He nodded, liking that she’d understood him so quickly. “Exactly. And with this problem, I get why it’s important, but I wish I didn’t have to bother with it.”

  “That could be said about a lot of things though, right?”

  He raised an eyebrow in question. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, no one wants to have to deal with the problems that get in the way of our everyday lives, but yet it’s part of everyday life, right?”

  “True.”

  “You just have to think about it as another problem to solve. Because that’s what you like doing. You like finding the clues. Putting them together until you reach the answer, right?”

  “Yes,” he said with a small smile. She was getting him.

  “Look at this the same way. Don’t look at it as getting involved in something seedy, like politics. Look at it as a—” She stopped, stared at the ceiling as if she were hunting for the right word, then continued, “—as if a new vibrator was stimulating the labia rather than the clitoris, and you have to fix it.”

  He laughed so hard he had to grab her hips so she wouldn’t fall off him from the chuckling. “I would never make a vibrator that stimulated the slit, not the clit,” he said, being deliberately crass, and it was her turn to laugh. “But that’s good advice. Just treat it as yet another challenge in the business day.”

  “Exactly,” she said with a crisp nod, and it hit him. Like a blast of light blaring through the room at dawn.

  “You just gave me advice,” he said, kind of awestruck. “Like a shrink.” He quirked up his lips.

  “That’s what I do,” she said playfully.

  And it didn’t bother me. And I was able to talk to you.

  “Sometimes, I can’t help myself,” she added.

  “I liked it,” he said, and he wondered what it would have been like if he hadn’t met her at The Pierson. If he’d simply shown up for his appointment two weeks ago. He was quiet for a moment, drifting off to that notion.

  “Are you thinking about what it would be like if we were working together? In therapy?” she asked in a soft, quiet voice.

  “Are you a mind reader?”

  She smiled. “I am, actually. It was part of my coursework. I’m certified not only in intimate relationship psychology but also in mind reading. As well as tarot. Shall I read your cards?”

  “Oh, please do. Though I’d honestly feel a tad better if you relied on an 8-Ball. Are you certified in that too?”

  She mimed shaking an 8-Ball. “What would you like to ask it?”

  He stroked his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. But when he spoke, the question was borderline serious. “Would Michelle still have been attracted to me if we first met at her office?”

  Her lips parted as if she were taken aback by the question. Then she peered at the pretend glass window in the makeshift 8-Ball. “Without a doubt,” she said, and he watched her. The way she swallowed as if nervous. How her eyes stayed fixed on him. The clarity with which she spoke.

  He ran his fingers across her wrist. “Would you have fought it?”

  She let go of the pretend toy. “It is certain,” she said, giving another 8-Ball answer, but one that seemed truly serious.

  “Then I’m glad we met the night before. I don’t know what I would have done sitting across from you in your office, trying to talk to you as my shrink when I want to do bad things to you,” he said, toying with the hem on her skirt.

  “But you’re talking to me now as my lover, and I presume you’ll still do bad things to me later.”

  “I will absolutely do them,” he said, then shifted gears because he liked getting to know her better. “Did you always want to be a shrink?”

  “It was my fallback option.”

  “What was your first choice?”

  “I thought I wanted to be a Broadway star.”

  “Yeah? What happened there?”

  “Only three things got in the way of that dream. One—I can’t sing. Two—I can’t dance. Three—I can’t act,” she said and he cracked up, shaking from the laughter that rang through his body.

  “That was really fucking funny,” he said through a wide smile, and he could hardly believe that this woman could make him think, make him laugh, and make him hard. She was a triple threat, and the more time he spent with her, the more time he wanted to spend with her.

  “Why, thank you. I’ve been working on that for a while now. Decided to test it out on you.”

  “So, let’s answer the question now. Have you always known you wanted to be a psychologist?”

  Her lips curved up as if she were thinking of the answer. “I don’t think I had it on my list in high school. But I always liked helping. I think I always enjoyed being someone my friends could turn to for advice, even with simple things when I was younger like what to wear on the first day of school, and then when I was older on things like what to say to their parents when they got in trouble, or what should they do about this teacher, or that boy, or this problem.”

  “You were a natural,” he said.

  She shrugged, as if blowing off the compliment. “Maybe. But it wasn’t until my parents died, and I had a tough time of it for a while in college that I started to try therapy myself for a few months, to deal with all the residual sadness. It made a difference for me so I realized it was the perfect marriage for me professionally.”

  “I bet you’re good at,” he said, stroking her collarbone absently. Her skin was so soft, and he loved touching her, loved the feel of her beneath his fingertips.

  “You missed your chance. That ship has sailed for you, sir.”

  “I can’t say I regret it. Because I like this arrangement we have going on.”

  “Me too. Is the sex therapy working for you, Jack? Helping you heal that wounded heart?” she asked, tracing a heart shape on his chest. He tensed momentarily at the suggestion of why he was a damaged man. He almost wanted her to know the truth. That he wasn’t hurting; he was besieged by guilt. But they weren’t dredging up the past now. They were focused on the present.

  “It’s working immensely,” he said, and that was true—he felt lighter, freer with her. “And you? Are we getting that guy out of the rearview mirror?”

