by Ivy Jordan
“Is it too late to be professional, Dr. Rodgers?” he asked, my name a low growl on his lips. I’d never wanted someone more, never felt such a lust in my blood.
“Terribly too late, I’m afraid,” I confirmed, rolling my hips up against him.
He cursed and twisted my nipple almost harshly between his fingers. I yelped, and he chuckled, kissing my neck again. He trailed his kisses lower until his mouth, like a firebrand, was against my chest. Teeth, tongue, heat against my breasts, but he always knew just when to back off, and he didn’t linger too long.
“I’ve been wanting this,” he admitted, speaking against my stomach. “I’ve been sitting on that couch…” he shook his head.
He’d started to talk dirty, and I needed to hear the rest of it. “What were you thinking?” I asked, nearly panting. His fingers moved in small motions up my thigh, up my skirt. He pulled my legs farther apart, sitting on his knees.
“I was thinking about what you looked like,” he said, pressing another kiss, this one on my hip. His hand moved further up my thigh, brushing the sensitive skin up higher. “About how you left your hair down. Like you were daring me to take you in your office.”
His hand rested against my underwear, moving lazily, like he had all the time in the world. My mouth opened, and no words could come out. My underwear came off, and I felt it hit my ankles.
“Is that what you want to do?” I asked, as though we weren’t halfway through the process already. “Take me in my office?”
He said nothing, only pressed his fingers to the folds of my sex. He found my clit and circled it. I buried my fingers in his hair and drove my hips up, trying to force him to bear down, and he evaded me.
“Is that what you wanted?” he asked. “After all the effort we’ve gone to for keeping things professional?” As he said ‘professional,’ he dragged his thumb, and I closed my eyes.
“Yes. Yes, yes.”
“You wanted me to take you in your office?” He pressed two fingers inside me, meeting little resistance, and curled them towards him.
I could hardly answer. His thumb continued to grind against me, fingers pumping steadily in and out of me. I could feel that I was going to come.
He stopped. “Is that a yes, Quinn?”
“Fuck, yes. Yes, please. Please.” I stared at him, entirely helpless, subject to his will.
He stood up and turned me over, moved me like I weighed less than nothing. Instead of bending me over the desk, which might have been painful, he merely turned me towards it, and I pressed my hands to the surface. I pushed my ass towards him, still with that skirt on, inviting him closer.
I was completely out of my mind. I was completely out of my mind, and he was completely out of his, and I didn’t want to go back.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered behind me. It thrilled me to know he liked what he saw.
One of his strong hands found my waist, and he pulled me up slightly. I took a deep breath in and felt the hot length of him pressing against me. He eased himself into me oddly carefully for the aggressive encounter we’d had so far. He filled me slowly, almost agonizingly slowly, inch by inch until he was seated inside me.
I could hear his breathing, ragged and hard, as he began to move in and out. He found a rhythm easily, and I could hear myself moaning, almost crying. I sat up slightly, and he reached around to grab one of my breasts, pulling down on the nipple. I cried out, and at that moment, he moved his hand between my legs and worked my clit with an expertise that made me burst.
I lost myself then, hopelessly jutting back against him, crying out in his arms. When I began to come down, he let out a small shout behind me and pulled away suddenly.
When I turned around, the sight of him, naked in front me with his expression dazed, made me smile. I pulled him down against me to kiss him again.
He finally pulled away and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Are you on birth control?” he asked me.
It was an odd question to ask, but, to be fair, one we should have considered beforehand. “Yeah,” I answered. “Have been since I was a teenager.”
We hadn’t used a condom. Still, I didn’t have any STD’s, and I doubted that he did. Some part of me started to panic and remember all the statistics—there was no way to be sure without a condom, after all, and he could lie about having an STD. I could go to the doctor the next day, at least. But then, I might have to explain that to the doctor.
