He dialed it up once more, and she crossed her legs, the pressure from her thighs intensifying the feelings flooding her. He eyed her with a pleased look, nodding at her crossed legs as if to say smart thinking. The Allegro non troppo crested, more instruments joining in, playing, building, mirroring the pulsing in her body. Jack grabbed her hand, brought it to his mouth and kissed her as if he had to touch her while he was doing this.

  She gasped, and her noise of pleasure made landfall at a brief pause in the score. She was sure someone had heard her, and she dropped her gaze down, embarrassed momentarily. Here she was, seated in the balcony of a concert hall, desperate for an orgasm.

  He leaned in. “No one heard you. Tell me if you want me to let you come.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure? Do you want to wait until I can fuck you in bed? So you can scream and moan like you want to?”

  “I want that,” she whispered in a barren voice. “But I want to come now.”

  “You’re so turned on, aren’t you?”

  He sounded as if he wanted to pounce on her.

  “Yes. I’m unbelievably turned on,” she whispered, her voice sounding like she might very well cry if he didn’t take care of her.

  “You must be so wet.”

  “I am.”

  “You should hold back. Can you hold back until later?”

  She clenched her teeth. She knew what he was doing now. He was playing her. He wanted her to be strong. To say she could handle it. If she used reverse psychology and told him she could wait, then he’d probably let her come. As a reward. But the game was exhausting her right now. She wanted him. Without games. For real. She told him the full truth. “No. I can’t wait.”

  “But I want you to,” he whispered. “I want you to wait for me.”

  He turned off the toy, and she wanted to wither. To die. She thought she might claw her way out of her own skin right now. To climb the walls of Avery Fisher Hall. Anything to release this desire from her body. She hated that she was encased in it. That she’d been reduced to nothing but this.

  It was so base. So animalistic. But at the moment, she was no longer a professional, no longer an evolved being. She was a fucking animal, and she wanted to be satisfied. And the bastard wasn’t letting her. She inhaled quietly. The orchestra played, shifting to the second movement. Everyone listened. The minutes ticked by. Jack’s fingers uncurled. He no longer had a tight grip on the remote. He was focused on the stage, and he was nodding his head, keeping in time to the music. He stuffed the remote in his pocket, then returned his hands to his lap. He wasn’t even touching her. He wasn’t even thinking of her. He’d asked her to wear a goddamn butterfly to the symphony and she’d done it for him. She’d let him turn her up and turn her down wherever and however he pleased. And now he was bored with her. Interested in something else. She was nothing but a plaything, and the worst part was she was still aroused.

  She was mad, too. She didn’t want to play this game right now. It had gone far enough.

  She tapped him on the shoulder. “I’m going to go. Good night.”

  She stood up, and walked out quickly, pushing on the door that led out of the auditorium and into the quiet hallway.

  In seconds, he’d followed her, catching up to her. Only an usher at the far end of the hallway noticed them.

  “Michelle,” he said, grasping for her wrist. “Are you okay?”

  “No,” she said, not bothering to mask it or hide it. “I’m not okay.”

  “What’s wrong?” His brow furrowed, the look in his eyes one of confusion.

  She parked her hands on her hips. “Sometimes games work, and sometimes they don’t. It didn’t this time.” She held up a hand. “Don’t turn it on again.”

  “I won’t,” he said, like a boy scolded.

  She stepped closer, speaking in a low voice for only him. They’d had their picture in the paper. She didn’t need anyone to hear this conversation. “You know I love what you do to me. But you took it too far in there.”

  “Because it’s public?”

  “No.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because I wanted you to finish,” she seethed. “I don’t care if that makes me petty or foolish or stupid. I don’t care if that makes me greedy. I didn’t want to play. And then you stopped, and I was just squirming in my fucking seat. You were wrapped up in the music, and it was like you’d forgotten what you’d done to me. And I’m sorry if I sound like a selfish horny bitch for wanting you to have finished me. But that’s what I wanted.”

