Her eyes are wide as she pulls out my length, running her hand softly down my shaft. Her nails scrape along my thighs, and my eyes roll back. I’m in heaven. I’ve died and, for some reason, Mia is on her knees for me even though I’ve done terrible things in my life. I don’t deserve this because she's right—I am lying to her. I hate liars, and yet I keep so much from her.
Her tongue licks from my balls to my tip before she sucks me into her mouth. My eyes roll back as she swirls her tongue along the top.
Hot, wet, fucking heaven.
My fingers are rubbing the soft, silky strands of her hair. Before I can stop myself, I’m wrapping it all around my fist, pulling her head down deeper and deeper until tears spring in the corner of her eyes.
She pulls off, gasping for breath.
“Sit on your hands. I’m in control.”
I do as she demands, if only to get her lips wrapped around me again. She smiles, seemingly pleased with my obedience. Her palm wraps around the base of my cock, and she slips her mouth back over me. I make a promise—after tonight, I’m going to be better. I’m going to stop following patients and Mia around. I’m going to be a good man, a good partner. I’m going to prove to myself and my father that you don’t have to sacrifice those things to be a good therapist. I’m going to have it all.
My God, I’m going to fucking come right down her throat. Her mouth is pure sin, and I’m anointing her with my fucking holy water as she worships at my feet. I feel like a god, like nothing can touch me. She makes me feel invincible.
My hips twitch, and my whimpering moans don’t sound anything like me.
“I’m going to come, love. Will you swallow me? Take me down your fucking throat.”
She pulls off me, standing to her full height, so she’s looking down on me, face stone cold as she brushes off her knees.
My dick doesn’t understand. I don’t fucking understand. What happened?
She bends down, her hands on my thighs, her nails digging into my skin just enough for it to sting. I feel the power radiating from her. I’m no god. I’m a fucking peasant begging for scraps of anything she’ll deign to give me. Praying that she’ll give me the release I’m desperate for—no, dying for. She crushes all hope with five words.
“Liars don’t get to come.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mia
Alfie Adams is lying. I have a feeling he’s protecting me from something, but I don’t like it. In fact, I think it’s a real dickhead move coming from him, when we’ve agreed to be honest with each other. So if he wants to play this dumb game, I’m going to play too. He wants me, and I’m going to use it against him. Is it petty? Yes. Is it necessary? Also yes.
I’m sick and tired of being kept in the dark on things, especially when they pertain to me. Did my boss, who happens to secretly follow people around in his downtime, just happen to be outside the exact same café I go to every Saturday with Lana? I don’t think so. Try again, Dr. Adams.
I ended up swapping my emerald green skirt for a tight leather one and a black silky camisole that has a hint of lace on the edge. It’s sexy and makes me feel powerful, which I need right now considering I've given my boss the bluest of balls and he looks like he wants to murder me or fuck me into the headboard. Hopefully, the latter.
We’re playing charades and I have teamed up with Jonesy, much to Alfie’s annoyanceand Katie’s, which in my rage I hadn’t thought would be an unfortunate casualty. Jonesy and I had quickly, and quietly discovered that we both know how to sign ASL. I want to ask him more, as I don’t know many people that speak American Sign Language, but if we want to win this game, we’ll have to be subtle.
What started off as genuine attempts to act out the prompts, swiftly turned into blatantly acting out Lord of the Rings instead of Harry Potter or Queen instead of The Beatles. Jonesy was the only one capable of guessing correctly as I signed out the words whilst attempting to look drunker than I was.
Looking down at my latest prompt, I smile wickedly, get on all fours and stick my ass right in the air at Alfie. The skirt is short enough that I’m sure he can see my panties right now and I watch as Lottie and Caleb smirk behind their hands, looking triumphant. Katie looks slightly furious, but I figure I can win her over if I get the chance to talk to her after. Besides, her fury is mainly directed at Alfie.
Turning my head back to look at him, I give him a devilish grin before crawling over to Jonesy and pretending to lap at him, my tongue hanging out and panting. A flash of what I did earlier forces my thighs to clench together. On my knees for Alfie is something I’ve dreamed of for a while. In the afternoon lulls of the working week, I would picture myself crawling under his desk and lapping at his cock as he attempted to work. He’d stroke my hair, tell me how good I am and how proud he is of me. The vision is seared on my brain like a memory; I’ve imagined it so many times. And this afternoon, leaving him frustrated and on the brink might be the hardest and hottest thing I’ve ever done.
“Nope. Nope. We’re done,” Alfie yells before scooping me up and throwing me over his shoulder, not for the first time in Lottie’s house.
“The answer is Jaws!” Jonesy yells, laughing.
“Jaws? Are you an idiot? It was Lassie or Clifford the Big Red Dog!” Katie cries out.
“Point for Jonesy!” I yell before chaos ensues.
I slap Alfie on the butt as he pinches my ass cheek, his big hand splayed over my bottom holding me in place.
Before I can wrestle myself off him, we’re up the stairs and into a room I’ve not seen except from the outside. The library.Mariah Carey, our angel above, it’s magnificent. The theme of the house is still alive here. The deep mahogany-stained bookshelves are backed with dark green alcoves with golden metal fixtures for the mood lighting. There are multiple chairs, including a worn leather couch tempting me to curl up and read. My eyes wander along the shelves. Something I love about Lottie is that she isn’t conventional. Mixed in with psychology textbooks and theoretical papers, there is a dedicated shelf for romance novels, history, travel, even cookbooks. She has something of everything here.
“What the fuck was that?” Alfie brings me back to my current predicament.
