by K. Langston
I remain silent because every ounce of blood pumping through my veins is on fire. My clit throbs between my legs, reminding me how long it’s been since I’ve had a man there. I’m afraid to speak for fear he’ll hear the desire in my voice.
“I can hear you breathing, Doc. The staccato has me hard as iron.”
“Where are you right now?” I ask, needing to steer this conversation in another direction.
“In my office at work. Why?”
“Are you alone?”
I can practically hear the grin in his voice. “Yes.”
“Do you have a pen and paper nearby?”
“Ready when you are, Doc.”
“I want you to write down three things you like to do besides having sex.”
“So I can’t write how badly I want to shove my cock inside of you? Because I think it’s something I would really like to do.”
Sweet Lord.
This man’s mouth should be labeled a weapon of mass destruction.
Instead of acknowledging his advances, I redirect. “The point of this exercise is to get to know and understand who you are without sex.”
He exhales a defeated breath. “That sounds scary as fuck.”
I laugh, my shoulders relaxing that he’s allowing me to steer us in a more positive direction. “It can be. Rediscovering who you are won’t be easy, Asher, but it’s possible, if this is what you really want. I can help you do that. You want to get better, right?”
“More than anything.”
I can tell by the way he says it that he means it. He wants to get better, but something is still holding him back.
“Then I will help you but I need you to try, too. I know you can do it.”
He chuckles. “You sure do have a lot of faith in me, Doc.”
“It will be a challenge for you, I’m sure. Old habits are hard to break.”
“And they don’t die easy.”
“I’ll call you first thing Monday morning to let you know a time, okay?”
“Sounds good.”
“Goodnight, Lieutenant Cunningham.”
“Night, Doc.”
I slide my phone back on the counter with a trembling hand then glance up at my reflection in the mirror, noting my flushed cheeks and racing heart. I’ve never had a patient affect me this way, and the scary part is, I can’t decide if that is a good or bad thing.
Chapter 3
Marley
I can’t believe I let Peter talk me into this. It’s been forever since I’ve stepped foot inside of a bar, but he insisted, and this time I gave in. I needed to get out of the house and away from my own thoughts for a while anyway, especially those that constantly surround one hot lieutenant.
So here I am on a Saturday, about to embark on an evening of debauchery, as Peter so mildly put it.
Though, I’ve never been one to be debauched.
“Two margaritas and two shots of Patron,” Peter orders as we take our seats at the bar, not messing around in the least.
“No shot for me,” I say, placing my purse in my lap.
“Get her a damn shot, will you please?” Peter says to the bartender then returns his stern gaze to me. I laugh at his seriousness. “You are drinking something other than wine tonight if I have to pour it down your throat myself. Time to let your hair down and enjoy your life.”
“I enjoy my life,” I defend.
He scoffs. “Your idea of fun is lying around in your yoga pants every other weekend watching Netflix.”
“There is absolutely nothing wrong with that.”
“True, but wouldn’t it be more fun if you could do that with someone who looks a little like that.” Peter lifts his chin, motioning to a guy across the bar.
He’s handsome enough but young, and the way he’s looking at me tells me he wants very little in the way of getting to know me and a lot in the way of getting me on my back.
“If there is one thing I’ve come to realize since divorcing Steven, it’s that I don’t need a man to be happy. Besides, I have Lyla to think about. I can’t just bring random men home to meet her not knowing if it’s going to work out or not. She’s been through enough already.”
The bartender returns with our drinks. “Okay, so just bring a hottie home when she’s not there. What’s the harm in that?” He slides the shot of tequila my way and I shake my head. “One shot is not going to kill you.”
I roll my eyes, knowing how relentless he is. He reaches for the salt and the wedge of lime perched on the edge of the glass.
“Just one,” I tell him sternly, darting out my tongue to lick the skin between my finger and thumb to get it wet before applying a dash of salt then reach for my own lime.
Peter’s grin is triumphant. We hold our glasses in unison as Peter says, “To the men who have lost us...may they suffer the rest of their lives.”
“I’ll definitely drink to that,” I say, tossing back the cold, clear liquid. It goes down surprisingly smooth but it still knocks me back since I’m not a big drinker. I quickly bite down on the wedge of lime then place it in the glass.
Peter and I have been best friends since college. He’s one of the most outgoing and likable people I’ve ever met but that’s only because of his incredible personality. He’s always been a source of happiness in my life, no matter what I’m going through, he’s always there to cheer me up, pick me up, or drag me out of the house just when I’ve needed it. We met in psychology class, became study partners and hit it off right away. He’s incredibly handsome, as most gay men are, with a sharp stubbly jaw, hazel green eyes that are more green than brown, and reddish hair, but one thing about Peter, the man has no filter whatsoever.
“So how was your asshole of an ex when he picked up Lyla last night?”
Using my straw, I take a sip of my frozen margarita as the warmth of alcohol settles in my body. “Pleasant as ever. He says he’s going to take me back to court if I don’t give him more time with Lyla.”