  The corner of his lips quirked up for a second, but then he stopped, adopting a serious look when she narrowed her eyes at him. “I thought it was all part of the fun we were having,” he said.

  “It is fun. To a point. And then it stops being fun when you don’t even realize the effect you have on me. Physically. Mentally. Every way. You asked me if I could wait, and I said no. I was completely honest with you, and you just toyed with me,” she said through gritted teeth, grabbing his tie, pulling him close. “Don’t you get it? You turn me on and you build me up and you control me and I let you. Because I love it, too. Because I love what you do to me. But sometimes I don’t want to be toyed with. I want to be taken care of. Even if it’s in the symphony.”

  His chest rose and fell. He breathed out hard. He didn’t speak. Maybe she’d gone too far. But she was okay with that. She knew how to live alone. To survive alone. If she lost Jack because of this, then she’d be fine with it.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Fall Apart

  He was certain.

  He’d never been more stripped bare or turned on in his life. He’d never had a woman call him on something like this, and forcefully tell him to not toy with her. To be blunt and direct and to say make me come. Maybe he had pushed it. Maybe he’d gone too far with the game. He was going to go all the way right now.

  He grabbed her and crushed her mouth to his, and she resisted at first, pushing her fists into his chest, trying to shove him away. But he wasn’t going to let her go. He kissed her harder until she gave in, melding into him, her lips fused with his, their bodies sealed tight. Kissing in a mad frenzy of anger and frustration until he pulled apart. “Screw Brahms. I need to take care of you right now.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were at his building. They were grappling at clothes in the elevator. His shirt was unbuttoned, untucked, and his tie was simply gone. Hell, maybe it was on the floor of the elevator. Maybe it was in the cab. He didn’t care. Her dress was at her waist, and he yanked down her panties, then ripped off the butterfly. He’d already fingered her to orgasm in the cab. He owed her so much more.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered harshly. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you come. I need to make you come all night to make up for it.”

  “You do,” she said, as he balled up the panties in one hand. “The cab wasn’t enough to satisfy me.”

  The elevator slowed at the top floor, the doors spreading open. They spilled out, and he grabbed at her, pushing up her dress higher, as they stumbled down the hall, drunk on desire. Clutching at his shirt collar, she pulled him in, kissing him hard and deeply, biting his lip. He groaned, letting her know he wanted that kind of touch from her.

  “When can I fuck you without a condom? I’m clean,” he said when they reached his door.

  “Me too. I’m on the pill.”

  “Let’s get inside,” he told her, fumbling in his pocket for his key and unlocking his door. Once inside he dropped her panties and the butterfly. Then he scooped her up, carried her to the couch in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, and gently placed her on the cushion. The softness stopped then as he spread her legs roughly, opening them wide. He felt like his entire body was on fire as he stared hungrily at her. Her cunt was a sight to behold. So ready for him in every way. He thrust a finger inside her tight, wet heat. She shrieked and threw her head back.

  “That’s right. Now you can be as loud as you want. Let it out. Tell me how much you hated it when I made you wait.”

  “I hated it,” she cried out as he added another finger, the wetness coating him instantly. He took a deep fueling breath as he crooked his finger inside her, hitting the spot within her that drove her wild. Made her writhe. Widen her legs.

  “And me. You hated me for toying with you,” he added, dropping down to his knees.

  “So much,” she moaned, her breathing harsh and heavy.

  “You’ll forgive me now. I’ve made you so wet, haven’t I?”

  “Yes. God, yes,” she said, opening her eyes and grabbing his face hard with one hand. Rough. Grasping his chin. Making him stare in her eyes as he finger-fucked her. “You turn me on so much. Don’t you understand? Sometimes I just need to be touched. I need you, Jack. I need you to touch me, and taste me, and fuck me,” she said, and she was firm but so damn open and honest at the same time. Laying out her wants. Making everything clear. There was no uncertainty in how she spoke to him, and he absolutely loved her directness.

  “You’re a fucking wet mess and I love it,” he said, then he spread her legs and dived in, lapping her up, licking, tasting and kissing her like a hungry man, like it would be the last time he’d taste her in his life.

