by Roni Loren
“I mean, I know it was a bad idea for them, but at least it was real. Raw and dirty and desperate.” She glanced his way, her voice fervent. “They were so into it, they couldn’t bear to stop when we walked in. It was that intense. Primal, even. I want that. Not some sanitized, emotionless version where we check off boxes. Not some nice thing where we cover the basics like a goddamned instruction manual. I’ve spent years doing controlled experiments. I don’t want my sex life to be one, too.” She looked down at her lap, her jaw flexing, her fists curling. “And I definitely don’t want to be someone’s pity project.”
A sound of disbelief slipped out of him, the words raw and dirty and primal still knocking around in his head and making bells clang. The word emotion scared the fuck out of him, but the others were loud enough to drown that out. “Are you being serious right now? You think I offered what I did because I’m some kind of martyr or that thorough of a mentor or that I fucking pity you?”
Her attention flicked upward, her gaze steely. “You sleep with people you think are safe.”
“What?”
She swung her hand toward the door. “You and McCray hate each other. Yet, that’s who you picked to sleep with.”
He blinked. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“She was safe. No risk. And it may be for different reasons, but you see me the same way. We can check off a list nice and neat. Build up my sexual experience like a piece of freaking IKEA furniture. And on top of that, you can feel like you’re helping me. You can walk away with a clean conscience, feeling like you did me a favor. Yay for Dr. West. Another client helped. Thanks but no thanks.”
The words were like sharp little thorns burrowing into his skin. “Jesus, Rush. I don’t see it as a fucking favor. I’m not that much of a dick. And no risk? Are you kidding me right now?”
She gave a petulant shrug.
He almost laughed. She had no idea! No. Fucking. Idea. How she affected him. No clue that the Donovan she’d seen these past two weeks was some alternate universe version of himself. A doppelgänger that showed up on time and laughed and joked and walked around with this lightness he didn’t even recognize. She didn’t even know. He stood and put his arms out to his sides. “I almost risked my goddamned job earlier. Like threw away years of building this whole thing for one chance to have you. One damn chance. And I fucking like you. Like think-you’re-cool-as-shit like you. You’re nothing but risk, Rush. You’re like terror-threat-level risk.”
His voice echoed in the room after he was done, but she’d gone still and silent.
He let out a breath and raked a hand through his hair, his seams unraveling. “Look, I’ve been honest with you. You know you deserve more than what I can offer. Relationships . . . aren’t my thing. I’ve tried. I’m not that guy. So if that’s what you’re wanting, I’m sorry. I promise I will let you down. But I didn’t suggest the list to make things clinical. I suggested it because I thought you’d feel safer knowing what to expect. You don’t like going into sessions blind, so I figured you’d be the same when it came to this. But don’t think for one second that it was motivated by anything other than the fact that I want you in my bed, that I would kill to be the one to show you those things on that list, and that I haven’t been able to think about anything but getting my hands on you since you walked back into my life.”
She was staring at him like she’d never seen him before, with this odd wonder. But she still didn’t say a word, which sent him rambling on. Once he’d started, he couldn’t seem to fucking stop.
“And we already know we have what Eli and Laura had in spades. Do you really think we’re capable of having mediocre, to-do list sex?” He took the chair next to her and spun it so he could sit down facing her. “We kissed last week and our clothes almost caught on fire. We’ve got chemistry, Rush. And if you think I’m doing this as a favor and that I don’t crave exactly that kind of rawness that you’re talking about, you haven’t been paying attention. I’m happy to take things slow since you’re new to so much. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think about hauling you up against a wall, hiking your skirt up, and fucking you like I own you. I think about it. I think about it. All. The. Fucking. Time.”
Her neck had gone rosy red while he was talking, the flush creeping up, her breath quickening. He’d seen her reactions enough to know this time it wasn’t embarrassment. She was picturing what he’d said, she was imagining him taking her. Knowing that settled something inside of him, put him back on a playing field he felt more comfortable on instead of feeling stripped down to the studs there in front of her.
He lowered his voice. “So you need to tell me what you want. Do you want to do this or do you want me to leave you alone?”
Her throat worked as she swallowed, but she didn’t look away. For a moment, he thought she wasn’t going to answer at all, that she was just going to get up and walk out. Leave him hanging again. But finally she said, “I think about it all the time, too. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
The air he’d puffed up with during his declarations sagged out of him in a long exhalation. Thank God. Thank. God.
He couldn’t stop himself after that. He spread his knees and pulled her legs in between his, her chair dragging loudly against the floor, and then he kissed her. Kissed her like he’d been wanting to since that day in the office, carding his hands through that silky hair and holding her right where he wanted her, drinking from her, all that desire, all that frustration pouring into the connection.
She whimpered into his mouth, a pleading, unraveled sound, and all he could think of was getting her onto his lap, of her straddling him, of tugging away these clothes and getting her to make more of those noises. He wanted to find every thread lacing her up and undo her until she was all feeling and response and sweet need. Until she was his. He gripped her skull, fighting off that blinding need to take more, to take it too far, to take it all. But his body was responding and his heart was pounding and the taste of her on his tongue was driving him over the edge.