“You’re fucking kidding me. Did you tell him to go eat a bowl of alphabet soup and choke on a D?”
“Not in those exact words,” I reply with a laugh. “I told him he could do whatever he feels he needs to. It’s bad enough I have to let her go every other weekend when every cell in my body tells me not to. I still don’t trust him. Not after everything he did.”
“Shit, who could blame you? I still can’t believe the judge agreed to give him any visitation after everything he’d done.”
I shrug. “There’s not much I can do right now unless he violates the order.”
Peter nods, taking a long pull from his drink. Then we fall into conversation about work. Peter is a counselor at a local high school. He’s so good with kids, especially the older ones. He struggled a lot growing up. He didn’t come out of the closet until after college and his parents refused to have anything to do with him after that. The only family that didn’t turn their back on him was his grandmother but she passed away last year.
“Anyway, there’s this new football coach they just hired and, honey, he is so fucking hot. Like...Hemsworth hot.”
“Has he shown interest at all?”
“I don’t think he’s gay. But he is single and that’s all it takes these days.” He winks.
“You’re so bad.”
“All the time, baby doll. All the time.”
As the night wears on, the bar grows more crowded and the band really cranks it up. After sending a quick text to Steven to check on Lyla, I let Peter talk me into taking two more shots.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks, raising his voice so I can hear him over the music.
“Okay, fine. You were right. It feels good.”
“You don’t have to lasso the moon but at least be brave enough to dance beneath the light.”
He reaches for my hand, pulling me toward the dance floor. All I can do is smile and throw my hands up as I shimmy all the way there. The alcohol sings in my blood as Peter and I dance and sing along with the band. But
after the second song, I need a break.
“I need some water,” I tell Peter. “You want anything?”
“Another ’rita!” he shouts.
“On it.” I head back toward the bar but skid to a stop when I lock eyes with him.
It takes me a moment to find my footing and begin walking again but every step I take leads me to Asher. He’s propped up at the bar. A beer in one hand the other dug halfway into his pocket. He’s by far the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on, or even in this bar. Just like me, every single woman in here has her eyes set on him.
I try to appear unaffected as I approach but it’s hard to cover up how hard my nipples are right now in this thin top Peter suggested I wear without being obvious.
My eyes rake over his lean body. His hair is slicked back, shaved close on both sides and perfectly styled in a way that has me wanting to run my fingers through it just so I know how it would look messed up. The short-sleeved shirt he’s wearing offers a much better view of the colorful ink adorning his arms and hands, traveling all the way up to his neck. I open my mouth to speak, to ask what the hell he’s doing here, but the wicked smile he gives me has the words dying on my tongue.
“Nice moves,” he says casually, and it eases some of the tension in my shoulders. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Water please.”
He motions for the bartender, ordering me a bottle of water. I down half of it before replacing the cap. My mouth is still parched but it has nothing to do with dancing.
“My name is Asher. And you are?” he inquires, lifting a brow.
I tilt my head in confusion but when I register that flicker in his eyes, I realize his game. I debate whether or not to play along. The rational part of me screams to end this now before it goes too far but there’s another part of me, the intoxicated part, that wants to see just how far we can go without crossing the line.
“Marley,” I reply.
“As in Bob Marley?”
“The very same.”
“I’m a fan.”
“Are you talking about me or his music?” I laugh.
“Both.”
I swallow thickly as his intense eyes hold mine. I take in the sharp lines of his handsome face. The rugged beauty of the man before. It almost feels rewarding that his attention is focused solely on me.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your hot, new friend?” Peter’s voice from behind startles me.
Asher narrows his eyes as Peter steps forward. “Peter, this is Asher; Asher, my friend Peter.”
“Pleasure is all mine,” Peter says, extending his hand.
Asher grips his hand, giving it a firm shake. “Nice to meet you.”
Peter looks him up and down, shamelessly checking him out, but Asher is unfazed. I’m pretty sure he’s used to both men and women checking him out.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks Peter.
“You can buy me anything you want,” Peter murmurs, and I swat his arm. “’Rita on the rocks, please.”
When Asher turns around to place the order, Peter leans down to speak in my ear. “Oh my gahhhhh, you are so getting laid tonight. Did you see the way he was looking at you? Like you’re a fucking snack.”
God, if Peter had even a clue as to the nature of my and Asher’s real relationship, he would not be encouraging this behavior, but I can’t deny his words either. Asher’s heated stare is not only unapologetic but it’s also hungry. Equivalent to mine. I’m drawn to him in a way I’ve never been drawn to anyone before and that is not only terrifying but also dangerous.
Asher spins around, handing Peter his drink. “Thank you,” Peter says, taking the straw in his mouth. An awkward silence descends as Asher’s intense gaze returns to mine. “Okay, so, I’ll just leave you two kids to it. Nice to meet you, Asher. Hope to see you around again soon.”
“Trust me, you will,” he replies confidently, and it makes my skin tingle with anticipation.
