by Lynn Cooper
Dominic looks like he just swallowed one of Piper’s dog turds. “You wouldn’t. I—I mean, please don’t do that, Fawn.”
“You’ll drop to your knees, lick my stilettos and beg before I even consider staying. I should have this place shut down.”
He hands her the whip and says, “I know I messed up. I took things too far. Scenes should always be consensual. I shouldn’t have punished Zuri for personal reasons.”
“You’re damn right you screwed up. Lucky for you and her, I have eyes and ears all over this place. Now untie the dog walker, and take her place on the bench.”
I release the grip on my tie, ball it up and stuff it into my pants pocket. As much as I’d like to stick around and watch Fawn paint welts across Dominic’s back, I need to get out of here. If she hadn’t shown up the second she did, I was going to clean his clock myself. I wanted to kill him for what he was doing to Zuri. I haven’t felt so murderous since that horrible day fifteen years ago in my father’s garage.
Chapter Five
Zuri Patton
MY BUTTOCKS AND THE backs of my thighs are still a teensy bit tender this morning but nothing compared to what they would have been if a badass lady named Fawn hadn’t come to my rescue. During the three months I’ve been a dog walker for Dominic, last night was the first time I had set foot inside his dark dungeon.
I’m not kinky in the least and have not even been remotely curious about that lifestyle. I agreed to being publicly punished because Dominic said it was the only way I could keep my job. I just recently started working for myself and have a grand total of two clients so far. Given my disagreement with Myrna, I figured I couldn’t afford to anger Dominic. So, I let him take his whip to me.
Checking my watch, I curse silently and step on the gas. I don’t want to be late for my first session with Dr. Midian. I’m not looking forward to seeing him again even though I enjoy looking at him immensely. I just figure the sooner I start treatment, the sooner I can stop.
When I walk through the front door of his waiting room, I’m greeted by a lovely, older lady with kind, brown eyes. She’s wearing a lavender cardigan, a pretty, silk scarf around her neck and a plaid, wool skirt so long the hem grazes the tops of her sensible shoes. She is the epitome of a sweet grandmotherly type.
Her movements are so fluid, she seems to float out from behind her circular desk. I wonder if this woman was a ballerina in her younger years. When she speaks to me, her voice is soft and soothing. “Good morning, Miss Patton. I’m Helen Ainsley.”
She probably recognizes me from the mugshot sent over by the clerk of court. According to Lawyer Baron, they set up this initial appointment. Thankfully, I can make all of the others at times more conducive to my schedule.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, removing my blue, knitted gloves to shake her hand. Her grip is firm but friendly.
“Can I get you a cup of coffee or hot chocolate?”
A warm beverage is perfect for the winter weather we are having. It’s not just bone-chilling cold outside but downright raw. However, I’m far too full from the double order of French toast sticks and apple juice I got at the Burger King drive-thru to ingest another drop of anything.
“No thank you, ma’am,” I say, looking around at all the empty chairs.
As if reading my mind, she smiles and says, “Each new patient gets an extended block of time for their first visit. Since Dr. Midian doesn’t like to leave anyone waiting, I scheduled the other appointments around yours. You’ll have him all to yourself for as long as you need him.”
I don’t need him at all is what I want to say but refrain. Before I can come up with a proper reply, a door to the right side of her desk swings open. My therapist stands staring at me like I am a major inconvenience. Given his current demeanor, it’s easy to see why he leaves the welcoming duties to Helen. With his back rigid and his expression hard as stone, he silently ushers me into his office.
I’m surprised at how homey it is. Given his tailor-made suits, Italian loafers and expensive pen, I thought his office would be crammed full of fancy furniture, pricey paintings and decadently-designed area rugs. I wasn’t expecting calming, cream-colored walls, beautiful bookcases, bright-green houseplants and cozy, leather recliners.
Closing the door behind us, he says, “I may not be the therapist of your choice, but I am the best. If you’re willing to meet me in the middle, we’ll get you on the road to recovery in no time, Miss Patton.”