His mind playing one message over and over in his head. This. Yes. This.
But just when he was about to lose all semblance of his control, she planted her palms against his chest and eased him back. “Donovan, wait—”
She was breathless, her nipples pressing hard against her shirt and her lips puffy, but her eyes were focused. That potent hazel stare broke through some of the insanity coursing through him, that single-minded instinct to claim her. He took in a breath and nodded. “Right. We’re at work.”
She rubbed her lips together. “And I haven’t said yes yet.”
His heart fell into his shoes. “What?”
“I have conditions.”
Relief flashed through him. Okay. Conditions. He could deal with conditions. Conditions weren’t a no. “All right.”
“I’m going to give you an out,” she said simply.
He frowned, the words like a straight pin to his balloon of relief. “What?”
“Thirty days.” She shifted against him and her pulse beat frantically at her throat, but there was resolve in her voice. “I want to do this, but in thirty days, I will walk away from this and so will you. You’ve already got your exit strategy in place.”
“An exit strategy? I don’t need—”
She pressed her fingers to his lips, hushing him. “Listen to me. You already know how this will end. I’m telling you that you’ve got a guaranteed out. We won’t let this get messy. But since I’m giving you that, if we do this, I need you to leave the other stuff behind, those things that keep this neat for you. I deserve more than neat and so do you.” Her fingers twitched against his lips but her gaze didn’t falter. “I want the Donovan I knew in college, the one who operated on gut and didn’t orchestrate everything to make it fit into a certain schematic. The one who showed me that passion isn’t just a word in books. And the one who wasn’t afraid of being human in front of me. I know he’s still there. I see him sometimes. I saw him just
now.”
The words pinged through him, setting off a cut-and-run reaction. She knew more than he thought, saw more. Right through him, in fact. She wanted him. Not the doctor or the trainer or the mythical Orgasm Whisperer. She wanted Donovan West, the geeky kid who lost his parents, wore Freud T-shirts, and used to sleep in a tiny office because he had nightmares about the boogeyman. He didn’t know if he was capable of that anymore. He’d been so fucking vulnerable back then. That kid had shored up his life with duct tape and a coat of paint, thought he was managing in the rough winds, and then Mari had set him all off kilter. She was doing it again. This was the girl he remembered. The one who had pushed every one of his buttons, gotten him to talk about things he never had, given him her virginity, and then walked off like a boss. Bold bravery wrapped in a quiet, steel-lined package.
His heart beat loud in his ears as she lowered her hand from his mouth. He drew his tongue over his lips, tasting the salt from her fingertips there.
She leaned back. “Say something.”
He didn’t know what to say, but honesty won the fight. “I’m not sure I know how to do that anymore. Be that.”
Her lips curved into a half-smile. “Then maybe we can both teach each other a thing or two.”
A breath coasted out of him. He wanted her more than he could bear. His entire body thrummed with that need. But if she thought she could fix him somehow, put together what was broken, she was only going to be disappointed. His pieces weren’t just in a pile on the floor. Many had been lost completely. Even if reassembled, the holes would forever be there. “I’m not going to change, Marin.”
Her smile softened. “Not asking you to. Just asking that you be you, not the guy everyone thinks you are, not the guy you were for McCray.”
He stared at her, marveling at this woman. Marin was young and inexperienced. And she blushed and got flustered when it came to sex. But hell if she wasn’t tougher than any woman he’d ever met. She wasn’t afraid to ask for what she wanted—no, she didn’t ask, she required. There was a price to be with her and she wasn’t going to negotiate.
It was dangerous.
And so fucking sexy—like made-him-hard-just-thinking-about-it sexy—that he found a single word slipping from his lips. “Okay.”
Her brows went up. “Yeah?”
He leaned forward and slid his hand along the back of her neck. “Yeah. This is uncharted territory for me, but I want you, Rush. And I’m willing to try it your way.”
“Says the man who likes control.”
His lip curled. “I never said I was giving that up.”
She smoothed her hands over her skirt, the slightest tremble visible, proving that she wasn’t quite as steady as she sounded. “I’m okay with that. I know I’m inexperienced, but that doesn’t mean I don’t remember the recordings. I know your dirty secrets, West.”
He wanted to touch her so badly. He could just move his hands up and he’d be at her thighs. He could part her legs and see if this conversation was affecting her as much as it was affecting him, get on his knees and taste her, but he settled for moving his hands to the outside of her knees, rubbing the soft skin there. “You think so, huh?”
“Yeah. I do.” She put her hands over his, linking their fingers, and staring down at the connection. “Because I’ll let you in on my secret. They’re some of mine, too.”
“What?”
She wouldn’t look up, as if eye contact would be too much. “I kept those recordings. I kept them and I listened to them so much in the year following that I could probably recite them by heart. It was my escape. I wanted to wish them into existence. Sometimes I still do.”
His breath zipped out of him, fire lighting his blood. “You want the stuff on the recordings?”
