I take a bite of blueberry and banana as the door opens.
Lo and behold, it appears there really is a God.
I try my best not to choke and draw attention to myself as Liam himself walks into the restaurant still wearing his aviators. He doesn’t spot me and walks right up to the waitress who openly flirts with him. Because we’re so close to the entrance, I hear him tell her he’s meeting somebody.
My heart does a somersault in my chest before picking up and hammering against my ribs in overtime.
The classless tart leads him to a table near the back and toward the L. I hope she doesn’t take him too far, and I’m in luck. If I turn my head to the left, he’s still in my line of sight. He’s escorted to a table near the back and sits down across from a skinny blonde.
“He’s on a date!” My screech might clear out the restaurant and I slouch in my chair to avoid further attention.
“Who? What are you talking about?” I don’t respond and continue to stare, watching his every move. “Flynn, move your fucking hand, you’re hurting me.”
I snap out of it and look down. Sure enough, I gripped onto Dani’s arm when my eye candy walked in.
“Sorry. Liam’s here.”
“Yeah, we kinda figured.”
I hiss a string of curse words as I watch Liam pull off his sunglasses and take her in. The people sitting around my table turn and stare at me, but I ignore them. I don’t owe them an explanation, but Liam sure as shit owes me one.
“Flynn, come on. Who cares if he’s seeing someone else? Since when do you want anything to do with exclusivity? It’s not like you can date him anyway. Move on,” Cara urges, her tone unusually gentle. I raise a brow as I glance at her, and she shrugs before biting into her toast.
“He is cute though. I mean, it’s no wonder you’re so into him. If I were single I’d be all over him too.” Dani winks at me and I’m tempted to throw the remains of my drink in her pretty face.
“I’m going over there.” They try to stop me, pulling at my arm and calling me crazy. I brush them off and stand, smoothing out the imaginary wrinkles on my leather skirt.
My therapist looks casual and hot as fuck in a black tee and dark jeans. His hair is unruly, with pieces flopping down into his eye, perfecting the bedhead look.
As I approach the table, I assess his date. I can’t see much of her aside from the back of her. She’s wearing somewhat of a boho-style sundress. Her posture is picture perfect, a contrast to her hippie-like attire. Her hair is in a loose braid down her back and if this thing turns ugly, at least it’ll be easy to grab onto and pull. Hard.
“Liam, it’s funny running into you here.” I rest my hand on the table and leave my back toward the blonde.
“Flynn, oh—” He clears his throat and looks between me and his date. “Yes, this is a surprise.” He clears his throat again and if he does it one more time I’ll pour water down his gullet myself.
“Liam, who is this child?” the woman asks, to which I plaster on a sugary sweet grin and spin toward her.
“I’m Flynn, his—”
“Patient. She’s a new patient of mine. Flynn, this is Miranda, my—”
“Wife.”
“Ex-wife. You do remember signing the papers, don’t you? Or did your headache medicine make things a little too fuzzy for you?”
Her light blue eyes darken and narrow into murderous slits. “Interesting, Liam, I didn’t know you allowed patients to call you by your first name.”
“It makes them feel more comfortable and connected to me. More like a person and less like a doctor.” He rubs at his forehead before turning his back to address me. “I’m sorry, Flynn, but was there something you needed or can you wait for our next session?”
“I just thought I’d say hi since I saw you come in.”
He nods. “Well, then, if you’ll excuse us. I’ll see you next week.”
With that, I’m dismissed and feeling like an idiot.
So that’s his wife. I guess that answers the whole wife-and-kids question I had. Or at least half of it. She may be gorgeous, but she’s a total bitch.
Hmm…I guess he has a type.
Nine
Liam
With the subtlety of a bulldozer, I stare at Flynn’s tight ass as she walks back to her friends. Even from what little I’ve learned about her during our time together, I’d say this run in was not a coincidence. Unfortunately, my ex-wife notices how hard I’m checking out my twenty-one year old patient.
“Liam Whitmore, cradle robber? Who would’ve thought?” Miranda’s sneer speaks volumes and I need to shut her down before she does anything stupid.
