by Selena Kitt
“She was my nanny.” Rose sighed, giving in. “From the time I was a baby until… oh, I guess I was twelve or thirteen.”
Matt nodded thoughtfully. “Do you remember this dream?”
“No.” That much was true, although she could guess what it had been about.
“Was she a good nanny?”
Rose smiled thinly. “She was my best friend.”
“What happened to her?”
“Oh I don’t know. I guess she quit.” Why she couldn’t tell him the whole truth, she didn’t know. What did it have to do with anything? But she couldn’t, so she lied. “Went off to college or got a boyfriend or something.”
“Mm hmm.”
“Oh don’t give me that therapist ‘mmm-hmm’ crap,” she snapped, hating the knowing look in his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure either. Let’s call it a hunch.”
“So much for psychiatry being a science,” she spat, crossing her arms and looking pointedly at the diplomas on his wall.
“It’s a soft science.” He was trying to hide a smile. “That means we fly by the seat of our pants a lot. So let’s see where this goes. Humor me.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “To humor you.”
“So was this nanny like a second mother to you?”
“More like a big sister,” she corrected. “She was only twenty-something when my parents hired her.”
“And that was her job for ten years?” Matt asked, surprised. “She was exclusively your nanny?”
“My father pays well,” she said, but that wasn’t enough for him. He knew. He knew something. And what was the harm in telling him anyway? It had been a long, long time ago. “Plus there were… fringe benefits.”
“Oh?”
She sighed and gave in fully. “He was fucking her, okay?”
“So…what wasn’t her fault?”
Rose looked out the window, feeling the breeze, wishing she was on the beach, long sleeves and all. “It was my fault my mother found out.” Glancing at Matt, she saw he was listening. He had that leaned-in posture to encourage her to go on. What the hell? He wanted a story—she’d tell him a story. “I had a huge crush on Sting at the time and my new Teen Beat had arrived. You know Teen Beat?”
“Vaguely familiar.” He smiled.
“It had this giant, sexy poster of him in it and I was excited to show her. I ran through the kitchen calling for Cathy, and ran into my mother, drinking a manhattan and reading a book. She asked me what I was so excited about…but I didn’t stop. I wanted to tell Cathy. My mother yelled after me that Cathy wasn’t feeling well, that I shouldn’t bother her. But I ran up to her room anyway.”
“And?”
“The door was locked.” Rose paused, remembering. The memory alone made her palms sweat and her limbs tingle. “I didn’t knock. I just tried the door. It was locked. Then I tried it again…and it opened.”
Matt looked confused. “Someone unlocked it?”
“No. I think someone had slammed that door really hard at some point and the lock didn’t always close all the way,” she explained. “Anyway, the door opened. And guess what I found?”
“I can imagine.” Matt made a face. “He was having sex with the nanny with your mother was right downstairs?”
“It was a big house.” She shrugged, trying to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t a big mystery or anything. Matt wanted to hear her tale of woe? Fine. “And here comes my mother, right behind me, scolding me for bothering Cathy... and there’s Cathy on her knees with my father’s—”
Matt interrupted her tirade. “So what did your mother do?”
That took the wind out of her sails and Rose collapsed into her chair, feeling incredibly small. “She fired Cathy. And she divorced my father. In that order.”
“I’m so sorry, Rosie.” Matt’s voice was soft, gentle, as if his words alone might comfort her. It was the first time he’d used her nickname. “You lost your best friend and your parents split up and your whole world turned upside down—just at a time when you were coming to sexual maturity.”
“I guess so.” She avoided his gaze, watching a dog run down the beach after a stick someone had thrown. “I haven’t thought about She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named in years.”
“Do you miss her?”
“I did, at first,” she admitted, remembering. The house had felt so empty after Cathy left, she could barely stand it. She’d stayed in her room a lot after that, listening to her Walkman. “But I didn’t understand any of it. I felt betrayed by Cathy, by my father. And—” Rose snorted at the realization. “My poor mother. I blamed her for firing Cathy and breaking up the family.”
“You were betrayed,” Matt assured her. “And I can understand your feelings of anger at your mother. And your confusion.”
She looked at him, speculative. She hadn’t expected that response. “Cathy told me she loved my father. And I could understand that. But she also told me…she said that men weren’t worth it. That all they could ever offer you was pain. ‘It might feel good for a while, Rosie, but in the end, it always ends up like this.’”
The silence was deafening, stretching between them, like a pent-up breath. She felt tears stinging her eyes at the memory, could see Cathy’s young face, practically snarling, the words choked out as if she was drowning in them.
“She said… ‘No man is worth the pleasure he promises. I wish I’d known that ten years ago.’” Her father had caused this, Rose understood. It wasn’t Cathy’s fault, not really. It was his fault. He had betrayed her mother, betrayed their marriage, and had hurt them all. Cathy’s pain had been too hard for her twelve-year-old self to bear. “‘Don’t ever give yourself to a man the way I did, Rosie. Don’t do it. Don’t ever do it. Promise me.’”
Oh Cathy, I’m so sorry. She wondered where she was now, that poor woman. Ten years of her life wasted on a man who didn’t really care about anyone but himself.
