The Sex Cure

by Cara Lockwood

  * * *

  Wilder sat in the oversize chair near his king-size white oak bed in his vacation home, watching her move slowly in the dimmed light of his master bedroom suite.

  “Don’t move,” she warned him, and his heart ticked up a notch, his breath catching in his throat. “You can only move when I say you can.”

  He wasn’t the kind of man who took orders—he gave them. He wasn’t a man used to surrendering power, wasn’t used to not being in the driver’s seat. He’d had many women in his arms, many in his bed, a blur of faces he could hardly remember, famous women, beautiful women, but none of those mattered now as she stood before him, clad only in her now dry yellow bikini. He drank in her body with appreciation, the tanned muscled arms, the lean legs, the delicate lines on her body that he’d grown to know so well over the last two months. His hands itching to move, because his fingertips knew how soft her skin would be. He had to fight to remain still. Slowly, achingly, she untied the back of her bikini top, the knots coming lose. His anticipation built as he watched her drop the top to the floor, baring her chest. Her beautiful, perfect nipples rose in the air-conditioned air, seeming to defy gravity.

  His body burned for her, to take her, to make her his, to feel every inch of her skin, to feel her shudder with the pleasure he planned to give her. He wanted to take her to places even she’d never been before. He knew, deep in his soul, he would. Wilder wasn’t finished with his lessons, but today, this night, she was going to teach him.

  All he wanted was her. She would heal his wounded soul, she would be the elixir he’d needed his whole life. He was the man who had everything but understanding, and now, her dark eyes—those eyes that seemed to know him so well, that ferreted out all his secrets—drew closer. She untied one yellow knot on her hip, then the other, and dropped the bottoms on the floor. His legs tensed. He was going to stand.

  “No,” she warned him, shaking a single finger. “Stay put. You aren’t the teacher. I am.”

  She stood before him, bare, miles of her bronzed skin. He wanted to move, and his fingers twitched. But she simply shook her head, slowly, maddeningly. He was her prisoner. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch her. Follow the line of her hip with his hands, feel the warmth of her body. He was the man who had everything: power, money, women, and yet even with all his wealth, he knew now, sitting before this woman, that none of it would ever be enough. That hole in him, that hole that seemed never able to be filled might finally devour what was left of his soul.

  But she was his salvation. She was the one who’d make everything right. She stepped forward and picked up her bikini top and her bottoms and then moved tantalizingly close to him. He sat rigid in the wooden chair, arms gripping the rails. She leaned in, and he could smell the coconut sunscreen on her neck and then he reached up, cupping one bare breast in his hand. He couldn’t help it. They were there, so tantalizing, so perfect. But she slapped his hand softly, a quick act of discipline. He released her and held the arm of the chair again.

  “Bad, bad, bad,” she taunted him, clicking her tongue in disapproval.

  She slipped her string top under the chair’s arm and tied it tightly against his wrist. Her touch as she grazed his wrist finishing the knot was electric, and he felt the bolt run all the way down to his toes. He worked to keep his hands steady, gripping the hard arm of the chair. She used the bottoms for the other wrist. And then he was bound to the chair. Bad boy, indeed. He was being punished. He couldn’t imagine a worse punishment then being so close to this beautiful woman and unable to touch her bare skin. She offered warmth and the promise of pleasure, and more than that, everything he’d ever need.

  “I’m in control of you now,” she said. “You’re going to be mine.” He nodded. “No one else enters this room, enters your head. Nothing but me.”

  She’d turned off his phone and even the home’s Wi-Fi. There would be no distractions. Not that he wanted any. He felt powerless, and he kind of liked it. She was giving him permission to let go, not to think about all the pressures in his life. She stood before him, beautifully naked, and he couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else. He loved the idea of her taking control. This was perfectly delicious.

  She dipped down and kissed him, her tongue flicking against his. He strained against his wrist restraints. He knew he could break them if he really tried, but the fact was he didn’t want to. This was too damn good. Harley knelt slowly before him, his gaze taking in her beautiful curves, and then, she was working the fly of his shorts. He was halfway to hard, he realized. That was an improvement over the pool, and yet, he worried still. Worried his ghosts would come and snatch away his desire.

  “This is mine,” she said, eyes sparkling with mischief as she held his cock in her hands. “It’s mine to do with as I please.” Her voice alone made him come to life, made him stiffen with want. Yes, he thought. I want to be yours. All yours.

  He thought he’d hate giving up power; he thought that was the worst thing in the world. After all, hadn’t that been what he’d been battling against all his life as he fought off Lucinda’s claims on the company? But maybe, sometimes, letting go was the answer.

  Hadn’t he been trying to teach Harley this very lesson? That letting out her desires could be a healthy thing? Here she was teaching him the same thing. He relaxed into his wrist restraints then, happy to give over control for once in his life. Because he knew it was the right thing to do. And because he trusted Harley. He wouldn’t have done this with anyone else. He could only do it with her. He might need to be his own cure, but she was the one who would help him find it.

  “You take care of your father’s company. And of your brothers. And everyone else.” She met his gaze, on her knees, working him with her hands. “But who takes care of you?”

