I stifle a derisive laugh. Now it’s clear why she’s suddenly backed away from me. I consider turning and walking away, leaving her be for the night. But that isn’t me. Instead, I enter the room and flop down on the bed.
Red patches bloom on Amelia’s cheeks. I assume she’s worried over what I may have heard, but I’m not here to assuage her over that.
“Your sister?” I ask.
She hesitates, then nods.
“Put her on speaker. I want to say hi.”
“Well, I don’t know.”
“Go on. It’s only polite, right?”
Closing her eyes for a moment, she then opens them and takes in a deep breath. “Daniel wants to say hello. I’ll put you on speaker, Moira.”
“Hello there, Moira,” I purr. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“You, as well,” the voice comes back, amused.
“So, the question, I believe, remains,” I say.
“What question is that?” Moira asks.
“Do you think Amelia has lost her mind in trying me on?”
“Oh, Daniel,” Amelia says, her eyes full of pity.
“Eh, I really couldn’t say,” Moira replies.
“No, it’s okay. I’m not easily offended. Can’t afford to be, what with being a fuckup heroin addict. Sure, I have been clean for almost two years, in large part due to the support your sister has given me, but as I told her last night, I’m always only a bad day away from fucking it all up.”
“Was that before or after the mysterious incident in the pub toilets?” Moira asks with a laugh.
“Mo!” Amelia says, her cheeks turning an even darker shade of red.
But I laugh, delighted with the way Moira has brought this about. I was right before when I thought she was someone I would like.
“Did she tell you about that?” I ask. “Did she tell you I gave her the best—”
Amelia puts her hand over my mouth to stop me. I wiggle my eyebrows at her.
“The best what?” Moira asks. “I’m dying to know!”
“Moira, I’ll text you later,” Amelia says. “I know you have to get Max ready for daycare.”
Moira laughs. “It was good to meet you, Daniel.”
“You too,” I say, though it’s muffled since Amelia hasn’t removed her hand from my mouth.
“And, Ame,” Moira continues, “stop thinking so much. Just have fun, for fuck’s sake. And go ahead and shag him. He seems nice enough for that!”
“Bye. Chat soon,” Amelia says quickly and disconnects the call.
She finally releases me, exposing my grin.
“Your sister sounds very wise. I think you’d better follow her advice.”
During the brief time I was out, she’s pulled her hair up, removed the lipstick that had earlier made me want to kiss it off her, and changed into pajamas consisting of a deep V-neck cotton tee shirt and shorts. I run my hand up her lovely bare leg, enjoying this intimacy.
“I’m sorry you heard that.”
“I’m not,” I murmur. “Your sister was exactly right. Too much thinking will ruin everything.”
“Not that,” she says, and places her hand on mine, stopping me from moving up her inner thigh. “The part about me worrying over you being a recovering addict.”
“Can’t blame you. You should worry.”
I feel her stiffen at this. Sometimes I’m far too honest for my own good.
“I mean,” I say, “it’s only natural to be concerned. Thing is, I’m better than I’ve ever been. I feel like I’ve got a handle on things, you know?”
When she nods, there’s no confidence in it.
“I’m not sure what I can tell you, baby. You either want to take a chance on me or not, right?”
This little throwback to her explanation for why she came here, to take a chance, seems to resonate with her. Her body relaxes, then she says something that makes my dick jump.
“Close the door.”
19
Amelia
* * *
My heartbeat quickens as I watch Daniel go to the door and close it. He thinks he’ll be the one in control, but my heart is racing because I’ve decided not to hold back anymore. I want him. And I want him to know that.
When he turns back, he’s already peeling off his shirt. I scoot to the edge of the bed and when he gets close enough, I unbuckle his belt, then open his jeans. As soon as his torso is bare, I press my lips to the scars along his ribs. I feel his hand in my hair as I move my mouth over his skin, trailing kisses over all the injuries and tattoos he’s inflicted upon himself. Getting on my knees on the bed, I linger at the X over his heart, kissing it gently, wanting him to know that he has me to stick around for now.
I think I hear him whimper, but when I look up at him, all I see is desire. He leans down to kiss me, and I immediately open his mouth with my tongue, ready to set the tone. The tender part is over. Now, it’s all about need.
He reads this quickly, returning my kisses with the same degree of urgency as he firmly grabs my arse. My hands are busy, too, pulling both his jeans and boxers all the way down. Standing before me, he’s stripped bare and beautifully damaged. It’s a reminder of the war he’s waged upon himself, of the struggles he’s had just to . . . exist.
But the marks on his body can’t hide the fact that he’s fit and ready with an erection that shows him to be just as eager as I thought he would be last night in that pub loo.
Pulling off my top, I then wiggle out of my shorts and return to my knees before him wearing only the black lace bra and panties set I’d purchased just in case this moment came.
“Jesus,” he moans as he skims the back of his hand over the swell of my breasts. “Look at how sexy you are, baby.”
This isn’t some line. I can tell by the way he’s looking at my curves that he likes what he sees. I can’t think of any other man who has looked at me like this. Though, to be fair, I don’t think I’ve ever felt comfortable enough to bare myself this way with any other man.
