Sensuality Read online

  “I forgot my attaché case,” his deep voice said.

  A blush crept up her face as her eyes followed his to the deep brown leather case that leaned unassumingly against the side of her therapist’s couch.

  THERAPY—PART TWO

  It was a good thing that he was going to be away for a week. It would give things a chance to cool down—to be forgotten. She was going to a medical seminar herself in a few weeks, and it would do her good. It would keep her mind occupied and she wouldn’t have to think about him. It was medically unethical, and although tired of the rules, she didn’t dare break them.

  The best thing was to go on as though nothing had happened. But could she do that? Could it be professional, and business as usual, after he’d seen her pleasuring herself? Thank goodness he couldn’t read her mind or he would have known that he was the object of her masturbatory fantasy.

  She decided she wouldn’t say a word about it; after all, she was the psychologist. He was paying her to help him work through his problems, not analyze hers. But just what were her problems? The men who chased her but she didn’t want? Or was it men she’d made love to but who could never reach the part of her where passion was aching to be freed? She wanted someone to break the rules for her. Somehow he might have guessed that about her, and it made her nervous knowing that.

  He leaned against the window, sipping a snifter of fifty-year-old cognac. It slid over his tongue with a warmth much like what he thought she would taste like. His psychologist, his doctor, his medical advisor, with her professional icy demeanor.

  He knew the effect he had on women. Hell! His voice alone made more panties wet than he’d wanted to count. How he remembered that day when he went back to her office for his briefcase. He watched as she had fingered herself, then leaned against the wall for support when she released her juices.

  How he wanted to taste it, but not the way she would have thought.

  It was the dream. He chased her in his mind, knowing that she really wanted to be caught. Somehow he knew, without really knowing, what she needed and how she needed it.

  But he also knew it could never be, not now, when they were so wrapped in the neat little package of professionalism. Not as long as there was a line of doctor-patient ethic that she would never cross. The strain of his yearning was becoming too much. There was only one thing to do….

  Dear Dr….

  I regret to inform you that I feel I am no longer making the progress I should and, therefore, feel it is best to sever our therapeutic sessions. I trust your decision, so please feel free to recommend, and transfer my records, to any of your esteemed colleagues you deem worthy.

  He signed it with just a single initial—J.

  She had returned from her business trip and was still on West Coast time and unable to sleep. It was 1:00 A.M. and she was wide awake. Maybe I should go to the office, she thought. Why not get a jump on all the unopened mail that she knew would be waiting on Monday?

  She put on a long gauzy dress and flat shoes. No one would be around to know that she wore nothing but bare, soft skin underneath. She liked the way her nipples felt against the material, scraping against them just enough to make them harden and stay erect.

  Twenty minutes later she sat sorting through her mail. She saw the expensive beige envelope and the neat, handwritten return address. She opened it and her eyes blazed with anger long before she reached the end.

  Not progressing…esteemed colleagues, of all the…

  She paced. She had invested a great deal of time on him, trying to get him to understand his emotions, his feelings—trying to work him through why he did and said the things he did. True, he’d paid her a lot for her services, but she’d thought they’d made wonderful progress.

  She threw the letter on the desk and began to read her other mail. But no matter how she tried, her eyes kept going back to the note. There was no concentrating now, and she was even more awake than ever. Just go home. Go home and lie down.

  She grabbed the note, stuffed it into her bag, and left the office. She gunned the motor of her Mercedes and pulled away from the curb. She was ten minutes from her three-bedroom luxury condo, waiting at a red light, her fingers drumming on the steering wheel impatiently. When the light turned green, she abruptly turned the wheel and made a screeching U-turn and headed back up the street. She fumbled through her purse until she found the crumpled envelope. Scanning the return address, she drove five more blocks and found his building. When she was about to ring the doorbell, a laughing couple exited, leaving the door to close on its own. She slipped inside and rode the elevator up to his floor. Exiting, she followed the apartment numbers until she came to his door. Without hesitation she rang the bell. What if he wasn’t home? After all, it was Saturday night—or worse, he might not be alone. She pushed the bell again. Then again. And yet again.

