A Sure Thing

by Marie Harte

  “You want it, don’t you? Let me hear you say it.”

  “I admit nothing.” Her lofty tone didn’t fool him in the slightest.

  “You’re a brat.” And I love it. “Take off your clothes.”

  She blinked. “Huh?”

  “All of them. Get naked, Doc. Now.”

  She seemed uncertain, but he didn’t care. She’d pushed the rules of the game. And he’d never been so thankful in his life.

  “Want some help?”

  She seemed to come back to her senses. “You want me naked? You do it.”

  He had her shirt and bra off, followed by those goofy pink socks, in seconds. And when he stood to admire her, his breath stopped.

  She was amazing. Gorgeous. Generously built and all fine lines. She had full breasts, a nipped waist, and flared hips, just right for riding him until they both came. He wanted to take her, right now, no question. But she’d started this game, and she’d play by the rules.

  “Spread your legs, beautiful.”

  Blushing yet defiant, she still did as told.

  “There you go. You’re wet for me, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  He smiled and stepped closer. Instead of getting to his knees to return the favor, he bent to suck her breast. He took the tight nipple between his teeth and gently rolled it, sucking hard to bring her more pleasure. Her hands gripping his hair told him he’d done all right. So he did the same to the other breast.

  Meanwhile, he stroked her belly and the thin strip of hair between her legs, then kissed his way to her cheek.

  She tried to kiss him, but he turned his head, not giving her what she wanted. So she kissed up and down his neck like a starving woman. Only the fact that he’d just come down her throat gave him the measure to hold himself back. He fingered her, sliding between her folds and grazing that sensitive nub that had her arching and moaning his name.

  “You’re one hot piece, Doc,” he murmured and shoved his finger inside her. Damn if she didn’t grip him, making him wish he had something else to put inside her. But not yet, not now.

  There were other ways to find pleasure.

  She twisted, trying to get him to move faster. But he wouldn’t be rushed. He added another finger inside her while rubbing her clit with the heel of his hand with each push. He kept thrusting his hips, unable to stop the instinctive reaction, needing to be inside her.

  “Touch me. Get me off with your hand,” he ordered, panting as she dug her hand under his boxer briefs and wrapped her fingers around him.

  He stared into her face as he finger-fucked her while she jerked him off, their movements faster, desperate, and so damn good. Watching each other while they played felt almost voyeuristic, removing another layer to deepen the connection between them.

  Landon came close, could see her veering on an orgasm. He pinched her clit before shoving hard inside her with his fingers.

  She gripped him tighter and like a vise, clamped her body down while she climaxed.

  He swore and shot hard, drenching his underwear, and her hot hand, with a mess of seed.

  When she finally stopped shivering, he removed his hand. She took hers away as well, but he gripped her wrist. “Wipe it over you,” he demanded.

  She stared at him, then shuttered her gaze and wiped his come on her belly. Not as good as being inside her, but it satisfied some primitive part of him needing to stake a claim.

  “Was your dessert satisfactory?” she asked, breathless.

  Her nipples were taut, her breasts round and pretty. He would always have this memory of her now. And sure as hell, it would make being around her even more difficult. The fantasy of bringing her to orgasm had been arousing, but having her lips around him… Permanent hard-on for sure.

  “I loved my dessert.” He planted kisses along her throat, her upper chest, then one for each berry-red nipple. “But I didn’t get that cream I was hungry for.”

  “Maybe next time.” Her breath hitched, and she sagged into him. “What did you do to me?” she mumbled against his chest.

  He smiled and lifted her in his arms.

  “Don’t drop me,” she said on a gasp.

  “Honey, you don’t weigh enough to worry about.” He kissed her this time, giving her the full tongue before he pulled back with a grimace. “And yeah, that garlic chicken, not so great for kissing.”

  She laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Told you so.”

  He set her back on her feet and put her shirt on, minus the bra, followed by her jeans and fuzzy socks. “No underwear when I’m around.”

  “Oh please.” She huffed.

  He shifted and grimaced. “Man, I made a mess.”

  “Yes, you did seem pretty pent-up. That’s a lot of come, isn’t it?”

  Only Ava could make him feel self-conscious about a body he hadn’t been self-conscious about in forever. “Do you have to talk about it?”

  “Why not? I swallowed more than a mouthful, remember?”

  At the thought, his cock stirred. “Oh yeah. I remember.”

  She turned pink. “You liked it.”

  “You mean I loved it. And okay, that’s one round to you.”

  “We’re not keeping score, are we?”

  “Not yet.” He grinned. “I’ll be right back. Bathroom?” He followed her nod and returned somewhat cleaned up. “Um, you might want to replace the hand towel in there.”

  “Noted.” She laughed at him. “I totally had you begging me, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, garlic breath. You did.”

  “You should talk.” She waved her hand in front of her nose, still grinning.

  That smile hit him right in the feels. Good God. What was she doing to him?

  “You okay? You look a little sick.” She smirked.

  If it were possible, he would have heard his heart drop at that very moment, locked onto her smug smile. “I think I need a doctor. Preferably on her knees.”

  She snickered. “Dream on. Sucker.”