“Miranda, she’s my patient and I worry about her.” I think I have double the amount of caring bones in my body to make up for the ones my ex lacks.
“It seems like you’re worrying about how your dick will fit in her ass.” I’m grateful she can’t see my jeans tighten under the table. Now all I can think about is shoving my cock in all of Flynn’s perfect, tight little holes.
“Fake jealousy isn’t a good look on you. Maybe you should’ve cared a little more while we were together instead of shacking up with your tennis instructor.” My exasperation is spilling over and it’s taking all of my energy not to storm out of here. “Can you please just get to the point of why you asked me to meet you?”
“I need more money.”
“I gave you more money last week.”
“That was for my car.” She lifts her perfect, Botox-filled chin and I roll my eyes.
“Your car is paid off. I would know.”
“It needed work done.”
“Then what do you need money for now?” She purses her lips and it’s obvious she doesn’t want to answer me.
“The girls are planning a trip to Cabo.”
“Ha!” My outburst draws the attention of nearby tables. I’m sure Flynn couldn’t hear me from the front of the restaurant, but I still catch her gaze with mine. She doesn’t even care that I catch her staring. She just raises a brow and keeps looking.
“How about you get a job and pay for own way? I’m already giving you alimony.” And once the court deems she’s not even attempting to become self-sufficient, her alimony will be cut off.
“Fine,” she shrugs. “I’ll just sue you.”
“For what?” This woman is insane.
“Wrongful death.” Nausea kicks me in the stomach and if I looked in a mirror right now I’d probably look like Casper.
“Are you fucking kidding me? I lost her too. Don’t you dare hold that over my head.” My voice raises and I stand, unable to sit across from this monster a minute longer. I toss money on the table and take a step away, but she grabs my arm. I don’t even look down at her as she speaks.
“I’ll give you one week to get me the money. Don’t test me, Liam.” Cool as a sociopathic cucumber, she takes a sip of water and dismisses me without another glance.
I bolt out of the restaurant and walk down the street to my building. I’m pissed off and need to take my anger out on something—or someone.
In a battle of self-restraint, I lose this time. I pull up Flynn’s contact information and send her a text. It’s extra sickening since I stole the number off her patient intake form. I try not to think about that too much.
After a solid ten minutes of should I or shouldn’t I? I throw sanity out my twelve-story window and send the message.
Liam: Come to my apartment. 10 minutes.
I don’t want Miranda seeing her leave and heading to my place. Not that my ex-wife has ever been here, but she’s psychotic enough to find me.
After several agonizing minutes and four fingers of scotch, the thud of knuckles against my door has me sighing in relief and my dick already hardening in my pants. I open the door and pull her into my place before she can say anything snarky. The force almost knocks her on her ass, but I catch her. She smells like champagne and her exotic, feminine perfume. It makes me want to fuck her right up against the door
so all my neighbors can hear.
“Why am I here, Dr. Whitmore? Is this a home session? Since I’m just a patient and all.” Her tone is jilted and I want to stick my dick in her smart, sarcastic mouth.
“I couldn’t very well tell my ex-wife that I plan to fuck you until you don’t know which way is up.” And it’s true. Fuck the rules. Fuck my morals. They weren’t working for either of us anyway. “Here’s the deal: when we fuck, it’s just sex. You are not ‘Flynn, my patient’ and I am not your doctor. In therapy, we pretend like none of this happens, but you need to start taking your sessions seriously. Do we have a deal?”
She nods slowly, but I can read how eager she is. Her thighs are all but cemented together as she rubs them against herself. She’s doe-eyed, her brown orbs wide and curious. She bites her lip and I’m a goner. I want to kiss her, but if I do so now she’ll end up with bruises on her spine because I’ll take her right here on my hardwood floors.
Walking to my couch, she places her jacket and purse over the back. When she bends over to unbuckle the strap of her heels, I stop her.
“Leave them on.” The words are a growl erupting between my lips and she stands tall with a proud smirk.