  There was no telltale click of the peephole cover being raised, just the swish of the door as it was flung open. He stood before her, his face an angry scowl, and wearing nothing except a pair of striped silk pajama bottoms. His chest and belly were finely chiseled, with the slightest hint of paunch if he didn’t watch it. His nipples, which seemed to catch her gaze and not let go, were as hard and erect as her own.

  “Doctor…” he said. “Don’t you think it’s a little late for a house call?”

  “What’s the meaning of this?” She waved the note under his nose.

  He moved back a scant inch and lowered his gaze to the paper.

  They both heard one or two peephole latches being raised.

  “Won’t you come in, Doctor? No need letting my neighbors know all my business.”

  She stepped in. Immediately the aura of the medium-sized living room caught and held her like it was his arms.

  “We were making progress. Good progress. You opened up, and now you want to see another therapist?”

  “I think it would be best,” he said with his arms folded across his broad chest.

  “Why? I’ve been able to help you. I’m a good doctor.”

  “You don’t have to sell yourself to me.”

  “Then why?” Her voice had raised a tiny bit.

  He walked to the window and looked out onto the gorgeous view of the dark city below, then turned back to her. “I’d just prefer a doctor I didn’t want to fuck.”

  He knew she would be shaken by his statement, but he also knew she would allow her professionalism to prevail.

  “You see? That’s what I mean,” she said. “You’ve opened up. That’s progress.”

  “Well, Doctor, how about you opening up? How about a little honesty from you?”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. What are your desires? Your needs? What are your ghosts?”

  “Look,” she said with a slight smile. “If this is about what you saw that day—” she began in her doctor-to-patient explanatory tone.

  “It’s not about that day. It’s about every day I sit opposite you, which I prefer, incidentally, when you draw detail after detail out of me about who I am. Or maybe who you want me to be.”

  “That’s insane. I don’t think there’s been any impropriety on my part.”

  “No.” He laughed. “And there wouldn’t be. Not with you, and you know why?”

  She waited a full minute before answering, wishing his dark eyes weren’t boring into hers the way they were. “Well, since you have all the answers, why?”

  “Because you don’t want to be responsible.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “That’s right. You don’t want to be responsible for what you want, for doing the things you desire. You don’t want to be responsible for wanting to get fucked.”

  Her eyes grew wide with incredulity. “That’s crazy.”

  “Oh really? I bet you can’t even say it. You want to, but you can’t, and there’s never been anyone to make you want to say it.”

  “I can see this has been a mistake.” She sighed, fumbling with her purse. “Maybe another therapist
will suit you better.”

  “Good! And now that we’ve detached our medical relationship, I think you should know there is no way you’re leaving this apartment until I have tasted your pussy.”

  She stared at him, her adrenaline pumping wildly. She was beginning to feel trapped and her eyes widened to the size of nickels.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve never raped a woman in my life, and I won’t begin now. You’ll give it to me. You’ll give it all to me because you want to, and you’ll like it.”

  As much as she wanted to leave, his words had titillated her. He was right—no one had ever spoken to her the way he had.

  He went to her and gently took her purse and laid it on the side table.

  “Whatcha got under that dress?” he asked, circling her.

  Surely he didn’t expect her to answer.

  She felt him lean in, but not touch her. Her mouth opened a tiny bit when she felt him grab the hem of the gauzy frock and begin to wind it up slowly. His other hand slid up her bare, tan thigh, all the way to her firm runner’s ass, round and smooth as a new pearl. He allowed his hand to wander over the expanse of one butt cheek, then the other, caressing each gently.

  Spikes of chilled hairs rose and moved, making it feel like a thousand million tentacles undulating over her skin.

