Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
"Yeah."
He holds out his arms. "Come here. I need to hold you."
I don’t hesitate, moving forward and breaking Dr. Terra’s rules with every step. I don’t care if it’s not the right thing to do—I need it as badly as he does. I miss him. I sit sideways on his lap and sag into his chest. He inhales deeply against my neck, his chest rising underneath me. His mouth grazes across my neck and his teeth scrape and then gently bite the skin right below my ear. I lean closer, feeling every single digit as he runs his fingers down the front of my body, and he whispers my name as he kisses a line from my ear to my collarbone. "Don't do it," he whispers. "I know what you're going to say, and you can't say it."
"I have to," I breathe, and now his hand is skimming over the top of my bare knee and sliding under the hem of my skirt, in between my thighs, his fingers pushing roughly against my attempt to keep them together. I think of the doc, right on the other side of the glass, his pen and pad of paper in hand. Within one minute, subject began to grope Ms. Fairmont. I thought of the video filming this session for Brant to watch, after the fact. I thought of the script that we had gone over ad nauseam that I'm supposed to stick to. In it, I tell this beautiful man that I never loved him, and that I only dated him to keep tabs on Brant. I'm supposed to stress the fact that I want him to leave so that I can be with Brant. Lies. Filthy, dirty lies. His fingers are incessant as he pushes his hand higher up my thigh, underneath the tweed A-line skirt that is only helping his cause. This morning, I spun the racks of clothes in our massive closet and picked this one out of the hundreds on hangers. I could have selected a more restrictive style, or a dress slack, but I didn't. Did I know what he would do? Had I picked it intentionally? Am I really that cruel—to myself? To Brant? Part of me already knows the answer, but I cram that piece down into my stomach, as far from my conscious thought as possible. “Stop,” I say weakly, just to prove to our audience that I am trying, sort of trying, to be good. “Please, Lee. Stop.”
He ignores me, as I knew—hoped—he would.
"You don't have to say it," he continues his case as one hand travels higher and the other pries my legs apart, his mouth hot against my neck, stealing rough kisses in between his words, kisses that burn at my skin and leave emotional marks that won't wash off.
"I do, Lee." I fully abandon the script the moment my thighs lose the battle and fall open. His fingers move immediately to the silk crotch of my panties, teasing me through the fabric as his tongue flicks and sucks against my neck. "I can't keep dragging Brant through this,” I gasp out. “The only way it will work is if you leave."
He tugs my panties aside and pushes two fingers inside of me, the sudden invasion causing me to stiffen, and he takes advantage of the moment to kiss me. His tongue is deep and forceful as he pushes and curves his fingers, fucking me with them right there on the couch. I try to think of the doctor, of the video camera, but I can't stop him. I don't want to—not when I have craved this for weeks. Every single night I’ve laid in bed next to Brant and felt nothing but a cold distance as he's tried to sort his way through this. Now, I open up my legs further and press his hand to me, urging him deeper, letting him understand the level of my need and begging him to take me further.
"I don't give a damn about that man," he growls, pulling off of my mouth and pushing to his feet, dumping me off his lap. I fall, my hands flailing out and he catches me just before I hit the floor, the rescue more out of necessity than chivalry.
"Bend over," he orders and yanks at the zipper of his jeans. "And listen to me.” He pauses and waits until I turn, my knees already on the couch, my hands gripping the back of the cushion.
“I will never leave you,” he swears. “I will never let you fuck him without my name on your mind." He places a hand on my back, pushing up the black sweater until his palm is against my skin and grips my waist, squeezing me. With his other hand he lifts my skirt, bunching it around my hips, pulling my soaked panties to the side. "Tell me you still love me.”