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“For impotence. Clearly, that’s not you.”
“No. Clearly not me.” His lips consumed mine again, and God was he good at it. His tongue ran along the seam of my lips. I opened my mouth to let him in. My brain screamed at me to stop. I was a professional woman. But good golly, my body was saying, Yes, yes, yes. I’d never felt such a rush of desire and a building need to be touched before.
He pressed me against the door, his hands sliding up my legs, lifting my skirt until it bunched around my hips. Why wasn’t I stopping him?
He ground his hips against mine, his hard shaft rubbing against my cleft, making me gasp. That was why I wasn’t stopping this. Oh my God, it felt so good. But no.
I tore my mouth away from his, and put my hands on his chest intending to push him away. “We can’t. I’m your therapist.”
He looked down at me with hooded eyes, clouded with desire. A man had never looked at me like that before.
“I won’t tell if you don’t.” He ground against me, and again my body betrayed me by pressing back and moaning. His lips found mine again, and I was lost in sensation.
I wanted this. I wanted to know what it would feel like to have a man touch me, move inside me. To have an orgasm by a different method than my own hand.
But Hunter was my client. A client who needed boundaries. Who needed to learn to let go of his past and pent up emotions, while also learning to control his urge to solve his problems through sex. Letting him do this wasn’t helping and could possibly hurt his mental wellbeing.
And then there was the fact and I’d never been with a man. I couldn’t start my sexual journey by letting a client have me against my office door.
“I like the way you feel,” he murmured against my lips. “Are you wet?”
Oh god.
His fingers slid under the panel of my panties. “Ah fuck, yeah. You’re wet.” He flicked a finger over my hard nub and my entire body felt a jolt of electricity fire through it.
I was panting. Need coiled so tight at my center, I was afraid I might scream. I wanted him to touch me there. To deliver the promise of intense pleasure my clit was throbbing to know.
He chuckled. “Do you want to come, Doc?”
1
Hunter
One Month Earlier – Tuesday
I drove my fist forward, making contact with the dead weight of the bag hanging from the gym ceiling. The force reverberated up my arm and through my body as the bag jerked back. In my mind, the bag had the mug of a pretty-faced boy with a fucked-up head who thought my sister-in-law, Sara, belonged to him. Six months ago, my brother Chase nearly beat him to death, and it would have been deserved after what he did to Sara. But it shouldn’t have happened at all. Had I done my job, Sara wouldn’t have been hurt and their child, the first one, would be nearly due to be born.
Since returning home from the service, my dreams had been filled with my brothers in arms laying mangled and dead, while I lived for some reason. I could always hear the wails of those who weren’t yet dead. Smell the stench of fuel and dust and decay. God, how I wanted to get rid of those dreams.
Be careful what you wish for. That dream was now gone, replaced by another that somehow was worse.
“Fuck.” I struck the bag again as the image of Sara, beaten and broken, unconscious while handcuffed to a bed filled my head. That was how we—me, Chase and Jones, an old FBI friend of mine—found her. She was alive, but she lost her and Chase’s child.
Today, they seemed happy and were expecting another child. But I saw how that day still haunted them both. And it was all my fucking fault.
I’d known that fuckhead had a hardon for her. I’d been the one to save her from him the first time he tried to walk off with her. So why hadn’t I done a better job to protect her? Fake marriage to Chase or not, she was a Raven and it was my job to protect her, and I failed.
When Chase first told me she was missing, I thought she’d run off with his money or was spending it all. Even though I’d known a crazy fuck had accosted her on the street, I’d dismissed the idea that she was in trouble. And as a result, she’d been hurt and her baby killed.
I tore an all-out assault on the bag as the guilt and self-loathing flooded my pores. An innocent woman was beaten and an unborn child killed on my watch. I couldn’t live with myself anymore.