  If he could do this with just a touch of her ass, further musing of the effect of his future actions was unthinkable.

  His hands moved up to the buttons on her dress and, one by one, with agonizing slowness, he undid them. She felt the heat of his breath against her ear as he brushed her hair away from it.

  “You’re not used to what’s going to happen,” he said.

  “You think I’ve never made love?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

  “I’m sure you have, but I’ll bet a year’s salary you’ve never been fucked, and I mean a heavy, low-down jungle fuck with all the nastiness that goes with it.”

  Her legs were weak, and she thought she was going to slide to the floor.

  The dress undone, he slid it off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. He came around to her front and smiled appreciatively. Her breasts were much fuller, heavier than they appeared in her bra and work clothes, her hips curvy and round. Her vee was nicely trimmed, and he longed to find that treasure nub that he knew nestled somewhere deep under a hood of delicate skin.

  He leaned in and whispered, “I can smell you.”

  Her face crimsoned, and even in the dim light, he saw it.

  “It’s okay. It’s the most powerful aphrodisiac in the world. It means you’re wet, it means you’re ready.”

  Her eyes closed, not from embarrassment, but because his words were true. Even now she could feel a droplet oozing down her leg.

  He circled her again. “Have you any idea how much I’ve wanted to suck you? To ram and circle my tongue so far up into your pussy that you’d scream out my name for hours?”

  She shifted.

  “I’ve wanted to invade your love hole, with one, two, then three of my fingers, readying you for the cock you desperately need.”

  She bit her lip, wondering why his dirty talk excited her so.

  “I know you. I know what you want. You like me talking to you this way. It allows you not to be in control. But this isn’t about regulations for me. It’s about giving you what you desire. And so that we may be clear, it’s not all about just your needs; it’s also about what I want from you.”

  “And what’s that?” she asked, just above a whisper.

  “I want you nasty. I don’t want the nice, prim and proper doctor. I want that nasty woman inside you. The woman who is going to squat over me and let me lick her from her ass to her pussy. The one who is going to slide her slippery, cummy pussy down my face and allow me to eat her raw.”

  This time she did waver and he caught her. His strong, steely arm, perfect for keeping her erect, felt like a smooth, wooden log.

  “I want you to lie back, wind your long legs around my face, and hold it prisoner to your sweet hot, wet, clit. I like that word, don’t you? It’s just so wanton, so nasty. I want you on all fours while I eat you from the back so hard that you’ll try and scamper away. But I’ll be right behind you, tonguing my way inside every part of you.”

  “And what would you want in return for this little erotic escapade?” She tried to sound amused.

  “Don’t be flip; it doesn’t suit you. What I want, I’ll get, and that will be because you won’t be able to keep yourself from giving it to me.”

  The room was quiet as he gave her a moment to absorb everything he’d said. “But first, I want you to get used to me. To seeing me, before touching me.”

  He loosed the string on his pajama bottoms and they slid to the floor. He stepped out of them and kicked them away. Her eyes were trained on a place just beyond his shoulder.

  “Look at me.”

  She didn’t.

  “Look at me!” His words weren’t loud, but authoritative, like he was a man not used to having to repeat himself.

  She looked at his face, his chest, and then slowly downward. He stood with his legs apart, his resplendent cock, thick and heavy, his balls full. She knew that by the way they hung. His hand came up and cupped his dick. He rubbed it back and forth slowly.

  “Touch your wetness for me. Like that day in your office.”

  Like a machine, her hands, guided by his words, not her mind, slowly moved to her front, sliding over the hairs of her trimmed mound. Her long, slender, well-manicured middle finger disappeared as the lips of her pussy surrounded it. She always liked the way she felt—soft, wet, and slippery. But with him watching her, it was different; it was more.

  “Squat a little.”

  She did and the change of motion allowed her finger to slide inside. She bit back a moan.

  “Give me some of it.”