  Then she knelt down and licked his shaft, one gloriously perfect sensation. And then he was in her mouth. Her wet, willing and so very talented mouth. He almost came right there, almost couldn’t hold it. She was damn good at that. No doubt about it. She knew what she was doing. Harley took him, deeper and deeper, more urgently, and as she picked up the pace, he knew there was no way he’d last. No way he could hold out. She had control of him, and she was riding him hard to the finish. He came with a primal shout. He came and came and came, a river of all the things he kept bottled up inside him, all the pressure, all the worry, all the pain of his past. He was going to let it all go. And he did.

  When Harley pulled away from him, a satisfied smile on her face, he felt spent. Felt as if he’d finally put down the burden of past pains, of current pressures, of everything that had held him back. All because he’d let this woman tie him to a damn chair. The pupil had become the master. Now, she should teach him.

  “That was one helluva lesson,” he said.

  “There are more to come,” she promised, and he felt himself stirring again. She reached up and slowly untied him, pulling on the string of her bikini.

  “Good.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  WILDER SPENT THE next week in tropical paradise learning that he had the power within himself to fight his demons. That was what Harley taught him, by showing him that letting go was what he needed to do. He’d been hanging on so tightly that he’d actually been hanging on to the pressure and negativity and the running reel in his head of Lucinda telling him he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t smart enough to be the heir to his father’s company or the patriarch of the family. It was that undercurrent of insecurity that had been at the root of his sexual shortcomings. Once she’d shown that to him, it felt as if a lightbulb had gone off. Now, he was confident that he wouldn’t have a relapse, and hell, even if he did, he knew exactly what to do. He’d never felt more in control of his life.

  “You saved me,” Wilder told Harley as they woke in his penthouse bed the morning after arriving in Manhattan. He couldn’t avoid work forever, but he was confident he could face Lucinda’s
attacks now. And an FCC investigation wasn’t the worst thing in the world. The company would survive. And he knew he was capable of running it. He’d come this far.

  Harley moved against his chest, wrapping her arm around him. “You know I’m not your cure. I thought we’ve been over this.”

  “No. You showed me how to do it myself,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “And for that, I’m forever grateful. These last two months have been amazing.”

  “Actually, it’s been almost three now.” Harley sat up, studying him with her light brown eyes, the hint of a worry there. He knew her so well. Knew there was something on her mind.

  “How do you feel about that?” he asked her, tentatively.

  “How do you feel about it?” So, she was turning the tables, avoiding the answer. He was getting even better at reading her, especially when she had her defenses up. He wondered why she was defensive. Was she getting tired of him? God, he hoped not.

  “It doesn’t feel like it’s been three months.” For him, it had all gone by in a blink of an eye. He couldn’t even remember the last time a relationship had lasted this long as he’d usually grown restless and bored, eager to move on to the next. Not with Harley. All he could think was how much he didn’t want to let her go, how he wanted this day, and many other days, together, to stretch out ahead of them.

  “No, it hasn’t.” She seemed like she wanted to ask him something more but was hesitating.

  “Come on. Spit it out. I know when there’s something on your mind.”

  She considered him, looking pensive. “I don’t know. But tomorrow is your birthday...”

  He’d almost forgotten. He was turning forty tomorrow. It should have caused him complete consternation. He’d been dreading the birthday for the last year. But somehow, with Harley in his life, he seemed more at peace with getting older. With facing his eventual mortality. It didn’t seem so scary. Not anymore.

  His phone on the nightstand dinged then, announcing an incoming message. He looked at the face of his phone and realized too late that it was a risqué picture from one of his friends with benefits, Andrea, whom he hadn’t heard from in nearly a year. But she always remembered his birthday. Always texted him on his birthday and the major holidays.

  Happy pre-Birthday Day! she texted. Want to unwrap your present? And with it, a picture of her in a sexy thong and nothing else.

  Another man might have been intrigued, but he wasn’t. He had zero interest in Andrea or anyone else. Not when he had Harley in his arms. He deleted the photo, but not before Harley saw it.

  “Who’s that from?” She sat up.

  “No one.”

  “I thought you agreed not to sleep with anyone else while you were sleeping with me. Even though this is casual, that was one of the rules.” Harley looked...well, hurt. She looked betrayed.

  “I’m not sleeping with her.”

  “Why did she send you that photo?”

  “Because I have slept with her. But I’m not currently sleeping with her. She always sends me a birthday text.”

  “But you might. Sleep with her in the future. After...” Harley bit her lip. Was she going to cry? What on earth was happening? How had this morning gone so wrong so fast?

  “No. I don’t want to sleep with her.” Why were they arguing about Andrea? He couldn’t care less about Andrea. She was a sexy blonde, and they had a good time together, but he wasn’t going to marry her. Wasn’t even going to call her his girlfriend. Hell, he hadn’t even seen her in more than a year. “Why are you upset?”

  “I’m not upset.” Harley hauled herself out of bed and yanked on her jeans. “I just... I just guess I don’t understand what we’re doing.”