Peter walks off, his drink in hand, but not before mouthing, “Oh my God,” over his shoulder before walking away.
“He’s an interesting character,” Asher notes.
I laugh. “You have no idea.”
Several people walk behind me and I take a step forward to move out of the way. The place has grown even more crowded in the last few minutes. Asher twists his body, making a small space for me at the bar, but taking up that space could have very well been my biggest mistake because now we are so close we are nearly touching. His large frame towers over me, making me feel small yet protected, a unique scent invading my senses. Every inch of my skin practically leaps from my body, goose bumps trailing across my flesh in an attempt to be closer.
“Do you come here a lot?” he inquires.
“My first time here. You?”
He nods. “It’s one of my favorite places.”
He takes a long glug of his beer and my eyes are drawn to his strong finger curled around the bottle.
“Your hair looks different,” he states, and it’s the first time he’s acknowledged that we know each other outside of this moment.
I point to the curls. “Natural.”
“Better.” He smiles.
The compliment warms my blood. I twist the top of my water, downing another sip. “Is this how you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Seduce women.”
He laughs and the sound travels from his mouth to my ear then down my spine. “I usually don’t have to put in this much effort. I think that’s why I like you so much. I know it won’t come easy,” he states, making his intent clear, and that’s when I know I have to be the one to stop this before it gets out of hand.
“Asher, we can’t—” But before I can finish my sentence, he cuts me off, reaching for my hand and leading me to the dance floor.
The band has moved into a slower song. One I’ve heard before but I can’t remember what it’s called. It’s a miracle I can even remember my own name right now. Asher pulls me in close, wrapping one arm around my waist and clutching my hand in his.
“You’re good at this,” I say after a few turns. His intense gaze hasn’t strayed from mine.
“I’ve had a little practice,” he states, bowing his head lower, his lips hovering just above mine. So close we can share the same air. “I don’t know what it is about you but no one has ever made me feel like this.” He places my hand over his heart, the feel of it pounding beneath my palm, offering me an unfamiliar thrill.
His words are an aphrodisiac, sending tiny sparks of heat throughout every nerve of my body, my stupid heart soaring with some insane sense of satisfaction but then I feel his erection digging into my belly.
Hard, thick, wanting.
The realization of what is happening purges through the tequila-induced haze and lust blinding me and I push him away.
“I have to go,” I toss out before running toward the exit, praying he doesn’t follow, because I’m afraid if he touches me again or I look into those soul-sucking eyes of his, I won’t be able to resist him.
Chapter 4
Asher
I was so damn close. So close to tasting those sweet fucking lips. I should have just taken it. She wouldn’t have been able to protest once my mouth was sealed over hers and the fire that was smoldering between us ignited. But it didn’t feel right to do that. That’s what I would have done with any other woman but not her. No, when I kiss her, and I will kiss her, it will be because she wants it.
I chased after her, but by the time I made it outside she was already gone. I tried to call her, but she didn’t answer so I sent a text instead.
Please, just let me know you’re okay.
It wasn’t until half an hour later she returned my text.
I’m okay. See you Monday.
I spent all day Sunday replaying Saturday night. Fuck, the woman had worked a number on me. I wasn’t lying when I said she’s the only one who’s ever made my heart beat that way. It was the God’s honest truth and I have no ide
a what the hell possessed me to confess that then and there but I had to. I had to let her know how she made me feel. Even if it was the most terrifying feeling in the world. I felt like I could trust her with it. That she wouldn’t use it against me in any way.
Her receptionist, Clara, called me Monday morning, letting me know what time to be here this afternoon. Now here I am, sitting in front of her while she pretends Saturday night never happened.
“Is that your list?” she asks, nodding to the piece of paper in my hand.
Reaching over, I give her the sheet of paper and she lays it on her lap, studying it.
She is sitting in her leather chair a few feet away and she looks sexy as hell. Even though she’s dressed like a fucking nun. The blouse she’s wearing is not nearly as revealing as the one she wore Saturday night. This one is buttoned all the way up, sans the one near her throat, offering me a peek at the hollow of skin there.
Skin I’m dying to taste.
She’s also wearing slacks instead of a skirt, which really irritates me. She should never cover up those sexy legs. Ever. I know she’s doing it for my benefit. Or perhaps it’s for her own. Maybe she thinks the more clothes she wears the more she can protect herself from me.
If that’s the case she’s in for a rude awakening.
“Reading, working out, and”—she looks up at me with a grin tugging her lips—“spending time with family?”
“That surprises you?”
“A little.”
“Why is that?”
“I thought I was the one who was supposed to be asking the questions here,” she says, setting aside the paper.
“Then by all means, Doc. Fire away.”
“Let’s talk about your family.”
Now it’s my turn to grin. “What do you want to know?”
“What’s the relationship like between your mother and father?”
I don’t have to contemplate my answer long. “They have a great relationship. They’ve had their ups and downs but they’ve been married over forty years so I guess they have it figured out. Raising seven kids wasn’t easy either, especially six boys, but they are a strong unit.”