  She leaned closer, pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. “How could I think of anyone else while I’m sitting on your lap like this?”

  “I like you on my lap,” he said, glancing down at her and the way her gorgeous body molded to his. How her ass felt on his thighs. How her back rested gently against his arms. How her legs felt draped on him.

  “Funny, but you don’t really seem like a lap person,” she said, playing with the collar on his shirt, then his tie, running her fingers along it.

  “Why not?” he asked, wrenching back as if she’d offended him.

  “Don’t know. It just seems sort of warm and cuddly.”

  He rolled his yes. “This from the woman who won’t spend the night. This from the woman who keeps me at arm’s length.”

  “Isn’t that the length you prefer?”

  He shook his head. He didn’t know why, but the guilt that normally clawed at him was absent right now. It had slinked off, like smoke curling away. He felt stripped bare, but he didn’t mind her knowing how he felt, because somehow she was working her way past all those barriers he’d built to protect people from himself, and she wasn’t even trying to knock them down. She simply did it by being herself. By talking. By asking. By wanting to know him.

  Their conversation today seemed to be a stepping stone to something more. To closeness. It should have scared him. Should have sent him into preservation mode, both for his sake and for hers. But it didn’t. It only made him want more of her. He hoped this feeling wouldn’t lead to an impossible choice down the road. Or even in two weeks, when their thirty nights ran out.

  He didn’t want to focus on that, though. He wanted to exist in the moment with her.

  “With you, I don’t mind less than arm’s length,” he whispered, then brushed his lips against her hair, burying his face in the soft strands and bringing her even closer. “And I want you to spend the night with me. I want to see you in the mornings too.”

  She pulled back. “I don’t know.”

  “Is that you protecting your heart again?”

  “Yes,” she said, and he liked that she didn’t hide the truth. She simply admitted it.

  “But I make amazing scrambled eggs.”

  “Well, in that case,” she teased, as she finally unknotted his tie, “I’ll take it under advisement.”

  He looked down his nose at her handiwork, her hands tap dancing on his chest.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get me naked.”

  “Maybe I am,” she purred.

  “But I’m working,” he said in a playful voice, as her fingers undid his buttons. The afternoon was shot. He didn’t care anymore. He had other things on his mind.

  “I think work is over for you today.”

  “Do you want me to do bad things to you?”

  “What do you think?”

  He nodded. “All signs point to yes,” he said, giving her an 8-Ball answer. He didn’t need a fortuneteller or tarot cards to tell him she was going to enjoy all the bad things he’d do. Her body made it clear.

  He reached for her hips, lifted her off him and set her down on the edge of his desk. He stood up, zipped his pants and held her face in his hands, and moved in to plant a bruising kiss on her lips. She gasped the second he made contact and he kissed the sound away, feasting on her lips, turning everything playful into something hot and hungry once more.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Dirty Inquisition

  The moment shifted in a nanosecond. She’d held the power when she’d sauntered into his office, costume on, plan in hand. Now he had the reins and she was quivering with want from the way he devoured her lips, as he spread her legs easily with a strong nudge of his thighs.

  His tongue swirled against hers, his lips crushing her mouth, her head gripped tight in his strong hands. She held on to the edge of his desk. If she didn’t, she might topple backwards. When he broke the kiss, she was dazed. But maybe that was the point. Jack might be content with a little role-playing, but his favorite role was dominating her.

  “Stay like that,” he said. Turning around, he reached for a shelf behind his desk, and grabbed a black box with the letter J embossed in silver on the front. She shivered; just the look of the box was arousing.

  “Open your shirt,” he said, his voice husky, laden with power.

  She steadied herself, and began unbuttoning her blouse down to her waist, his eyes staying on her the whole time as she spread open the fabric. She wore a black lace push-up bra.

  He drew a sharp breath, and ran his tongue over his teeth as he opened the box. “Don’t take the bra off. Just push it down, and free your tits,” he told her.

  She did as she was told, her breasts tumbling free, resting on the underwire, framed by the lace. Heat spread fast through her body, whipping through her veins as he opened the box, and dipped his fingers inside. He lifted out something that looked like earrings. Each had a gold chain and red hearts on the end.

  “What’s that?” she asked because she knew they weren’t earrings.

  Pressing one hand on the desk, he cupped a breast with his other hand, palming her. A moan escaped her lips as he rolled her nipple between his fingers. “Nipple clamps. May I?”

  It was the may that led to her yes. It was his ask that brought the permission. The manners in the midst of this intense moment led her to give in to try. “Yes.”

  He carefully clamped one on. She gasped, biting back a small ouch.

  “Does it hurt?” he asked, concerned.

  “Yes, and no,” she said, shooting him the tiniest smile.

  “Sounds like it’s working then,” he said, and moved to her other breast, clamping it down and giving a quick tug. The sensation was like a bite. The sharp, sweet sting of pain mingled with pleasure. “I’m not done with you, Michelle,” he whispered hotly in her ear, his voice like a hard warning. “You don’t come to my office and blow me and not get fucked.”