I’d had sex with a patient. I pulled my skirt back on and watched as Sawyer pulled his jeans back on. Then my bra, cup by cup, and my blouse on haphazardly. I’d had sex with a patient that I had serious concerns about. This person had told me earlier that very day that he was still troubled by what he saw overseas, and expressed disdain at seeing another therapist.
I could have genuinely destroyed his chances at a recovery. I began to rack my brain for some kind of excuse for myself. There had been sexual tension from the get-go—I should have told him to see someone else much sooner. I had certainly consented to this, and so had he, but one of us should have stopped.
We’d been making progress, and now we’d set that progress back. I couldn’t expect him to see me as a professional after this. I couldn’t expect to see him as only a patient. I didn’t want to see him as only a patient. A wave of dread hit me, leaving me almost nauseated. I felt like shit, and yet still some part of me wanted him to bend me back over that desk, to see how much further he could take me, as if we hadn’t done enough to damage this relationship.
What had happened? I could barely wrap my mind around this. Everything spiraled out of control so quickly, and now I couldn’t regain that control. I pulled my hair up in a ponytail, and he pulled his shirt back on—I’d forgotten to take stock of his tattoos. Would I get the chance again?
I couldn’t see him again, surely. This was all entirely unprofessional. Watching him buckle his belt, I didn’t want to see him walk out and never return. It would hurt too much to see him simply vanish into the night.
As if reading my mind, Sawyer looked at me. We stayed quiet for a few seconds—it seemed that neither of us was sure what had come over us. In a moment of exhilaration, we’d simply lost control, and now we didn’t know where to go from here.
“I’ll see you on Monday, yeah?” Sawyer smiled at me, and there was something reassuring about it. Like he knew that I was worried that we had blown everything here.
“Yeah, you have an appointment,” I said. I wanted to clarify that he was coming in for an appointment and not offering to take me out to dinner again. Although, what we’d just done did a lot more to suggest intent than a dinner date would.
He nodded to me, and I felt the need to clarify further.
“You’re coming in, right?” I asked.
He smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it,” he said.
He left, and I ran my hands through my hair, trying not to berate myself. Was he going to come back expecting more sex? It wouldn’t be ridiculous for him to assume that now that was the agreement. Have some flirting in the form of a therapy session and then have mildly raunchy sex three times a week? That sounded like something out of a porn. Hell, this entire thing was something out of a porn. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
I still had a handle on this. We couldn’t recover a doctor-patient relationship after he’d bent me over my own desk, no, but we could still work with him. I thought about what Babs said about having a bigger impact on him from a romantic standpoint. Even if I exerted that romantic standpoint from the office, maybe it could still work out.
I stared at the door and started up a pot of tea. I hoped, dearly, that this wouldn’t change things too much.
Chapter Fifteen
SAWYER
The day after my meeting-turned-encounter with Quinn, I was still reeling a bit. I’d done my best to work until I was too tired to think about it, but when Saturday morning rolled around, I still felt disoriented. The whole thing should have left me feeling relaxed, confident, satisfied: the th
ings I was used to associating with sex. Instead, I felt confused.
I was more than eager to get dressed and go to Pete’s to get more work in. He’d started to trust me with more of his equipment, and now I could maintain his personal vegetable garden while he ran some of the machinery around the fields. I pulled into the driveway and made my way to the garden, grabbing a hoe and some gloves on the way.
Pete was already out there, knees in the dirt. He gave me a grin when I walked up to him.
“Hey, there!” Pete wiped his forehead, leaving a thin layer of dirt in the wake of his glove. “I thought I’d join you out here today. We’re gonna get off early and go down to George’s for some drinks.”
I smiled at the proposition. I hadn’t gone out with Pete in some time, and he’d suggested we go get a drink the day I got back.
“Sounds good,” I said, and I knelt down next to him to start potting some tomato plants that needed to be put in the ground.
“You don’t have an appointment today, do you?” Pete asked.