  “Say that again. The suck part.” He hugged her to him, loving the feel of her unbound breasts against his chest. “So when’s our next date? ’Cause at this point, I’m thinking we’re dating. You know, like, going out.”

  “Is this where we quantify what we are to each other? With labels?”

  “Yes, Dr. Obvious. It is.”

  She sighed and squirmed out of his arms. “So traditional.”

  “Deal. You are now”—he bowed, giving her the royal wave of his hand—“Landon’s girlfriend.”

  “Really? All this pomp and circumstance for what?”

  “Amazing oral sex?”

  “Well, when you put it that way.” She tugged him close by the ear.

  “Ow.”

  “Okay, Ava’s boyfriend. We’re now dating, exclusively. So no Claudia or any of the other gym bunnies you’ve no doubt bounced around with.”

  “Hey, you know the word ‘bounce.’ Nice.” He pulled his ear away and rubbed the offended appendage. “Yeah, that goes for you too. No more Charles or Preston or Chipper for you.”

  “Seriously? You’re poking fun at Charles’s name, and you dated Claudia?”

  “Point is, we’re exclusive. You said it.” He gave her his best grin. “And I’m getting that check-up tomorrow. The doctor’s a friend of mine, and I plan on getting those results rushed.”

  “Fine, but remember I’m in charge of when we do it.” She crossed her arms, hiding her pretty breasts.

  “Fine,” he mimicked her, enjoying the hell out of this date. “But I’m in charge of how we do it.” He gave her a wicked grin. “And baby, I can’t wait to suck those tits while I’m pounding into you.” He leaned closer. “By the way, I know your tells. Doc, you are a huge fan of dirty talk.”

  She groaned. “I am.” She took him by the hand and
sucked his forefinger in her mouth. In spite of his exhaustion, his dick twitched. She pulled his finger out. “I know your tells too, Landon. And you’re a fan of my lips around your cock.”

  “Just…yeah, I am.”

  “Now who likes dirty talk?”

  “Not the talk. I like a dirty girl.” Landon kissed her again, garlic breath and all. “And baby, you are one dirty, dirty doctor.”

  He helped her do the dishes and clean up, then they watched a movie on television. No screwing and skating for this Marine.

  Oddly enough, he was hard-pressed to say what had been the best part of his evening. The sex that wasn’t sex, or just sitting with Ava and laughing over a dumb sitcom.

  Chapter 12

  “That’s good, Rob. I think you’re really starting to break through.” Her first Monday client typically drained her for the rest of the morning, but Rob seemed to have reached a turning point.

  His anxiety had lessened to such a degree that he could openly talk about his worries without showing visible signs of his unease. Mostly he seemed contemplative. And all without medication.

  Rob Hill was her age, tall and thin, and when he smiled, he made everyone around him smile. Unfortunately, his doom-and-gloom attitude had pervaded every aspect of his life for the past six months. They hadn’t been able to peg the cause as any one thing, more a cumulative downpour of several bad incidents seeming to converge all at once.

  The death of a favorite uncle, a good friend moving away, his girlfriend leaving him for another woman. All things that even taken individually would get a person down. But happening within the span of a few months, the effects had snowballed.

  She might have chalked up his signs as depression, but he refused to take medication for his issues. After meeting with him for a few weeks, she’d agreed. He seemed to do better when he had “homework” from her, usually something that helped spark his creativity and put him in a balanced state.

  Rob smiled at her, his blue eyes sparkling. He was blond, his hair longer than Landon’s, but she’d never mistake this man for her larger-than-life, supremely confident boyfriend.

  Just thinking the word boyfriend made her tingle, and she smiled back. Stop it and focus on your patient, Ava. This is not about you.

  With a silent apology to Rob, she continued the session, nearing the middle of their hour. “Continue to take the art classes. I think they’ve been a good outlet for you. We all have a creative self needing expression. And you found yours.”

  He gave her a shy grin, then moved to his knapsack. “I have something for you.”

  “Now, Rob, that’s not necessary.” And not acceptable. Ava took nothing more from her clients than payment for a session, a smile, or a thank you.

  “I don’t need to. I want to. And besides, I made it.”

  He handed her a charcoal sketch of herself, and she was blown away. “This is amazing, Rob.”

  It looked exactly like her. Right down to the tiny grin on her face.

  “Yeah. You’re so…” He trailed off, just staring at her.

  And a huge wave of uh-oh smacked her full in the face. She was always careful to maintain a professional distance from her patients, but sometimes transference couldn’t be helped. Patients could too easily confuse gratitude with deeper affection.

  “I’m so…?” she prodded, a polite smile on her face.

  “Helpful.” He swallowed. “I’m glad you’re my doctor.”

  Doctor. Not friend. So long as that line was never crossed, Ava felt as if she kept her patients safe from an unhealthy relationship with her.

  “I’m glad you’re finally seeing your self-worth.” She nodded at the picture. “This is incredible. You should put it with your portfolio.”

  “Nah.” He shrugged and sat back on the couch, slouching down. “It’s just a hobby.”