  He waited while she removed her long, thin, wet finger and offered it to him. He leaned down and took her whole finger to the last knuckle into his mouth. His fat, thick tongue wrapped around it like a snake, devouring off the cum juice.

  The feeling of his mouth sucking on her finger was hot and exciting. Her chest rose and fell like she’d just worked up to a fast three-mile run.

  “It’s as I knew it would be, tangy, with a hint of acidic sweetness.”

  She waited. For what? She had no idea.

  He touched her thighs. “They’re strong. That’s good. You’ll need their strength.” He looked at her pert little mouth, her lips full and yearning. How he wanted to shove himself between them, to make her take him. All of him, at once, choking her with his cock.

  He stared at her. With all her book learning, all her doctoral prowess, she stood before him, ignorant of her own need.

  He would teach her. But to ask her to touch him now, to taste him now, wasn’t the right time. He had to make her want to do all those things herself. If she wanted it, she would have to be the one to take it.

  He lay down on the floor, not far from the couch. She’ll need that for support, he surmised.

  “Come to me.”

  She moved to him and he gently took hold of one leg and lifted it so that she straddled him. “Move upward to my face and squat.”

  As though in some state of hypnosis, she lowered her body over him, but not touching.

  The high musk of her drove him near to madness, but he had long ago learned to control the sex demons inside himself and willed them back to where they waited like rabid beasts ready to pounce. He sniffed the air around them, taking in more of her scent. He looked up into her and saw her fleshy lips parted and her crack open a mere inch. He scanned her pubis. In there, hidden behind a hood of flesh, was her clit. He couldn’t wait to own it. He couldn’t wait to nibble and suck it until she begged for him to stop. But now was not the time.

  He raised his hands and grabbed her ass cheeks, allowing several of his fingers to cup inside the crack a nanoinch deep. He pulled her down until his nose rested against the place where
her clit lived. His tongue sprang out like that of a serpent and whipped along her lips. He heard her gasp and felt her ass muscles tighten. He nuzzled his nose more and pushed his tongue deeper as he lapped. She was wet, but he knew she was going to get a lot wetter. Turning his head a little to the left, he circled his long, fat tongue inside her. He heard the moan and pushed in deeper until his own lips were pressed against hers. He tongue-fucked her as he kneaded her ass cheeks. She was still, but he knew that was not what she wanted to be. He stopped and moved her back a little to see her face.

  “You want some more, don’t you?” he whispered.

  Her answer was the ever-so-slight movement of her hips as they undulated back and forth. The oral dance request, without words. He knew it well and went to work.

  He pushed his tongue back in her and flicked it in and out and around and around so hard that he actually felt her grip it to keep it in. He liked that. She was strong and that was how he liked his women.

  Lost in the sensual erotic moment, she felt his tongue attack the inside of her and, to her own dismay, felt her hips undulate and grind on his face. He was exquisite in this; no one had ever brought her such pleasure so quickly. He ate her like he had been hungry for a year.

  She felt his hands move from her ass to her pussy and splay her apart.

  “I want to eat the pink of you,” he whispered hoarsely.

  She was open and exposed, but in a moment his mouth was on her, in her. His lips sucked out the juice she couldn’t stop making. He drank her like a thirsty man in a desert. He kept eating her but let a hard, manly finger begin to rub her clit nub. He circled it until he heard the telltale sounds of squishy wetness. It was the only way to coax the little female nub from its lair. He felt it grow and harden beneath his touch. In a moment all he had to do was suck away the skin-hood and expose the sensitive female protuberance. She was moaning louder now, monotone, but building. Goodness! She was juicy!

  He moved his hands down and licked her hood. It fell away like a curtain, and there it was, a pink fleshy pearl of delight. He blew cool air on it and felt her shudder. He flicked his tongue at it and she whimpered. He sucked it once, then twice, and a small scream escaped her. He took it between his lips, and with the barest tightness of his teeth, he began to work it. He felt her weaken as he raped her clit with his mouth.