Like a dutiful fuck, she follows me into my bedroom and stands before me while I sit, legs spread on the edge of my bed. “Strip.”
I swear I hear her purr.
Flynn doesn’t mess around. She doesn’t tiptoe around the goods, no. Instead, like a hungry predator, she goes right for the throat.
Her hips sway side to side as if music is playing, even though my apartment is silent aside from our labored, excited breathing. She grips the straps of her black tank top between her fingers and peels the shirt up and over her head, tugging it from where it was tucked into her skirt.
Of course she’s not wearing a fucking bra.
Her tits are perky and they call to me. They’re begging for my attention—the tannish-pink peaks beckoning me to lavish them with attention. Her piercings catch the stream of city lights pouring in the window and reflect it, bringing even more attention to her perfect chest.
Spinning around slowly, she gives me a cheeky over-the-shoulder look that almost has me coming in my pants. Ass still facing me, she pushes her leather skirt over her hips, bending low and giving me a nice view of how little her thong conceals. It sure as shit doesn’t hide how fucking drenched she is.
Fuck, this girl is a force to be reckoned with.
And God, do I want to partake in the reckoning.
Her skirt joins her shirt on the floor and my patience has worn thin. I stand and grab her hip, ripping the flimsy fabric from her body and tossing the shredded lace on the floor.
I kiss her like a dying man’s last wish and my fingers find her soaked center. I push two fingers into her core with ease and her sharp intake of breath is music to my ears. I work her over, pumping my fingers into her drenched sex until I’m all but holding her up; until her legs shake and her muscles are tense; until she’s moments away from exploding all over my hand.
And then I stop.
Her groan is fiery, full of anger and frustration. Good.
“Liam.” Flynn isn’t a girl who begs easily, but I like to push her past her limits. “Please.” Her word is all grit and I’ve never found a word so satisfying.
“On the bed. Ass up.” She scrambles onto the mattress like a greedy slut eager to please. She’s the type of girl who wears sex appeal like a comfy, go-to t-shirt and has never had to beg for it in her life.
But she’ll beg for me.
I join her on the bed, burying my face into her sweet, dripping pussy until I’m wearing her like she’s my pie in a pie eating contest. Within moments, her body is shaking and she’s coming all over my face. She tastes so fucking sweet, a stark contrast to her devil may care attitude.
The minute her body sags with relief, I plow into her. I’m pounding her cunt, releasing all my anger into her tight little hole. I’m relentless and she screams out, not bothering to shield her cries with my pillow. No, my Flynn wants people to hear her.
No. She’s not my Flynn. She’s just Flynn. Nothing more, especially not when my cock is inside of her. And if I’m being honest, I want to keep fucking her, consequences be damned.
I lick my thumb and push it into her ass. Her moans grow louder and she thrusts up to meet me. She wants more and I can’t wait to fuck her there. But for now, my one finger will have to suffice. She comes again, squeezing and milking my cock until I explode right after her. God, she’s going to be the death of me.
I pull out of her and lie back on the bed, running a hand through my sweat-soaked hair. The moment the orgasm haze fades, my mind is filled with dread and…regret.
What have I done? And why do I want to keep doing it?
Ten
Flynn
The temperature in the room changes the minutes Liam comes. The space turns frosty. Regret rolls off of him in waves, and to be quite honest, I’m already fed up with this game. He acts less mature than the guys my age. He either needs to own up to what he wants or keep it in his expensive ass pants.
“I’ll see myself out.”
I get it, I do. He’s my fucking therapist. This isn’t what I would call an ideal situation. I know he has a lot to lose here. Still, that doesn’t give him an excuse to act like a pathetic little fuckboy. Climbing off the bed, I hastily pull my discarded clothes over my body. Before I reach the door, he stops me.
“Flynn, wait.”
“What’s the point? You’re spiraling and it’s cool. But don’t come to me next time you’re pissed at your ex and want a fuck. If I’m too old to play these games, you sure as shit are.”