His desire for me is an incredible boost to my confidence, not to mention a total turn on. I have every intention of bending over to take him into my mouth, but he puts his hands on my shoulders and guides me onto my back before I can do so. Leaning over me, he kisses me.
Just kisses me.
It has the effect of ramping up the anticipation of what he might do next. So much for me being in control. I’m too much in his thrall to take the lead at the moment and so I surrender to him. I surrender as he drags his mouth over my neck, down my chest, and when he uses his teeth to teasingly bite my nipples over my bra. I push my fingers through his short hair as a reflex when he peels my bra away and uses his tongue in feathery light flicks against the hard point of my nipples, making me ache from deep within for more.
Just when I think he’s going to increase his pressure or touch me in a different way, he pulls away, sitting back on his heels.
“Take that nice lingerie off,” he says.
I sit up and start to reach behind me to unhook my bra but stop to watch what he’s doing. He’s watching me intently in return while stroking himself at the same time. With one hand cupping his balls and the other firmly fisting his dick, he draws out slow strokes on himself. I’m torn between wanting to watch how he pleasures himself and wanting to be the one to take over.
He decides for me when he says, “Go slow, but take off the bra first.”
I nod but don’t make a move. Instead, my eyes stay on the way his hand glides up and down the length of him. There’s something almost hypnotic about it as I can’t focus on anything else. Watching him do this to himself is unexpectedly thrilling. I’ve never been with a man who did this. Well, I’m sure they masturbated. Just never with me watching. Or with me so clearly being the object of his focus while he did it.
“Don’t make me wait, baby,” he says.
Forcing myself into action, I reach for the clasp of my bra and release it, slowly pulling it from my chest. He may have told me I have
an arse worth worshipping, but I’ve always thought my tits were my best feature. I’m a very full C cup but have always been both perky and so nicely shaped that I could get away without wearing a bra if I didn’t mind my nipples showing. I can see in the slight tilt of his head and the small smile that comes to his lips that he’s found a new favorite part of me. Emboldened, I shake my chest a little and smile when he starts pumping his fist faster.
He takes in a sharp breath and with visible effort, slows down.
“The knickers now,” he says.
There’s no sexy way to remove them the way I’m sitting on the bed, so I hesitate for a second before deciding to rest against the pillow. That way, as I slowly push them off me I give him the view of my profile. He seems to enjoy this because he moans when my hips go up as I ease the panties off.
I look at him expectantly, but his eyes are busy traveling over my body, his hand still just as busy.
“Daniel,” I say softly. As much as I enjoy watching him touch himself, I need his hands on me.
“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs as he releases himself and returns to leaning over me.
When he kisses me, I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him close.
Breaking away from my mouth, he kisses my cheek and then under my ear. “What do you want, baby? You want me to go slow and make love to you? Or do you want me to fuck you so hard you can’t walk straight?”
I smile, conjuring what I want to say but not quite able to utter it out loud.
“Think about it,” he says. He reaches for one of the condoms on the nightstand, tears it open with his teeth, and then slides the packet under the pillow.
“We’re not quite ready for that,” he says when he sees my look of surprise.
“Okay.” Though, I only understand what he meant when he starts moving his mouth down my body, stopping to kiss and fondle my breasts before continuing down between my legs. His tongue is firm, insistent, and finds just the right spots to tease me and build me up into an orgasm so intense that I struggle to keep from crying out.
“Oh, my,” I say, breathless.
Taking his time, he kisses the tender skin on the inside of my thighs, working his way back up to face me.
“What’s your answer?” he asks.
He’s returning to his question of whether I want to be made love to or be fucked. My answer is the same as what I’d thought before, but this time I tell him.
“You promised fireworks,” I say. “I got them. But I want an encore. Any way you want it.”
Grinning, he reaches for the condom.
What he gives me after that is a combination of love making and raw fucking. And another orgasm.
It’s absolutely fantastic.
20
Danny Boy
* * *
What a rush.
I look over at Amelia where I’ve left her on the bed. I’m standing in the doorway of the en suite after having gotten rid of the condom. She’s on her belly, her face turned toward me, eyes half closed, and a faint smile on her lips.
“Get back here,” she murmurs.
I’m no fool. I do as I’m told, sliding into bed and wrapping her into my arms. I’ve never been big on the whole cuddle-after-sex thing. Not even with Jules. But I feel like I can’t get physically close enough to Amelia, even with our bodies pressed together. This inexplicable ache brings tears to my eyes. Confused by the rush of emotion, I clear my throat and say the first thing I can think of to put this all into a different perspective.
“I knew you’d be a good fuck,” I say.
“Daniel,” she moans.
But it’s not a sexy, “you’re so cute” kind of moan. More of a “don’t ruin this” kind of moan. I can’t help but laugh.
“Well, it’s true,” I continue. “I knew it when I was sitting across from you in your office. I’d look at those beautiful legs of yours and imagine them wrapped around my face and—”
“You’re not the first of my clients to fall for me, you know,” she says, cutting me off.
