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“This is the worst night of my life.”
“It is not the worst night of your life. Bea. Hey. Look at me.” She lowers her hands an inch. Still scarlet. “Why are you embarrassed?”
“Why am I embarrassed?!” she squeaks.
“We all have needs, Doc.” I grin. “You think I’m going to judge you? I’m a twenty-three-year-old musician. I have lived a life, Bea. There is nothing in that drawer that could shock me. Frankly, it’s one of the most relatable things about you. I was starting to think you were a robot. The drawer is proof of life.”
A small sound escapes her. Against her will, it’s a laugh.
“Don’t laugh,” I say. “I’m trying to help.”
“I don’t even use it!” She laughs harder.
“Oh yeah? Why not? Is this why you’re uptight in our sessions? You should really consider using it.”
“I just mean, I am perfectly fine without it.”
Realization dawns on me, and my dick twitches with approval.
“Ohh, you prefer to use your hands?”
“Oh god, please shut up.”
“Make me, Doc.”
That’s all the warning I get before she grabs the front of my shirt and kisses me.
I catch her jaw in one hand and kiss her back harder, swallowing the small sound she makes as I guide her onto the mattress. The charger slips from my fingers and hits the floor.
Neither of us looks for it.
My hand moves beneath her shirt, her skin impossibly soft under my calloused hands, until my fingers reach the band of her bra. I cup her beautiful breast through the thin lace of her bra. It fills my hands and then some. I give it a gentle squeeze.
Her nipple tightens beneath my thumb, and a hard pulse of need goes straight through me. I stroke over it again, slower this time, watching her face as her lips part; the sight sends a heavy pulse through my cock.
Bea watches me through lowered lashes, cheeks flushed.
“That feels good,” she whispers.
“Good isn’t enough.”
I pull the lace aside and close my mouth around her nipple.
Bea gasps, her back lifting from the mattress as her fingers tighten in my hair. I circle it with my tongue, then draw it lightly between my teeth.
Her thighs close around my hips.
Fuck.
I do it again, learning the pressure that makes her breathing turn shallow and her body press harder into mine.
“That,” she says immediately. “Do that again.”
I slide one hand beneath her, holding her against my mouth while I do it again.
“Theeotverone,” she murmurs.
“Hmm?”