“Flynn.” The commanding timbre of his voice has me pausing. “Will you just wait one fucking minute? Yes, I’m freaking out a little, but I have every goddamn right to. I didn’t say I regret it or want you to leave. I didn’t say I want to stop.”
For the first time in twenty-one years, I feel a fluttering of sorts in my belly. I smile but wipe it away as quick as it comes.
“So, what do we do?” I raise an eyebrow as I assess him in all his naked goodness.
“No one can know. Not even your friends. You need to tell them I was pissed at you for showing up and I sent you away. I’m serious, Flynn. My job, my license is on the line here.”
With a solemn nod, I agree, but then a thought takes hold. A secret relationship with my therapist? Sign me the fuck up. If anyone can pull off sneaking around, it’s me. Plus, it keeps things hot as hell.
“I’m in, but what are the terms here? I know we’re just fucking, but exclusively or can I fuck other people?” He growls and a red-hot look of anger transforms his face. Through clenched teeth, he makes his stance known loud and clear.
“If anyone else touches you, I’ll rip off their fucking hand.”
“But we’re just having sex, right? No commitment?” My swallow is loud and my heart thumps against my chest. For the first time ever, though it confuses the fuck out of me, I want the commitment. I can’t imagine him with anyone else either and I don’t want to.
His hazel eyes implore my brown ones, staring deep into the depths of my soul. I shut down, not allowing him to see into my thoughts despite the fact that he is my therapist.
“I shouldn’t condone this.” He steps off the bed toward me as his gaze rakes over me. He’s in my space now, eyes still devouring me. Leaning down, he sucks on my neck, and for a man so eager to hide our relationship, he sure is sucking my neck hard enough to leave a mark.
I assume he means because he’s my doctor, but I ask anyway. “And why’s that?” My words are a breathy moan slipping between my lips.
“Because it’s destructive behavior. It’s a backslide for you, slipping into your bad habits.” He pushes the silk fabric of my tank top up over my head once more before sitting back down on the bed. At this height, his face sits right in front of my chest.
I don’t know how I can backslide on something I neve
r quit, but I don’t care enough right now to push the issue. Fuck now, questions later…or preferably, never.
My eyes flutter closed as his tongue pokes out, teasing my nipples with light flicks. He plays with the bars through my pink peaks and I moan at the overwhelming pleasure. He takes his focus away, enough to push my skirt back down my hips. I never had a chance to zip it back up, anyway.
I allow him to lead my back onto the center of the bed where he proceeds to fuck me long and hard.
By the time he’s done with me, the stench of sex radiates off of me and I look as thoroughly fucked as I was. Thank God I drove here separate or my friends would sure as shit know what went down.
With a final chaste kiss that feels all too coupley, I’m out the door. I walk down the street to where I left my car. I smooth my hair as I go, knowing it’s a sex-made rat’s nest.
As I reach my driver’s side, a hard laugh draws my gaze up. Liam’s ex—Martha, Melissa, whatever the fuck her name is—glares at me with devilish eyes full of amusement.
She may look like a bohemian angel, but the gleam in her eye tells me she’s anything but angelic.
“Can I help you?” Her shit-eating grin is pissing me off and her unwavering stare is plain rude. If she’s as old as Liam, then she should know better. She leans against the side of my Saab and I round the front of my car, forcing her to step away from both the vehicle and me.
“I used to get that same look; the ‘just-fucked-by-Liam-Whitmore’ glow. You wear it well, but I wonder what the American Medical Association would think?” She doesn’t know who she’s dealing with. I don’t let skinny bitches like her scare me.
“Yes, because everyone will believe a scheming, scorned ex-wife out for revenge. And do you wanna know why else your half-baked plan sucks? If you take away his job, you’ll lose his money. You have a great day.” With that, I leave her speechless on the sidewalk.
I wanted to head right to Dani and Cara’s place, but I can’t tell them about Liam anyway and they’d smell sex on me a mile away. I park my expensive car in front of my parents’ huge home and I realize just how privileged I am. Yet, in ways, the thought angers me.
Reckless (A Carolina Coastal Novel Book 3) Page 5