“No,” I said. “Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.” The mention of the therapist nearly made me blush. I felt like I’d broken some kind of law—except in my lifetime, I’d already broken the law, and I hadn’t felt nearly this bad about it.
“Shit, that’s a lot,” Pete shook his head. “They giving you medicine?”
“Nope. Not yet.”
“How’s the therapist? Quinn better be one hell of a doctor if you’re seeing her three times a week.”
I patted the dirt around the newly planted tomato plant. “She’s, uh, she’s good.”
“Good? You still having trouble with her? Your emotions and all?” Pete seemed to remember the conversation we’d had when I’d admitted I liked her. Hell, he’d been the one to point her out to me in the first place. Part of me wanted to blame the whole situation on Pete and claim total innocence.
“Sort of,” I said. “It’s a little complicated.”
“A little complicated? What, it’s not like you’re sleepin’ with her.” Pete sniffed and, when I didn’t say anything, he whacked my shoulder.
“Shit, Sawyer!”
I cringed.
“That’s gotta be against some type of law! You’re sleepin’ with her?”
“Just once,” I said. “Yesterday, it was… it was weird.”
“What the hell happened?” Pete’s eyes were wide, and I could tell he didn’t entirely believe me.
“We’d been sort of talking outside of the session. I asked her to dinner, she told me no, and we sort had a short talk about that. She wanted to keep things professional.” I couldn’t shake the sight of her tight against my body in a moment of complete forgetfulness. “I went in yesterday, and it was just… different. At the end of the session, she told me I ought to see someone else since she likes me.”
I cut off, and rubbed the back of my neck, trying to tactfully put what had then gone on. “And we slept together.”
“In her office?”
I nodded.
“Shit.” Pete shook his head. “Goddamn. Did you take her back to your place or did you just leave?”
“Left,” I said. “Well, she made sure I was still coming for the appointment on Monday.”
“Are you?” Pete asked.
I thought about what it would mean to go back. I didn’t know if she expected to have sex again or if she genuinely wanted to go back to having a patient-doctor relationship. “I will, but only to clear things up,” I said. “I can’t sleep with her if she’s going to be my psychiatrist. I need to either see a different therapist or sleep with somebody else.”
“That sounds like the best thing to do,” Pete said. “You can’t get any mental health recuperation if you’re sleeping with the doctor.”
“Exactly. And I can’t have a healthy relationship with her if I’m her patient.” The two things simply couldn’t go together, and I’d rather have an entire relationship or an entire doctor. Frankly, I wasn’t sure that it was still possible to go back to being just her patient.
A few hours later, Pete let me use his restroom so I could wash up—we both needed to at least get a few of the layers of dirt off before we went anywhere. The bar we were going to was one I was familiar with. George’s had been around as long as Austin had, I was pretty sure. It was the place we used to go when we were in high school, parading in with fake ID’s and thinking it was our smarts that got us in rather than the bartender’s apathy.
Now, of course, we didn’t need to worry about whether we could get in. It was a little too early to be out drinking; the sun had only barely started to set over the hills. But we didn’t want to go into Austin, because Sixth Street was meant for parties and not for quiet, calm drinks, and Pete and I both tended to go to bed early.
Not long before I’d joined the army, I could go all night drinking and partying. It seemed I was already an old man inside.
When we walked in, the bartender’s face lit up.
“Sawyer! By God, is that you?”
“Hey, Jim.” I wasn’t terribly close to Jim, but we knew each other’s names and I’d certainly been a paying customer of his for some time. I shook his hand.
“Where the hell have you been?” Jim asked. “Your usual?”
I couldn’t help but feel glad that he remembered my drink after all this time. “Yeah,” I said. “I was in the service for a while.”
“I thought I told you,” Pete interjected. He hopped up on the bar next to me and took the glass that came his way.
Jim shrugged. “In any case, it’s good to have you back.” Then he had to go and attend to other patrons, leaving Pete and me there with our glasses.