“And then what happened?” Matt asked gently.
“I promised,” Rose admitted, meeting his eyes.
“Are you still keeping that promise?”
“I think I am,” she whispered softly. The realization left her breathless and she searched for some escape, looking at the clock on his desk. “Our time’s up, Matt.”
“So it is.” It had been up ten minutes ago, but he hadn’t said anything, and now she knew why. He tented his fingers on the desk, looking at her thoughtfully. “Rose, I’d like to talk to you about something… unconventional.”
She laughed. “This whole place is unconventional.”
“Have you ever heard of a sexual surrogate?” he asked. Rose shook her head as he continued. “We have a few on staff. Basically, it’s someone who engages in intimate contact with a client—always with a therapeutic goal in mind of course.”
She blinked at him. “Intimate contact…you mean…sex?”
“It can include sexual intercourse, yes,” he confirmed. “I think you might benefit from some one on one contact. I don’t think we’re going to have a breakthrough with masturbation alone. You need to learn to trust another person first.”
“But…” Rose frowned, trying to absorb just what he was proposing. Therapeutic sex? How did that work, exactly? And…did she really want to know? “But I don’t want to have sex with a stranger.”
“Well, you still have two weeks left here at the facility,” he explained. “That would give you some time to get to know each other, to establish trust…”
“No.” Rose shook her head. “Matt, no. It won’t work and you know it.”
“Why?”
She loved how he so often asked her to explain herself. So few people in her life had ever given her that opportunity. “I was with Sam for two years and I still couldn’t trust him enough. Why do you think a few weeks with a stranger is really going to make a difference?”
Matt sat thoughtfully for a moment�
��his turn to look out the window. Then he sighed and turned to face her. “You’ve made such good progress, Rose. I really want to see you have a breakthrough.”
“Do you?” She leaned onto his desk, searching his eyes, coming to another realization that startled her. It probably should have been obvious, but somehow the thought, the idea—the feeling—had snuck up on her.
“Yes.”
She reached across the desk and slid her hand into his. No wedding rings, no attachments, no excuses. She took a deep breath and said, “Then do it yourself.”
“…What?” His eyes widened, but he didn’t reject her. In fact, his hand enveloped hers and she felt like the heat of their skin together could have burned a hole through the desk.
“I want you,” she whispered, watching his face, gauging his reaction—and seeing exactly what she hoped for flicker in his eyes. There was more than a spark between them. “If I’m going to do this, I want you to be my sexual surrogate.”
“Rose…” He turned her hand over, palm up, and traced the lines there. “I’m not sure that’s ethical. Or wise.”
“But it’s right,” she insisted. “And I think you know it.”
He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her palm, eyes closed. “Maybe.” Then he let her go.
Rose sat back, breathless. “So that’s not a no?”
“It’s a maybe.” God, she loved the man’s smile. “Let me run it by legal. Get some clearance so I don’t lose my job in the process.”
In her haste, she hadn’t even considered that. “I don’t want to get you into trouble.”
“With you, I think I’m already in trouble.” He grinned. “Besides, I think your instincts may be right on.”
She stood, picking up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. “They usually are.”
“I’ll have an answer for you tomorrow after group,” he called as she shut the door behind her.
Leaning against it, she took deep gulps of air, her hands shaking, her belly trembling with excitement—and fear.
What, exactly, had she just signed up for?
* * * *
Rose was tired of waiting.
The moment Matt told her that they’d received the green light for him to be her sexual surrogate, it was like she couldn’t wait. She felt like a racehorse at the starting gate, chomping at the bit. Matt, on the other hand, was the opposite. He was taking things so slowly she thought he might actually be part snail.
The first night they’d done nothing but hang around one of the conference rooms talking about communication and relationships and birth control (she had been on the pill since she was a teenager). There wasn’t even a bed in there! She knew Matt wanted her to understand that the sexual surrogate relationship was temporary, that after the two weeks was up, their relationship would have to end. But she knew that. She was prepared for it. She told him so.
She thought, with that out of the way, things would really start rolling—and the fact that they met in a different room this time, this one with a big queen size bed, helped bolster that idea—but even their second meeting had involved very little touching. They’d talked a lot more and Matt had given her a slow massage, which felt great, but none of her clothes had come off.
At this rate, she reasoned, they wouldn’t get to intercourse and orgasms until Christmas! The third and fourth night had been a little better, she reasoned. At least it involved more touching—and more nudity. He’d brought in a massage table and some scented oils and oh god, his hands on her made her feel as if her whole body was on fire. But the third night they didn’t even kiss!
On the fourth, though—last night—things had become much, much more intimate. First, he had stripped her naked, and had even allowed her to take off his shirt. Then he’d given her the all-over relaxing body massage (although it was funny how non-relaxing it could be, since all she could think about was sex!) and had made a suggestion. “I want to shave your pussy.”
Of course, she’d agreed. And although Matt had touched her most intimate parts before, this had been very different. He had lovingly—and carefully!—trimmed and shaved her until she was completely smooth. He had asked if she wanted a bit of hair left up top—“A landing strip? A triangle? Maybe a heart?”—but she had laughed and said, “Shave it all off!” so he had.