  “You have to do what you think best. But I have to tell you, I think this is more than a hobby. You have genuine skill, Rob.” Ava continued with positive reinforcement. “What did your mother think?”

  He smiled. “She liked it. You should see the one I did of her.”

  “Do you have it?”

  They went through more of his art, and in each picture she saw a different emotion expressed. With his mother, she saw love. With herself—she hated to admit—she saw admiration and attraction. With his brother-in-law, arrogance. He’d also drawn a few pictures of his ex-girlfriend, none of which had been flattering, and his uncle, which showed a robust man engaged and joyful.

  “I like that he’s not sad,” she said, encouraging Rob to talk about the man who’d been such an integral part of his life. “Tell me something quirky about him. Did he do anything that could make you laugh and scratch your head in puzzlement at the same time?”

  Rob lit up, and as he shared, his animation buoyed her as well.

  The session ended on a high note, and Rob stood to leave with a smile, as opposed to his usual hangdog expression and air of solitude.

  “Enjoy your dinner with your mother,” she told him.

  “I think I will.”

  When she tried to hand him back her portrait, convinced it was too good to accept, he shook his head.

  “No, please. Keep it. I want to see it when I come back and remember how I felt when I created it.”

  That sounded healthy enough, but she’d keep a closer eye on him during her sessions. And she’d discuss this with her mentor, Dr. Dennis Foster, as well.

  “I will. And thank you.” She’d get it framed. Because yeah, it was that good. Flattering, yet the picture represented all she’d ever wanted from her job. To help others. This was a great progression toward a healthy sense of self for Rob.

  He gave her a wave and a last look that she almost called him on, then he left.

  “Damn.” She set the picture on her desk and made notes in his chart. Ava always did her best to consolidate her thoughts after a patient departed, though depending on her schedule, sometimes she had to wait until the end of the day.

  Now, fresh and with another hour until her next patient, she took the time to write down Rob’s session and progress. After saving what she’d written into her computer, she sought help from the one person she considered her go-to when it came to just about anything. Dr. Dennis Foster had taken her under his wing two years ago and continued to treat her the way he did his grown daughters.

  Dennis ran Mind Your Matter—MYM—Counseling, a consulting group. Four of them, including Ava, each focused on a certain field while overlapping with the others. Between Dennis, Ava, Lee, and Emily, they had psychologically based dysfunction treatments well-covered.

  Like her, Dennis preferred family and individual counseling. Ava dealt with a lot of anxiety disorders as well, like Rob this morning.

  She’d never been happier, and she loved collaborating with the others if she needed a sounding board. Like she did today.

  She found Dennis in the communal break room at the back of the house down the hallway—where they normally met once a week to discuss patients in crisis. The first floor of the remodeled Craftsman consisted of hers and Lee’s offices, a bathroom, a waiting area for clients, and the kitchen. Upstairs, Dennis had one office, Emily used the other, and an additional waiting room, bathroom, and filing/storage area took up the rest of the home. It was the ideal place for a four-person consulting group.

  She grabbed a cup of coffee and joined him at the table.

  “Ava. How goes it this morning?”

  Dennis had dark gray hair, a goatee trimmed to perfection, and glasses over bright brown eyes gleaming with intelligence and wit. She felt comfortable discussing any and everything with the man. In a lot of ways, he was like a surrogate father and mentor all in one. He provided a safety net in a place where mental stimulation and confusion could overwhelm.

  “Things are good, but I think I might have a
situation.” She explained about Rob and her perceptions, not surprised when Dennis agreed with her.

  “Yes, you’re going to have to be careful there. I’d continue your course of therapy, as it seems like it’s really helping him. But he does seem to be developing an attachment. If it continues, you’re going to need to address it carefully. He needs to know a personal relationship can’t go anywhere.”

  She nodded. “I don’t want to make him uncomfortable or set him back, but yes, he needs to see me as his doctor and nothing more.”

  “Good.” Dennis sighed as he finished his cup. “I love my coffee. I’m a proud addict. What can I say?”

  She chuckled. “Maybe you should get some counseling for that.”

  “Funny.” He grinned. “So how’s your nonexistent social life doing?”

  And like clockwork, he brought up her least favorite topic. He’d been bugging her for a while to get out and mingle. But she finally had good news to tell him. “As a matter of fact, I’m dating someone.”

  Dennis blinked. “Oh?”

  “Yes. I met him at the gym. We clicked, even though he’s completely not my type.” She felt the need to focus on that aspect of Landon a lot, and she started to wonder why. A sense of self-preservation maybe? Because she felt more for the man than she felt comfortable feeling after such a short time?

  “All of us have a preconceived ‘type.’” Dennis shrugged. “Greta was just my type. Beautiful and mouthy.”

  They both grinned.

  “But she was more outspoken than I was comfortable with at first. And her family is a nightmare. She’ll tell you the same thing. I’m not talking out of turn.

  “But you know better than most that it’s best to judge someone on his or her own merit rather than what we think they are.” Dennis stood and put his cup in the sink. “And that’s all the advice I have to spare today. Not that you asked for it.”

  “Not that I asked for it, no.” She drank and waited.

  “But about this man…”

  She groaned.