I took a drink and sat back in my stool slightly, looking out over the bar. “It’s weird. I don’t feel like I left. Everything’s the same, but it’s all totally different at the same time.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Far as I’m concerned, you couldn’t be more different,” Pete said.
I raised an eyebrow at him, unsure of what he meant by that.
“I mean you’re better now than you were,” he clarified. “At least you’re healthier. Still kind of an asshole.”
We grinned at each other.
“Speaking of how you were,” Pete said, setting his drink aside. “You know Quinn’s related to Stacy, right?”
I wrinkled my nose. It must have occurred to me before, or she must have told me, or Pete must have told me. It sounded like something I’d heard before. Still, it didn’t sit well with me. “Yeah, I know.”
“How do you think that’s all gonna pan out?” Pete asked. “Her knowing Stacy and all? I mean, if she knows Stacy, she could very well find out a good deal about you.”
I furrowed my brow and shook my head. It was a lot to think about, and I didn’t want to consider the implications of this. “I hadn’t thought about it,” I admitted. And I didn’t want to think about it, but I was sure that it would be the only thing on my mind until I saw Quinn on Monday.
Thankfully, Pete didn’t get the chance to continue to talk about it. A few people walked into the bar, and I wouldn’t have noticed, except their faces were familiar. I instantly recognized my old friends—or, three of them, at least. The one I had been closest to, John, still wore a beat-up denim jacket. There was one guy I’d only met once or twice, whose name I couldn’t remember, and the other was Kent, who had been around as long as John.
They saw me, too, and their faces lit up.
“Hey! Man, we thought you were dead or some shit!” John walked forward and clapped me on the back.
I laughed. “Nah, just thought I’d take a nice vacation in Syria.”
“Shit, they let you out?” Kent raised his thick eyebrows and spat into his water bottle.
“Yeah, more or less,” I joked. I hadn’t seen these men in ages.
Pete didn’t say much to them, offering a sort of wave. He’d never been very close to this group; he walked off, presumably to go use the restroom or wait u
ntil the people were gone.
“Can I get you a drink?” John asked.
“Oh, I’ve got one, but you’re welcome to sit up here,” I returned. “What have you been doing?”
“More of the same,” John said. “Mostly we’ve been trying to get a bar of our own open in Austin. It’s been a bitch to do. The only place anyone goes in Austin is Sixth, and that place is pretty much locked down. Nothing’s for sale right now, and those bars are doing more than well enough for themselves not to need to close.”
“You could open something in San Marcos,” I reasoned. “San Antonio, maybe? Not too far from here.”
“Ah, but it wouldn’t be the same. Besides, Kent’s got a girlfriend in Austin he can’t move too far away from.”
“Shit, she’s impossible sometimes,” Kent agreed. “Been dating a year, can’t get her to part with the town. She didn’t even grow up there.”
“Women can be something,” John offered. He looked back at me, and he leaned in a little closer. “Say, we were all going to head back to Kent’s later. Keith here just got back from Mexico, and he’s got all kinds of good shit to try out. You wanna join us?”
I didn’t want to think about what he meant by ‘good shit,’ but it couldn’t be anything good. I shook my head. “No, I can’t, sorry. I have work tomorrow morning.” It was a reasonable excuse.
“That’s a shame,” John said. He glanced around, making sure no one was looking our way, and then he held a few baggies towards me.
It was idiotic, holding cocaine out in the middle of a bar for anyone to see. I raised my eyebrows at his boldness; did he have some kind of deal with Jim? Memories of the months before I left began to flood back. Doing coke with Stacy and laying around the house all day, listening to my father shout at me, staring at my bank account after nights of partying and wondering what the hell had happened to me.
“You can take some for the road if you’d like. Think of it as a welcome-home present,” John said.
“Hey, Sawyer.” Pete materialized behind me. I thought for a second that he’d only just walked up, but there was a glint in his eye that suggested he’d seen what happened. “It’s about time we got going. I think I left the shed unlocked and I’d prefer to get back and fix that.”