He takes a modest-looking office chair from behind his small, oak-finished desk and gestures toward one of the theatre seats. I check to make sure the belt of my vintage trench coat is secure before I sit down. I bought it at a yard sale this past summer. I couldn’t resist it because it reminded me of the one Humphrey Bogart wore in Casablanca. Despite the unhappy ending, I’ve always thought it was one of the most romantic movies ever to be made.
Realizing how my request for another shrink must have made Dr. Midian feel, I say, “It’s nothing personal; I just felt like we got off on the wrong foot at the hospital. I figured I might fare better with a different doctor. One I hadn’t called a stupid fucker.”
“Or one you hadn’t told to kiss your ass?”
“Yes.”
He grabs a notepad off the coffee table and pulls out his exquisite pen. He makes a notation then says, “It’s the start of a new day with a clean slate. Let’s move on and forget about everything that transpired before.”
“Everything?” I ask, unable to resist teasing him a little. “Even the way you seductively caressed the underside of my wrist before unbuckling the restraint?”
“I was merely measuring your pulse. The orderly on duty told me they had given you a light sedative upon your arrival. Sometimes bradycardia is a side-effect. I wanted to make sure your heartbeats were normal and not too slow.”
His response was quick and easy, but the tension in his jaw muscles tells me he is anything but calm.
I smile impishly. “I suppose we should also forget about your raging erection. Or were you using it to measure the rest of my vital signs?”
He returns my smile, but his onyx eyes are pure ice. “Perhaps this was a mistake. If you’ll give me a few moments to make a call, I can get you set up with Dr. Hendricks. He always has an opening for new patients.”
Suddenly, all the oxygen has vanished from the room, and my heart feels heavier than a lead anvil. I can’t understand the suffocating blanket of sadness that’s come over me at the idea of Dr. Midian severing our doctor-patient relationship. Sure, I wanted to push his buttons, to piss him off because I’m angry at having to be here. I mean, I have bills to pay. I should be working right now, helping Myrna or walking Dominic’s dog, not sitting here waiting to have my mind probed.
He’s already punched a button on his phone and is holding it to his ear when I say, “Wait!”
He cocks an eyebrow but doesn’t hang up.
I sound frantic to my own ears. “If this Dr. Hendricks always has an available appointment, he’s definitely a douche. Am I right? I—I mean, any therapist worth his salt would be booked solid.”
My observation makes him smile and disconnect the call. “You’re not wrong. Shall we try this again?”
“Yes, please.”
He nods and leans back in his chair. I’m fascinated by how his bulging thigh muscles stretch the fabric of his pants when he crosses his legs at the ankles. It’s the same position he assumed when he evaluated me at the hospital. I can’t help but wonder what sort of psychology lies behind his body language. But I’m not a shrink. It’s his job to analyze me, not the other way around.
Before speaking again, he reaches for the hot chocolate sitting on a small end table next to his chair. Dear old Helen must have left it there for him. I bet she dotes on him constantly, like he’s one of her grandchildren or something.
He shows no signs of self-consciousness when I stare at his mouth. Just like the rest of him, it’s a work of art. A blanket of warmth falls over m
y skin as I watch his sensual lips wrap around the edge of the gold-trimmed, porcelain cup. Forget any traditional methods of hypnosis. I don’t need the swinging of a pocket watch to put me under Dr. Midian’s spell. The bobbing of his Adam’s apple when he swallows is far more effective. I am utterly entranced. With the insignificant act of drinking, he has turned me into a malleable mound of clay to be molded into whatever he desires.
Sitting the cup down, he says, “Let’s begin today’s session with a basic word association. I’ll start us off, and you jump in with the first thing that comes to your mind. The important part here is not to overthink your response. Ready?”
“Yes.”
His eyes lock onto mine as he says, “Crying.”
“Sad.”
“Happy.”
“Smile.”
“Love.”
“Hate.”
“Car.”
