignored all my other attempts to get your attention.”
“So now you’re threatening to kill yourself?” I swallow. Hard.
“What else could I do? You weren’t taking my calls.” Avery blinks up at me as she slides the zipper of my slacks down tooth by tooth with her left hand, the right one still entwined with mine.
“I…I took an oath,” I stammer. “I could lose my job over this.”
“I’m not your client anymore.”
With a steamy gust of air, three feet of auburn waves swirl around us. Unruly. Out of control. Begging to be tamed. Just like the woman sitting on the ledge before me. Unable to stop myself, I gather her coppery tresses at the nape of her neck and twist them around my fist, desperately trying to remember why this is a bad idea.
Vows?
Broken.
Oath?
She’s not my client anymore.
Psychopathy?
“Wait,” I bark as Avery’s fingertips curl around the waistband of my boxer briefs. “You said you didn’t come on to me until you were sure that Heather was going to divorce me. Why?”
Avery rubs her thumb over the swollen head of my cock where it’s peeking out of my waistband, and my knees almost buckle from the sensation.
“I didn’t want to have that on my conscience. I’m in love with you, Dr. Keaton, but I would hate myself if I were the reason your marriage ended.”
My eyes roll up in the back of my head as her tongue follows the path her thumb just made. “So, you’re saying you would feel…remorse?”
“Mmhmm…” she mumbles, tightening the grip she has on my hand while inching my briefs down even farther so that she can lick her way up my shaft. “I’d never forgive myself.”
I laugh. I actually fucking laugh.
Remorse. Empathy. Avery’s not a psychopath at all. She’s just a stalker!
I pull this force of nature to her feet by her hair and kiss her surprised mouth. It’s like kissing a bolt of lightning. If you can harness its power, you’re king of the world. If not, you’re a fucking dead man.
Avery wraps my tie around her fist the same way that her hair is wrapped around mine. Then, she presses up onto her toes to kiss me deeper. She’s shorter without those sky-high shoes on. I like it.
As much as I hate to admit it, I like everything about this woman.
Letting go of my hand, Avery reaches between us and takes my length in her fist.
I moan into her mouth as she works me slowly. The sensation of finally kissing this woman, of being worshipped by her to the point that she would defy all social boundaries to get close to me, is an ecstasy I can’t describe. I’ve been a slave to my professionalism, my ambitions since I was old enough to fuck.
I want to let go.
And I want to do it with her.
Still gripping her hair, I slide my other hand up the back of her bare thigh and give her full, round ass a rough squeeze. Avery arches her spine and presses her backside into my hand. Remembering what she said earlier, I yank her head back, kissing her deeper as I knead her smooth, warm flesh. Then, without warning, I spank her. Hard.
Avery’s lips spread into a wide grin where they’re pressed against mine, and she begins to work me faster.
I spank her again and feel a sense of euphoria wash over me. I relish this gift. I can’t remember the last time I allowed myself to express my emotions physically. My anger, my frustrations, my worries, my hurt. Psychologists are taught to talk about such things calmly. We don’t raise our fists. We don’t even raise our voices. But when my palm connects with Avery’s plump fucking ass, I feel a kind of release I’ve never experienced in my life.
Sliding my fingers along the seam of her silky thong, I feel how wet she is for me. How badly she wants this too. I dip my middle finger—the one she had in her mouth a few minutes ago—under the fabric and tease her from behind until she’s panting with every breath I let her take.
“You could do those things to me, Dr. Keaton. You could do anything you want.”
I plunge that finger inside of her before shoving it back into her mouth. Avery closes her eyes and sucks appreciatively, pumping me with both hands now.
Fuck.
“Turn around and put your hands on the ledge.” My words come out more ragged than confident as I struggle to keep myself from coming all over her dress.
Avery does as I said, and the sight of her—ass up with my palm print on one cheek—makes me want to pound my chest like a fucking primate.
Ripping my tie off, I kneel behind her and grab two handfuls of buttery flesh. I slap her ass again before tracing the thin, silky strip of material between her legs with my tongue.
“Can they see you?” I ask, hooking the fabric with my finger and pulling it to one side.
