Page 48 of Double Take


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“I work for an extremely conservative practice. Very old school and stodgy. Unfortunately, the media got ahold of some excerpts of my dissertation on female orgasms and made a big joke out of it, putting my name, and the center’s, through the tabloid wringer.”

He shook his head, as if clearing it to understand. “Women’s... Wait, what kind of counselor are you?”

Too late to retreat now.

“I’m a sex therapist. I specialize in female sexual disorders.”

He shot up again. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, he jumped out of the bed, standing naked beside it, gaping down at her. His brows shot up as his eyes rounded. His mouth fell open, snapped shut then opened again, as if he didn’t know what to say. Finally he managed, “You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not.”

He was clearly having a hard time wrapping his mind around it. “You teach people how to have sex?”

“Not exactly. It’s more about helping patients—primarily women—understand their bodies and figure out why they make the choices they do when it comes to their sex lives. That’s why I have all the toys, by the way.”

He nodded slowly. “Like pharmacies giving out free drugs to doctors so they’ll prescribe the drugs to their patients.”

“Exactly!” she exclaimed, glad he’d understood so quickly. “I have definitely recommended vibrators to some of my non-orgasmic patients.”

He swiped a hand through his hair, shaking his head, still a little shell-shocked. She supposed it was a bit much to take in, since he’d viewed her as the small-town teacher she’d been portraying.

“Mike, are you all right?”

She knew what his problem was. It was the same problem all the men she slept with had when they found out what she did. They were intimidated, thinking they were having sex with an “expert,” wondering if they were being judged or evaluated. She understood, which was why, in the past, she rarely told her lovers what she did for a living. Considering her relationships rarely lasted long, and never got to the point of true intimacy, it had never been a problem keeping that detail secret.

Mike, though, had already barreled through those defenses, just as he’d warned her he would. Revealing her profession hadn’t been just about making him understand about the toys. She also wanted him to know her—really know her—the way few people did.

When he didn’t answer, she said, “Are we all right?”

She wasn’t sure what “we” meant yet, but she realized she would not be satisfied with just one night with the man. The timing and location were beyond bad; nothing had changed in that regard. The only thing that had changed was that they both now knew how worth the effort a hot, secret affair would be.

“We’re fine,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at her. He reached out and brushed her hair back off her cheek, the caress tender and gentle. “But I’m glad you didn’t tell me that before. Having sex with a sex therapist? Talk about something to give a guy performance anxiety!”

She purred. “Baby if that’s your standard performance, you have nothing to be anxious about. Ever.”

A pleased, self-satisfied grin tugged at his lips. “Yeah?”

“Definitely. That was worthy of a standing ovation. I will be demanding an encore.”

He ran his fingers over her belly, gliding them up to caress the under-curve of a breast. “How many curtain calls?”

Growing breathless as his fingers danced across her skin, she murmured, “I believe the number we discussed was ten.”

“After a trip to the pharmacy.” He sighed. “Tomorrow.”

“Or maybe your place tonight? I assume the one you bought came with brothers and sisters in the box?”

He nodded. “But I live right downtown in an apartment over one of the antique stores.”

Oh. Talk about a lack of privacy.

“So I guess we’re just going to have to find something else to do right now,” he said as he traced a line up to her nipple and stroked it with his fingertip.

She gasped, loving the connection. But Mike had already done a lot for her tonight, and she was definitely ahead of him on the orgasm-meter.

A few hours ago, she’d been consumed by the idea of tasting him—of taking him into her mouth and sucking him into incoherence. Now seemed the perfect time to do exactly that. “Was there something you wanted to tell me?”

His expression said he didn’t understand.

“About what you want me to do?” She caressed his stomach, lowering her fingers to tangle them into the thatch of hair at the base of his sex. Encircling him with her hand, she stroked, up and down, and leaned forward to scrape her tongue across the seam of his lips, silently letting him know where else she’d like to lick him.

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