“Wreck,” I say, trembling.
“Death.”
“Ritter.”
Dr. Midian pauses and makes a couple of notes before asking, “Who’s Ritter?”
“My fiancé.”
“You’re engaged to be married?”
I look down at my ring-less finger. “I—I was until a few months ago.”
“What happened?”
“Don’t you know?” I ask, scoffing. “You said you’re the best in your field, yet you can’t make a simple deduction from our little word association game.”
He glances at his notepad. “I’ve written down my thoughts, but it’s imperative you answer my questions. Open communication with me is the path to your healing.”
“Maybe I don’t want to take that path. Maybe I’m not in the mood to share my feelings.”
He rubs his hand across the full, dark beard adorning his handsome face. I wish he wouldn’t draw attention to it. From the moment we met at Doyle Pleasant, I’ve dreamed of how his facial hair would feel against my neck while he kissed me, against my breasts while he sucked my nipples, against my inner thighs while he ate my pussy.
“For now, I won’t push you on this particular topic, Zuri. We can talk about something else.”
“Like what?” I ask, reveling in the sound of my first name on his lips. I know he said it on purpose. I’m not a renowned psychologist, but I can recognize subtle manipulation. He’s dropping the formality to create an intimacy he thinks will make me talk.
“Like your body temperature,” he says.
“Excuse me?”
“Are you cold natured? You were trembling earlier, and you still have your coat on. Should I turn up the heat?” he asks, glancing at the thermostat on the far wall.
“No. I’m not cold at all. If anything, I’m too warm.”
He holds out his hand. “Take off your coat, and I’ll hang it up on the rack by the door.”
“You really don’t want me to do that.”
“Sure I do. I want you to be comfortable.”
Chapter Six
Quill Midian
WHEN SHE UNTIES THE belt cinched around the enticing curve of her waist, I drop my notepad and pen. They flutter to the hardwood floor as I rise to my feet. With my hands clenched by my sides, I ask, “What the hell is this? Another damn Myrna dare?”
She flutters her luxurious, black-as-velvet eyelashes. “I’m only doing what you told me to do,” she says, pulling her arms out of the sleeves and dropping the coat onto the recliner.
I curse beneath my breath. She’s wearing a double strand of pearls around her neck. No panties. No bra. Nothing.
“Cover yourself up,” I command, trying hard to tamp down my temper.
She shakes her pretty head, causing her long, brunette hair to cascade over her creamy shoulders in a shiny, silky curtain. “I think I’ll stay like this for a while.”
Rushing to lock my office door, I growl, “You’ll do what I say, or I’ll do it for you, Miss Patton.”
The last thing I need is for Helen to stick her head in the door and find my patient buck-naked. The poor dear would have a heart attack from the shock.
“You’re not the boss of me,” Zuri smirks.
It’s all I can do to keep my eyes trained on hers and away from the bounty of her breasts, the swell of her hips, the triangle thatch of hair between her thighs, her shapely calves and delicate ankles. Just by standing here in front of me, she taxes every ounce of self-control I possess.
“No, I’m not,” I concede. “But I do hold your freedom in my hands.”
“How so? Judge Warren said I wouldn’t go to jail as long as I kept my appointments with you. He didn’t mention anything about there being a dress code,” she says, planting her hands on her hips, drawing my attention downward. It’s a dangerous move for both of us.
“For future reference, Miss Patton, clothes are required. But more importantly than a dress code is an ethics code. You will behave in a proper and professional manner during our sessions. Is that understood?” I ask, picking up her coat and thrusting it toward her.
With her bare arm in mid-swing, her intention to slap me across the face is clear. My lightning-fast reflexes kick in, and I firmly grab her wrist, forcing her sweet ass down onto the theatre seat.
She looks at me with those wide, blue eyes, letting her thighs fall apart. A fire of forbidden lust licks its way up the length of my aching cock. I shouldn’t play this game with her. Greyson was right; treating Zuri is suicide. But right now I can’t think of a better way to die.