“I…I don’t think so.” Her voice wavers.
Despite spending at least a dozen therapy sessions together, this is the first time I’ve seen Avery Oliver truly vulnerable. And I fucking love it.
“Good.”
Without warning, I spread her with my thumbs and assault her with my mouth. Avery screams as I punish her, lapping and sucking with the feral passion of a man possessed.
Not more than five seconds after the sound leaves her lungs, the phone in my pocket begins to ring again.
Goddamn it.
I hand the vibrating device to Avery, knowing who it is without even looking at the screen. “It’s Officer Parnell,” I growl. “Tell him you’re fine. Tell him you’re going to come down.”
Avery accepts the phone with shaky fingers as I lavish her with more attention than she bargained for.
“Mmhmm,” she mewls, arching her back as I palm her ass with both hands and plunge into her with my tongue.
“Yessssss.” Her knees buckle. “God, I am feeling so much better. Dr. Keaton knew exactly what I needed.”
I smirk as I swirl my tongue around her tight little hole.
“No, that won’t be necessary. Ahh! Thank you, Officer. We’ll be down soon.”
Avery drops my phone to the ground and reaches into the front pocket of her purse. Pulling out a square foil packet, she rips it open with her teeth and hands a condom back to me. When she glances at me over her shoulder, a curtain of auburn hair frames her disarmingly beautiful face, and the expression I see there isn’t the one I expect. It’s not manic or manipulative or carnal or even regretful. It’s simply open and honest. Hopeful and…happy.
And for the first time in years, I feel the same way.
I sheath myself, but I don’t fuck her. Not like this. I sit back on my heels, cock at full attention, and wait for her to come to me.
When she looks over her shoulder again, Avery’s smile fills me with joy. Shimmying out of her ruined panties, my favorite ex-client pads over to me on bare feet and straddles my lap with her dress up around her waist.
I claim her mouth as she sinks down onto me, reveling in the feeling of this woman in my arms.
“I really am in love with you,” she murmurs, thrusting her hands into my disheveled hair.
I guide her body up and down my shaft, filling her with every single inch of me. I don’t tell her I’m in love with her too—I make her feel it.
I’m sick of words.
Of vows.
Of oaths.
Of self-restraint.
I want to be wild. I want to be free. And as much as I’ve tried to deny it, I want this crazy fucking woman.
“Sterling,” she breathes against my mouth. The sound of my first name on her parted lips has me twisting her hair around my fist and clutching her to me even tighter. “Sterling…I…”
Avery buries her face in my neck as her legs begin to shake and her breaths turn into whimpers and her body milks my cock until I finally let go too. My muscles flex violently as all of my stress, my repressed needs, and my pent-up frustrations pour out of me in hot spurts of pure, unbridled pleasure.
Once I regain the use of my limbs, I release her tangled hair, smoothing a hand over it as I whisper her name in a hushed, loving tone. “Avery…”
Pulling away from me—just far enough to give me an unhinged sideways glance—the redhead on my lap grabs my jaw and snaps, “I told you not to call me that.”
I swallow, questioning everything I just deduced about her mental state, but when her sex-swollen lips curl up on one side in a mischievous grin, it sets my mind and heart at ease.
“Call me…Mrs. Keaton.”
BOOKS BY BB EASTON
SEXY STAND-ALONE COMEDIC MEMOIR
The inspiration for Sex/Life, a steamy dramedy series coming soon to Netflix!
44 Chapters About 4 Men
The 44 Chapters SPIN-OFF Series
Darkly funny. Deeply emotional. Shockingly sexy.
SKIN (Knight’s backstory, Book 1)
SPEED (Harley’s backstory, Book 2)
STAR (Hans’s backstory, Book 3)
SUIT (Ken’s backstory, Book 4)
The RAIN TRILOGY
A gritty, suspenseful, dystopian love story.
Praying for Rain
Fighting for Rain
Dying for Rain
ABOUT THE BB EASTON
BB Easton lives in the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia, with her long-suffering husband, Ken, and two adorable children. She recently quit her job as a school psychologist to write books about her punk rock past and deviant sexual history full-time. Ken is suuuper excited about that.
One More Step Page 51