  “We’re having fantastic sex. I’m teaching you. You’re teaching me.” Had any of that changed? Did she want more? Of course, he suspected she did. Part of him knew she’d always had a problem with casual. But if she did, she damn well needed to tell him. Maybe he needed more than casual, too. But he’d sensed she was as skittish as they came. She needed to admit for once in her life that she needed someone in it. “I did not sleep with Andrea while we were together. I don’t want to.”

  “Great.”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?” He pushed the cover aside. “If it’s not, if you want something else, tell me.”

  “Why? We have a deal, don’t we?” She grabbed her shirt off the floor and yanked it over her head. A deal she never should have agreed to in the first place.

  “For a sexologist, you sure hate talking about your own damn feelings,” he pointed out.

  “That’s why I’m a sexologist. So I can talk about other people’s feelings. Not mine.” There was a great deal of truth in that, he thought. The most truthful thing she’d said so far this morning. Wilder sat up in bed.

  “You need to talk to me, Harley. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “No. I don’t.” She shook her head as she buttoned her jeans. “I think I need to... I just need to go to my room.”

  “You are all about the flight. Not fight.” He’d seen it countless times. “You’re always trying to run away from me.”

  “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Can’t do what?” Amazing sex? A perfect partnership where each person seemed to get what the other needed before they even opened their mouths? Pure perfection?

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed, but just as he did, the maid knocked and came in, carrying a tray of breakfast for two. He whipped the sheets over his nakedness, just in time to see Harley move past her and out the door.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  IT TOOK HARLEY no time at all to pack the few things she’d brought to Wilder’s penthouse. She’d been an idiot to stay for so long. Of course, she’d get emotionally involved in three months. She knew the science. Three months was a hell of a lot longer than an hour, and an hour plus thirty-six in-depth personal questions were enough to make most people fall in love. Most men said I love you within the first eighty-eight days. Women, 134 days. Still, she knew she’d been playing with fire, all that dopamine and oxytocin running through her system after those many, many climaxes, and then, of course, there was just the fact that no matter how hard she worked at it, Harley couldn’t do casual. Nothing about her relationship with Wilder Lange felt casual.

  And that was why she needed to leave. She couldn’t stay here and watch him go back to his playboy life and his revolving door bedroom. Sure, logically she knew that one stupid picture on his phone didn’t mean anything. She knew he wasn’t cheating on her, knew instinctively that of course he’d kept his promise. She didn’t doubt his loyalty. She knew logically that the tornado of jealousy inside her was baseless. So what if a beautiful woman sent him a picture? He hadn’t asked for it. Besides, she knew that a man like Wilder Lange would always be fending off the advances of beautiful women. He was rich, he was gorgeous and he was damn near perfect in every other way.

  If she analyzed her feelings clinically, she knew the problem was that now they were reaching a point where she’d need to ask him to give up every other beautiful woman that wanted him. Fight against all those evolutionary instincts men are born with, all for her. She’d need to ask something of him, something that she wasn’t sure he was ready to give her. And that terrified her.

  She’d almost rather not ask than ask and be rejected. That was the hard truth of it. She felt the coward. She wasn’t nearly as brave as she’d like to believe she was. Adrenaline buzzed in her brain and her flight impulse was set to high. She needed to flee. She needed to escape and then figure out what she’d do next. Harley had worried about this from the start, worried that he’d been too much her type, too alluring in too many ways. She felt like she owed a big swath of her Dear Harley clients an apology. Not just for breaking her own rules but for not truly understanding their own impulse control issues. How often had she sat at her keyboard and lectur
ed a client about reining in their desires? About how they could control their wants? When they had told her they couldn’t help themselves, hadn’t she said, It’s in your control, and believed it?

  Yet, with Wilder over the last three months, she’d been completely out of control. Reckless. Not just with her body, but with her heart. And it wasn’t his fault, either. Every choice she made had been hers—even though none of it felt truly in her control.

  The fact was she’d wanted Wilder Lange the moment she’d met him, and she’d known he wanted her, as well. And despite her weak protestations, her lip service to her professional code, her liking to think of him as an enemy, part of her had been hoping she’d have him in the most carnal way possible. She’d known, really, that if she’d stayed beneath his roof this would happen. She’d told herself she could be objective, but part of her had always known sex was a danger. And when it came right down to it, she hadn’t even fought against it. In some ways she could handle that, she guessed, handle the misstep of simple sex. But, the fact was, she’d been falling for him, too. Hell, she might have just fallen in love with him at first sight in that damn study.

  Such a thing sounded impossible, especially to her clinician’s mind, yet she knew it happened. Hadn’t she read research about how people can “feel” in love in a fifth of a second? And she’d spent far more time with him than that. Harley zipped up her suitcase and then froze. Where would she even go? She didn’t have an apartment. Didn’t have a place to live. She’d have to call a friend, or worst-case, head home to Miami. She pulled the suitcase off the bed and extended the handle, wheeling it to the door of her room. Then she swung open her door. She nearly ran into Wilder Lange. Harley jumped back as if she’d been struck.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked him, heart thudding in her chest. He looked even more delicious than he had yesterday—dark hair swept back, eyes watchful. He’d thrown on a T-shirt and shorts.