Dropping to one knee like a man ready to propose, I devour every curve and contour of her with my eyes. Alarm bells are ringing so loudly in my ears they are drowning out the violent pounding of my heart—a dead, useless organ this woman has no fucking right to revive.
While I’m waging an inner war, fighting an uphill battle and trying like hell not to surrender to the desire burning a hole through my crotch, she does the worst thing possible. She speaks to me in that soft, sensual voice that drives me wild. I’ve been hearing it in my dreams since the night we met at the hospital.
“Touch me, Quill.”
“I want to, Temptress. I truly do. But I can’t.”
“You can.”
“I won’t.”
“So this is a standoff of stubbornness and not rejection?” she asks.
I can hear her hope and hurt all tangled together in the same breath, and it’s ripping me apart inside. But I’ve got to stay strong. Giving into whatever madness this is will destroy both of us.
I purposely harden my tone. “Call it whatever you like. Just know it isn’t going to happen,” I say, running my fingertip slowly up and down the seam of her exposed sex. Neither of us acknowledge the lie I just told or the vow I broke within seconds of making it. I’m lost with no will to seek direction, and Zuri does absolutely nothing to stop me as I continue to intimately caress her.
I keep the motion smooth and easy except for the intermittent pauses I take to swirl small circles around her engorged clit. The tight, little bud has me mesmerized. Every sweep of my finger makes my temptress tremble and whimper. Her cries of pleasure are loud enough to make me damn thankful for soundproof walls. In my business, a patient’s privacy is paramount. It wouldn’t do to have their confidences and secrets escape the confines of this room. In this particular instance, my secrets are on the line, too.
A flash of lightning draws my eyes to the cold, hard rain rhythmically pelting against my office window. A strange sight for February. I have no idea when the storm came up, but it’s a perfect parallel for the one brewing between me and Zuri. I’ve never been a big fan of this type of precipitation. The night I was abruptly and permanently transformed from a warm-blooded, typical teenager into a cold-as-ice, hollowed-out sociopath, the rain was pouring from the sky like piss out of a boot.
The association has always been a negative one until now. In this moment, I welcome the liquid shield of privacy. It creates a clear but seemingly impenetrable barrier between us and the rest of the world. Even though I shouldn’t, I like hav
ing this woman all to myself. Here I can take care of her and keep her safe. The last time I felt responsible for someone was fifteen years ago. Since that time, I’ve never needed a real connection to anyone. But this woman makes me want to wrap her in my arms and protect her from any hurt the world has to offer. And believe me, it will shovel out as much as a person can take and then some.
Chapter Seven
Zuri Patton
THE TORMENT IN QUILL’S eyes clenches my heart. The way he’s looking at me is confusing. It’s as if he wants to eat me alive while at the same time needing to swaddle me in a blanket and gently cuddle me. No man has ever gazed into my face so intently before. Not even Ritter. I can’t believe my former fiancé has found his way front and center in my mind right now. He’s the last person I want to think about while super-sexy and sophisticated Dr. Midian is diddling my clitoris. Truth is, I wish I never had to remember Ritter at all. He left me in the cruelest way possible and, even after three months of my diligently trying to move on, the pain of his memory continues to stalk me like a deranged tormentor.
Enough! I silently scream, then remind myself that nothing exists except the present moment. The past is gone, and the future hasn’t happened yet. All I need to do is breathe and focus on the pleasurable sensations Quill is generating between my thighs.
My sapphire eyes lock onto his onyx ones. Both our gazes are ablaze with the carnal urges pulsing between us. I know what we are doing is wrong, but it feels so friggin’ right.
His desire-roughened voice tenderly washes over me like a satiny wave, making my knees go weak even though I’m sitting. “Goddamn it, Zuri. You’re the worst kind of temptation.”
“I am?” I ask, feeling suddenly shyly.
“Yeah. You’re the kind that makes a man forget himself and all the oaths he has taken,” he says, leaning forward far enough to press his lips to mine.