  Instantly, she gripped his hair and arched into him. “You better not stop now, Jack Sullivan,” she said on a moan. “I mean it.”

  She arched and writhed into him, rocking into his face, grabbing his hair, moaning and groaning and panting with every touch. His dick throbbed in his pants, and his own want thundered through him forcefully, like a hurricane. My God, she was divine. She was the embodiment of passion, the manifestation of pure sensuality. Never had a woman taken such fierce ownership of her own sexuality in front of him before, and it allured him like nothing ever had. Everything about her was an elixir, from the delicious taste of her, sexy and musky, to the sounds she made, to her sharp nails digging into his skull. She curled her hands around his head, grasping him, so there was no room between his face and her pussy. He didn’t need any room. He wanted to bury his face in her. He didn’t even need to use hands or fingers or a toy because seconds after he’d started, her hips were shooting off the couch, her hands gripping the edge of the furniture, and she was bucking into his face.

  “I’m coming so fucking hard,” she screamed, as he licked her mercilessly, not stopping, not wanting to, as her orgasm flooded his tongue and he tasted her heat. He gripped her ass, pulling her even tighter as he kissed her until she wriggled, so sensitive from the orgasm ebbing away.

  When he looked up, her hand was flung over her face, her chest rising and falling heavily, and her dress was twisted in a bunch at her belly.

  “I’m not done eating you,” he said, as he rose, reaching for her dress, tugging it over her head, revealing the peach bra he’d bought for her. The material was nearly see-through. Her nipples were hard diamond points pushing against the fabric. Reaching behind her back, he unhooked the bra, letting it fall to the couch. She was naked now, except for those shoes. Those black pumps that made her look like pure sex. As he stripped she stood, rising up only to push him down on his back once he was naked. Then she turned around and straddled his face.

  His whole body groaned with need for her. He held her perfect ass in his hands, running his fingers along her cheeks as she ground her pussy into his face. He could barely breathe and he savored it, the feel of her rocking into him once more as she went to town on his cock. She didn’t tease, she didn’t toy, she took him all the way in and lavished her tongue all over him, as heat scorched a path through his chest. All the blood rushed to his cock, thick in her mouth. She rode his face, and he drove into her mouth, and they were nothing but animals now. Powered only by the need to get off, the need to please and be pleased, to fuck and to come, to have it rough and hard and fast. She drew him in deeper, the head of his dick hitting the base of her throat, and a blast of heat roared through his veins. He could feel his body hit that point, like an engine turning over. Soon, he’d be seconds away from the point of no return.

  That wouldn’t do.

  He pushed her off him and it pained him when her mouth broke contact with his erection. “Window. Now. Your hands up against the glass.”

  She nodded, her eyes as wild as his, her breath fast, a bead of sweat sliding between her gorgeous breasts.

  She moved to the window that overlooked Central Park, bathed in the dark of nighttime and shadows, the treetops barely visible. Down below, Fifth Avenue snaked by, a strip of cabs and sleek cars, and across the street he saw other New Yorkers enjoying the night.

  But not as much as he was.

  He spread her cheeks, ran his fingers through her slick pussy, and then shoved into her. No waiting. He needed her as much as she needed him. She felt amazing like this, skin against skin.

  He palmed her breasts as he thrust into her. “Michelle,” he moaned, the pleasure prowling through him. “You feel so fucking good like this.”

  “I love this,” she said, arching her back in an invitation for him to sink his teeth into her shoulder. She yelped, but didn’t pull away.

  He pumped deeper, harder. “I want to come inside you so badly.”

  “Do it.”

  He shook his head, grabbing a breast harder in his hand, then sliding his other between her legs. “No. You need to come again. I’ve barely started with you. Don’t hold back. Don’t stop. Come whenever you feel like it.”

  “I’m so glad I have your permission,” she said with a laugh, and he loved that she’d made a joke in the middle of this heated moment.