But the thing that really thrilled her was that—finally!—he had kissed her. There hadn’t been any discussion or questions, he had just leaned in and captured her mouth with his like he couldn’t help himself. He had made some joke and she had laughed, delighted, and he had kissed her, just like that. It had taken her breath away, giving her tingles.
And then it had been over. He was helping her get dressed, talking about their next meeting, and she had gone back to her room to toss and turn on the sheets, looking for a cool place and finding nothing but heat.
“Don’t forget your homework,” Matt had told her before they parted and in the darkness ,Rose had touched herself, remembering the press of his lips, the way he looked at her completely shaved pussy, his eyes dark with lust. He wanted her as much as she wanted him, she knew it was true, whatever they were calling this strange little therapeutic dance.
“Sexual surrogate, my ass,” Rose muttered, her fingers soaked with her own juices, her pussy throbbing for release. But there was none. Instead, sleep finally found her and she didn’t even have the benefit of remembering any dreams about Matt.
Now, finally, she was tired of waiting. She couldn’t stand it anymore. She knew they were supposed to stay focused on her pleasure, her communication with him, telling him what she liked, what she didn’t—but her longing for him went far beyond the physical. She didn’t even understand it herself.
“Rose?” Matt gasped when he opened the door. “How did you get in here?”
She didn’t answer, didn’t tell him that Kennedy—who had done a lot of breaking and entering when he wasn’t prostituting himself on the streets—had used his powers for good this time, helping Rose with her nefarious plan. Instead she stayed still, naked in the middle of the bed, her eyes closed, concentrating on keeping her breath slow and even.
“Rose?” He put down his baggage, she could hear it clatter and thud on the floor. She knew he was probably carrying the portable massage table he had brought the other night and a bag she knew was full of scented oils. She felt more than heard him approach, and she knew exactly how she looked, because there was a mirror on the ceiling and she had seen herself, long blonde hair spread out like a golden field of wheat beneath her shoulders, lips red and swollen and aching to be kissed, the pink nubs of her nipples hard with excitement.
“Oh god,” he whispered and she felt his weight shifting the bed, his knee pushing down on the mattress. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. His hand moved through her hair, his fingers trailing over her cheek. She felt the heat of his breath on her shoulder, felt the press of his lips against her collarbone, her throat. A soft moan caught in her throat, her eyelids fluttering, her stomach tight with anticipation. Please, oh Matt, please, please…
And then he was kissing her, his mouth soft and open, exploring hers. This time she did moan, meeting his growing urgency, her limbs tingling with feeling as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him fully onto the bed. She gasped when he pressed the full weight of his clothed body against hers, feeling the bite of his belt buckle against her navel. Thank god, Matt had given up his white coats for these meetings, coming in jeans and a button-down shirt.
“Oh Matt, please,” she whispered, giving voice to her pleas. “I want you so much. I can’t stand it. Please, please, please…” She punctuated each please with a kiss along his throat, her hands already working the buttons of his shirt.
“How did you get in here?” he asked again as she peeled off his shirt, delighting in the sight and feel of his bare skin.
“Magic,” she whispered, giggling, working on his belt—and he let her. He let he
r! Not only that, he helped, unzipping his jeans and sliding them down his slim hips. The feel of his cock against her hip—already so hard for her—was all the reassurance she needed. “I want you, Matt. Every bit of you.”
He groaned when her hand reached into the flap of his boxers to caress his growing length, dropping his forehead and resting it against her shoulder, letting her touch him. She was already so wet, so ready. She’d skipped dinner and had been here for hours, waiting, anticipating his arrival.
“I want your hands, your mouth, your cock.” She slipped her tongue along the shell of his ear, feeling him shiver.
Matt cleared his throat, looking at her. “Well, I guess the communication lesson was effective.”
“Yes,” she agreed, slipping her hand lower, cupping his balls. “I know exactly what I want.”
“Then tell me.” His eyes were bright, his mouth curled into a soft smile.
She hesitated just a moment before asking for her favorite thing, the only thing that had brought her anywhere near a climax before.
“Your mouth.” She pressed her fingers to his lips. “Lick me.”
He obliged, spending far too long kissing and licking her nipples on the way down until she was writhing and whimpering and truly begging him to lick her pussy. Matt settled himself between her thighs, admiring his handiwork—he hadn’t been kidding about the sensation increase, all day she’d felt exposed, her pussy swollen and wet in her panties—before beginning his tonguing exploration.
“How are you feeling?” he asked her, kissing her shaved mound, the soft press of his lips making her shiver.
“Scared,” she whispered, her thighs tense, her belly quivering. “Excited. I’m afraid it won’t happen. I’m afraid it will.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he murmured, kissing all around her cleft. “Just let yourself feel the pleasure of this moment.” He touched her clit with his finger, nudging it back and forth. “And this one…” And then he was kissing her clit, just his lips brushing it. “And this one…”
“One moment at a time.” His tongue, oh god, his sweet tongue, flicking at her sensitive clit. Rose whimpered, her hips shifting to give him better access. “Orgasms don’t matter,” he told her in between soft, slow licks.