  “I would hope to get fucked,” she countered, letting him know she might play these games, but she wasn’t a woman who’d ever roll over. She’d spar verbally even as he flicked the red heart on her breasts, sending an agonizingly delicious zing from her breasts straight to her core. Perhaps she might meet that elusive nipple orgasm today. She doubted it existed, but with the way heat pooled between her legs, she might start believing.

  “I need you to understand me, beautiful,” he said, gripping her thigh. “This is my company. My office. My desk. I make the rules, and you tried to subvert them. Now I’ll show you how I run things here when a woman like you tears me away from work.”

  “Show me,” she said, daring him. Taunting him.

  He took another box off his shelf, then opened it, showing her a purple vibrator. “The Wild One. It’s new. You’ll be my personal focus group of one. The walls in my office are very thick, so be as loud as you need to.”

  She eyed it suspiciously. “You’re not going to use that on me, are you? Has anyone touched it?”

  He laughed, breaking his dominant character for a moment. “It’s never been used. I’ll clean it too,” he said, and stepped into the restroom attached to his office. She heard the water running, then the faucets being turned off. She leaned forward, peering into the bathroom to see him wiping down the toy. She smiled to herself. He was a good man to make sure it was clean.

  He returned, and stood between her legs again, pushing them open wider.

  “Put your feet up on my desk. Show me how far you can spread your legs.”

  She lifted her heeled feet onto the edge of his desk. Not once did she think about how she looked. She knew she looked hot to him. She knew he wanted her badly as she sat perched on his desk, wide open, nipple clamps dangling, underwear soaked from her desire.

  He stared between her legs at her wet panties. “We have a problem.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “I don’t want you to move from this position. But I need to get those the fuck off,” he said, and stretched across her and reached for a pencil holder on his desk, grasping a pair of scissors.

  Her eyes widened in fear.

  “Don’t move. I won’t hurt you.”

  He pulled the side of her black lace panties, tugging them away from her leg. “Tomorrow I’m taking you lingerie shopping. That’s a promise,” he said, and then sliced the panties neatly, and tugged the ripped fabric to the side, exposing her wet pussy to him. She followed his gaze downward.

  She was glistening for him.

  He shut his eyes briefly and rubbed the outline of his cock in his pants. She ached. Watching him touch himself after he came moments ago thrilled her. This might just be sex, they might only be playmates, but hell, she had him. He was aroused to no end by her, and that knowledge turned her into an inferno. Her skin sizzled and she dipped a hand between her legs.

  He opened his eyes, and they blazed darkly at her.

  “Are you going to fuck me now?”

  He shook his head. “No,” he said, and handed her the toy. “Fuck yourself. I want to watch you masturbate on my desk. I want to see the sexiest woman I’ve ever known make herself come on the desk where I approved this product,” he said, hitting the on switch, rubbing the head once through her wet lips, and then handing it to her.

  “Jack,” she moaned.

  “Are you embarrassed to show me how you fuck yourself?”

  She shook her head. “No,” she said, her voice strong. “I would never be embarrassed. I love to masturbate.”

  He breathed out hard, and she saw the outline of his dick grow. “God, that’s so fucking hot. I want to see you love yourself. Show me how you love your own body with something I made,” he commanded, and she rubbed the purple head against her damp, throbbing center. Her breath fled her chest. The intensity of the vibration spread quickly, rippling through her body from the rabbit.

  “No, I want it in you. Put it all the way in. Rub your clit. Fuck your pussy. Show me how it works on the woman I want,” he said, pressing his palms on the desk, his body next to hers as she rubbed the rabbit’s ears against her clitoris, then in one slick motion, slid the shaft inside her. Her inner walls clenched against the device, and her eyes floated closed as she began to work it inside her. She heard him panting, and groaning, and then out of nowhere came a sharp sting as he tugged on the nipple clamps, both at the same time. The pain shot through her, careening through her bloodstream, but instead of hurting, it hurt so good. It was like wildfire, raging and out of control as it ran rampant in her body. In and out, she thrust The Wild One, the shaft filling her, the head of it touching her deep inside her pussy, the rabbit’s ears vibrating her into the fevered frenzy she often sought.

  “Do you love fucking yourself?” he asked, flicking on the red hearts on her nipples.

  “Yes,” she panted.

  “Do you watch porn when you do it?”

  “Usually.”

  “What do you watch? Do you watch beautiful women in stockings and heels fucking themselves with their fingers?”

  “Sometimes,” she admitted.

  “What else?” he asked, demanding answers. Answers she was too happy to give.

  “I watch it all,” she said in a breathless rush.

  “Do you watch women licking each other’s pussies?”

  She nodded on a harsh breath.

  “And women sucking off men?”

  “Yes,” she cried out.

  “Do you watch men fucking men?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “And men fucking women, and coming all over their beautiful fucking bellies and tits?”

  “Yes, yes, yes.”

  “And what about this?” he asked, spreading her ass and flicking his finger against her rear. A tease. A hint. “Do you like to watch ass play? Fingers, toys, cocks?”

  “Oh God, yes.”

  He groaned loudly, and no more words came from him. No more questions. Just primal sounds of pleasure.