  He rubbed her clit faster, feeling it swell more under his fingers, feeling her grow hotter against his dick as he pushed into her. “Everything about you,” he said, his breath coming hard and fast. “Everything about you is perfect for me.”

  She moaned his name, and nothing had ever turned him on more than this woman, and how she was with him. Their chemistry staggered him. It stole his breath and threatened to annihilate his heart. She was designed for him; and he was made for her. They were meant to be together like this. To connect in this primal and beautiful way. To share in this kind of intimacy.

  “God, I love it when you come. I love making you feel good. I love when you fall apart for me,” he said.

  “Then tell me how much you want me,” she said.

  Blood pounded in his head. Breath ripped out of his lungs. He gripped her tighter. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I think about you all the time,” he said, driving in farther.

  “Yes. That,” she panted, and rolled her hips back into him, her movements telling him she wanted everything he gave her.

  “I can’t get enough of you. The more I have of you, the more I want.”

  “Oh God,” she said, crying out, throwing her head back, and shouting that she was there.

  And as she screamed her pleasure louder than he’d ever heard her, he pumped through it, until his orgasm plowed through his body, obliterating everything else in its path, but the intensity of coming inside her. No barriers, nothing held back. Nothing but him with the woman he needed.

  And wanted.

  And craved.

  His words from moments ago echoed in his mind. Fall apart for me. If he didn’t watch out, he’d be the one falling apart for her. In every way.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Perceptions

  Shayla could barely meet her eyes. She kept snickering and looking away. She’d been like this for the whole session, and Michelle was getting frustrated. Normally, Shayla was a challenge only because she struggled to see her own role in her troubled marriage. But never because she was a laughing bean.

  Michelle decided it was time to refocus her patient on the serious nature of the hurdles she was trying to overcome. In the last few sessions, Shayla had finally begun coming to terms with the possibility that she was going to leave her husband. She’d even started talking to an attorney quietly, being cautious to make sure her husband didn’t know she was making plans. While it wasn’t Michelle’s job to advise her on divorce proceedings, it was very much her role to help Shayla out of the marriage with her sanity and her soul intact.

  “Are you still feeling that you’re on the right track with the potential separation?”

  “I think so,” Shayla said, but then stared pointedly at her silver Tiffany bracelet and began fidgeting with it. She’d never been a fidgeter.

  “Are you sure? Are you having second thoughts?” If she wasn’t ready to leave him, then Michelle didn’t want to push her.

  Shayla shook her head, her curls bouncing with the movement. But she didn’t look up.

  Enough.

  Michelle cleared her throat. “Is there a reason you won’t look me in the eyes?”

  Shayla snapped up her gaze. “Because all I can see is The Lola now,” she blurted out.

  The Lola?

  Then it hit her, and her head felt like it was swimming, and her vision went blurry. Please no. Please God no. She’d hoped there weren’t pictures of him using that on her. They’d been on top of the Met Life Tower. Alone. Had his friend at the hotel tipped someone off? But that was weeks ago. There was no way someone had seen or caught that on camera, right?

  “What do you mean?” she asked carefully.

  Shayla shook her head and took a deep breath, then words spilled out in a wild rush. “I’m so sorry, but you’ve taught me to be direct, you’ve taught me to speak my mind, and I can’t hold back anymore. I know this is personal, but all I can think about now is how he must use all these toys on you. The One, The Dream, The Lola. I have them all. I’m in a loveless marriage; I need my BOBs. And now you’re dating him. It’s all I can see when I look at you now, and if I don’t acknowledge it, it’s all I will ever see. So I just have to get it out there,” Shayla said, her eyes wide with her confessional, her hands slicing the air.

  Michelle felt as if she’d been walloped. Smacked with a pillowcase full of bricks. She nodded curtly, accepting all that Shayla had dropped in her lap. Lines were being crossed left and right, up and down, as her personal and professional life collided in an unexpected zigzag. She’d counseled patients through emotional crises, through breakdowns, through divorce, death and love unreturned. But knowing what to say next and how to handle Shayla’s TMI about her was one of the toughest challenges she’d ever faced.