Once more, I’m surprised to think she’s had any clients other than me. I’ve always imagined her as mine. I pull away from her enough to see her face.
“Really, now? How’d that go?”
“I shouldn’t really say.”
“Ah, no. You’re not getting off that easy. Don’t tell me his name. Just tell me what happened.”
She laughs softly. “It was someone I was working with for a while. He’d come in because he was confused by feeling like he was falling out of love with his wife even though she was everything he wanted.”
“The cheeky bastard. That’s a come-on line, if I ever heard one.”
“What do you mean?”
“Plenty of married men play that card, telling the girl they fancy that the wife is just so wonderful but for the life of him he can’t figure why they don’t have that spark anymore. But then, of course, she can be the one to both comfort him and get his dick hard.”
“Oh,” she says, her brow furrowed. “Well, anyway, we worked for weeks on his insecurities of feeling like he didn’t deserve her. And it was at the point where he seemed to have more confidence that he confessed he’d fallen for someone else.”
“You.”
“Me.” She smiles sheepishly.
“And so? You cut him right off? Sent him packing?”
“Not right away, actually.”
“Oh, Amelia. I’m guessing this didn’t go well?”
She laughs. “I wanted to work with him on his issues of transference, to get him to see that he really didn’t fancy me, he was just backsliding on the progress we had made.”
“And yet, he kept on, I bet.”
“He did. He brought me flowers and jewelry. He made dinner reservations at posh restaurants and couldn’t understand why I didn’t show up.”
“Now that’s a loony person. Wait ‘til I tell Mr. Perfect about this guy.”
“Tell who?”
“Ah, fucking Conor Quinn. He had the nerve to tell me a while back that I was a loony person stalking you because I told him I still called you, even though you never answered.”
“You’ve . . . talked to him about me?” She pulls away from me and sits up against the headboard, covering herself with the sheet.
I sit up, too, and face her. “No, not really. He actually asked me about you. I was clueless as to why at the time, though. Had no idea Felicity was seeing you.”
“What did he ask about me?”
I take a second to think back to that conversation we’d had. I remember him coming with me to pick up the lunch order for the studio crew and him randomly bringing up Amelia—by first name, as it happened. He’d played it off and I let it go, but now that detail suddenly flies to the forefront of my mind.
“Well?” she prods.
“Eh, yeah. He’d told me I seemed improved, that he figured you had a lot to do with it and would I agree that you were a good therapist. Or something to that effect. Of course, I said you were the very best. And then I mentioned that even though I wasn’t in therapy anymore, we were still in touch. Then he had the nerve to say our connection must have been all in my head since you never took my calls. Turns out he doesn’t know shite.”
“He must have suspected something then,” she muses softly. “Maybe Felicity had told him I had a client who left me messages. And then you confirmed it by telling him about your calls to me.” She’s in her own head, seemingly unaware that I’m here. “That must be why he was so provocative that time, questioning my judgment and doubting my ability to help her.”
She’s thinking out loud. And these thoughts strike me as pretty fucking odd ones to have because they suggest something I never thought to question before.
“Wait a second,” I say, “do you know Conor?”
Her eyes dart to meet mine, then fall away again. Seems like a yes to me. There’s something I’m not getting in why she’d be connected to Conor.
“So, you know Felicity
because she was your client. And you know Conor because, why?”
After a silent moment, she hangs her head, covering her face with her hands. She’s not crying, but she’s clearly distraught.
“And he knows you,” I continue. Now, I’m the one thinking out loud, piecing things together for myself since she won’t help. “That’s why he called you Amelia and not Ms. Patterson.” I let that sink in.
Not that it sinks deep enough to make any fucking sense. All it does is leave me more confused.
She drops her hands from her face but doesn’t look at me. “Yes, I know him,” she says.
“How’d that come about?”
“He came to me to talk about Felicity’s . . . well-being. He was concerned for her.”
I relax a degree. This sounds plausible. Sounds like Mr. Perfect wanting to insert himself, to try to control things as he so often does. “So, that was it? The one time only?”
“No.”
“No,” I repeat, mocking her short reply. It’s an arsehole move, but it gets her to keep talking, which is what I need at this point. I’m ready to stop dancing around this whole thing already.
“Felicity and I only had one official therapy session,” she says. “Then she and I got to be friends. I saw her outside of the office. I had dinner with her and Conor once.”
“Okay, I’m going to ignore, for the time being, the fact that you said we couldn’t be friends outside of therapy, but yet you somehow could with her. But only because I want to know what turned your friendship with her into this weird secret thing. I mean, Conor didn’t even tell me he knows you.” Not then and not today when I talked to him, I think to myself. I’ve decided I’d better not tell her about my conversation with him earlier today. That doesn’t stop me wanting an answer from her, though. “What’s the point of hiding all that?”
She turns to me. “Don’t you see? When she decided she didn’t need therapy, I let her think we were only friends, but that wasn’t the whole truth. I was still treating her like a client. I was still pulling information from her and guiding her to analyze her feelings and decisions. But it was only because I wanted to help her, to be sure she would be okay.”
Problematic Love (Rogue Series Book 8) Page 10