Page 151 of Double Puck

Then I feel Beck's eyes on the side of my face.

"No."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were about to suggest we have sex. I know your sex face, Beck Morrison."

I know it without even looking. I'm the woman who's just spent weeks watching Beck Morrison's expressions, and this one was filed in the report as incoming terrible idea.

"I was simply noticing," he says, voice dropping into a deep husky tone that makes my nipples pay attention, "that this is the most private room in the entire arena. Soundproofed, probably. For confidentiality."

"Beck Morrison, absolutely not."

"Are you sure? There's a balcony…"

"This is her place of work."

"You're right."

"And there are probably cameras."

"Definitely no cameras in a therapist's office, Spreadsheet."

He leans back in the chair, hands sliding behind his head like he hasn't a care in the world. The fabric of his shirt pulls tight across his shoulders, and I watch the whole thing unfold like a slow-motion replay.

His arm muscles flex as his chest stretches.

Did he just tense his biceps? I swear he's tensing his biceps right now.

He catches me looking, his lips curving into a devastating smile that makes my thighs press together, despite the fact he hasn't said a word.

He knows what he's doing. He's been doing it since the moment we met, and I keep walking into it like I don't see the trap coming.

I see it now.

I just don't care anymore.

"Cameras in a therapy room would be illegal. Hot, but very unethical." he twists his neck from side to side, sliding a hand along his thigh, stopping just short of the bulge in his crotch. "Poppy would never do such a… naughty thing."

My eyes drop to his hand, which is now moving in a slow, lazy drag over the growing situation straining against his jeans.

He's not even hiding it. He's petting it.

And I can't get enough.

Last week, I watched this very man sprawl across my bed, his fist wrapped around that thick, heavy cock, veins standing out along the shaft as he stroked himself and told me I wasn't allowed to come until he did.

We just watched each other, like we are right now.

The memory alone makes my breath hitch.

I'd never even considered something like that before him. Before Beck stumbled into my life and turned every carefully organized compartment inside my head into a disaster zone.

I'd had sex. Perfectly adequate, perfectly forgettable.

But watching? Being watched? Lying back with my legs spread and his eyes burning between them while he tells me exactly what he's going to do to me when he's done?

I didn't know I wanted that.