Desire rumbled up through him like a threatening storm, wide and dark and fast-moving. This was so much more than he’d originally imagined with her. He’d thought he could go through Marin’s list with her, teach her things, enjoy the basics with her. He liked all kinds of flavors of sex. Simple and sexy with Marin would’ve been fantastic. But what she was asking for was like offering him his personal heroin with a side of hell yeah. She wanted to play the games. She wanted to step into those shadowed places where the rules and niceties went lax.
“You sure know how to knock a man on his ass. That’s . . .”
“I mean, unless you’ve already gone there with . . . other women and that’s not exciting for you anymore.” Her voice was hesitant for the first time in a while.
He hated that she even had to think of it. Hated that his relationship with Elle had been tossed in her face or that she had to think about other women at all. He took her hand and guided it up his thigh until they reached his very obvious erection. She sucked in a breath.
“This is how non-exciting I find it.”
Her eyes widened, and her fingers curled around him. Her warm grip was like fucking heaven even through his slacks. She slid her hand along his length, tentatively mapping him.
He closed his eyes and breathed through the surge of arousal. He fitted his hand against hers when she moved to stroke him again. After the restraint required over the last two weeks, he didn’t trust himself not to go off like a teenager. He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her knuckles as he met her gaze. “I’m sorry that the Elle thing is here between us, that you have to think about that at all. But hear this. Whatever happens between you and me is not a repeat of that or a substitution or a consolation prize. There’s no reason to compare the two situations. They’re completely different. I don’t hate Elle. But we weren’t friends and won’t be. We’re two workaholics who served a basic need for each other. We didn’t have long chats. We didn’t hang out. We didn’t even hug good-bye.”
She looked down at their linked hands. “You don’t have to explain yourself. Your past relationships are your business.”
“I’m telling you because I need you to know that nothing about you is going to be been-there-done-that for me.” He brushed his thumb over the top of her hand. “You make everything new. Have from the start.”
She looked up at that.
It was a thought he normally wouldn’t have shared. It cut a little too close. But he’d promised her he’d be honest, so he fought past the filters he usually kept in place. “You cut me off at the knees with a kiss. I can’t even imagine how hot exploring fantasies with you will be.”
The slow smile she gave him was like sunlight breaking through clouds, sending a strange, pleasant warmth moving through him—one that had nothing to do with the iron state of his dick. He liked that he’d put that smile there on her face. He wanted to kiss it off of her. “What are you so pleased about, Rush?”
She leaned forward, smile still in place, and tapped his cheek. “Now look who’s blushing.”
He straightened. “What? I am definitely not. I don’t blush.”
Her grin went wide and she slipped her hand from his. “Shall I grab my phone to document this rare occasion?”
He grabbed her wrist before she could reach for the phone she’d left sitting two chairs away. “Don’t you dare.”
Her gaze sparked at his grip, sexy challenge there.
That’s when he knew there was no going back. This was going to happen. Marin wanted him in her bed—to teach, to explore, to show her things she’d only fantasized about. She wanted raw, gritty sex. And she wanted to do it with him. Holy fucking gift from above.
He didn’t deserve the luck or that level of trust from her, but he was damn sure going to figure out how to be worthy of it. He let his gaze drift over her. Despite her bold gaze, she was holding her breath. He liked that. No. Loved that. Knowing he could affect her, knowing he could turn her on with a simple touch. It wasn’t practiced or put on. It was honest and real.
He pulled her closer and let the fingertips of his other hand slide over the nape of her neck. Usually he gravitated toward women with long hair, but Marin’s wispy cut had drawn his eye from the
moment he’d seen her in the parking lot. He’d since pictured running his tongue along her bared neck and gripping the silky, dark hairs in his fist when she was on her knees for him. He drew a circle with his fingertip on her nape, earning him a shiver. “So we’re doing this?”
“Looks like it.”
He kept making those circles on her neck, enjoying the way her pupils grew wider, darkened. “Are you making a sex brain decision, Dr. Rush?”
She smoothed her lip gloss. “Probably. I’m not sure how to tell anymore.”
He stared down at her. “There’s one way to find out.”
Her brow wrinkled.
He bent forward, closed his eyes, and brushed his lips against her ear.
“I watch you across the room,” he said, sliding into the tone he used to use for the recordings.
She made a noise in the back of her throat.
He loved that sound. Wanted to hear it again. Wanted to imagine her making it when she’d listened to his recordings in the dark of her bedroom. How many times had she touched herself with his voice in her ear, his dark fantasies in her head? The thought pushed so many of his buttons, he lost count.
He hadn’t done recordings in ages. The ones that had gotten published were decidedly milder than the versions from college. More vanilla. More commercial. Not him. And he’d never used that style of dirty talk or the scripts in real life. Women had asked. He’d hated when they’d asked—felt like a hired monkey being asked to perform.
But now the words rolled off his lips as if they’d just needed his muse there with him to conjure them. “You’re paying attention to the group, but you keep crossing and uncrossing your legs, making me wonder if you’re still thinking about what you saw in your office. If you’re slippery and hot beneath this neat little skirt, imagining people fucking, imagining being the one getting fucked, imagining people watching you take it. If you’re wishing you could get some relief.” He pressed a kiss to the spot behind her ear and whispered, “If you want me to be the one to give it to you.”