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‘Noah...’ Just a whisper, but so heavy with need and desire. ‘God, Noah...’
I laugh low in my throat and she looks at me with abject confusion, but then I drop my hand to her breast, finding her nipple and flicking it.
She shakes all over, her body trembling near mine. I can’t tell you how much I want to finish this. To make her beg for me right here, right now. She’s so close. I don’t think she knows what day of the week it is.
Yeah, I want to fuck her, but here would be too rushed. Such a waste of an opportunity to really make her ache for me...
‘Do.’ I pull her earlobe between my teeth and roll my tongue over it. She whimpers.
‘You.’ I scrunch her sweater in my fist and lift it out of her skirt, feeling its softness in my palm before running my hands over her naked side. She makes a guttural noise of pleasure.
‘Want.’ I push it higher still, until my fingertips touch the lace sides of her bra and then nudge beneath it so the ball of my thumb is on the underside of her sweet, rounded breast.
‘Me.’ Her leg that’s wrapped around my waist jerks me closer, telling me not to keep her waiting. I laugh again, a sound of appreciation for a woman who knows what she wants.
‘To.’ I grip her ankle behind my back then run my hand along her calf. Holy shit, she feels so much better than I’d imagined. So soft and smooth and feminine. I pause in the hollow of her knee, watching her fevered face as her eyes darken and her cheeks glow. I run my fingers higher then, slowly, until I reach her inner thigh and she moans, once again digging her fingers into my shoulder and arching her back.
‘Fuck...’ I shove the elastic edge of her underpants aside and, with my eyes holding hers, mocking her for the fact she tried to pretend this wasn’t happening between us, I nudge a finger inside her warm, throbbing heart. She’s so goddamned wet I feel a drop of my own cum spill out, but I don’t stop. I push deeper inside her and she whimpers, her fingers now scratching into me.
‘You?’
She blinks, glaring at me for a second, and then she nods, just a simple tiny movement that is the release I crave.
Fuck, I needed that. I move my finger around and her breathing gets hotter. I pull my other hand away, but with no intention of ignoring that delicious breast. I drop my mouth to it, taking her nipple into my mouth through the bra, and I use my free hand to jerk her skirt up higher and then one thumb rubs against her clit as my finger moves inside her.
She is mine within a minute.
She cries out so hard and loud that I have to give up her beautiful breast and claim her mouth instead, if only to silence her. I absorb her scream and cries as she orgasms around my finger. Her pleasure saturates the room, vibrating around us heavily—it’s heavenly.
It’s a start, but it’s nowhere near enough...
* * *
‘It needs to go higher, Mummy.’
‘Up here?’ I hook the ornament across and press it into the branch carefully.
‘Nooo...’ She sighs with exasperation that defies belief for a four-year-old. Ivy’s mannerisms are captivating, except when they’re frustrating. ‘Way up there!’
I can still feel tingles in my body, unfamiliar and heavenly all at once, throbs of pleasure like little waves that rock me out of nowhere.
I blink and see the way he was afterwards. After he’d pulled his finger out of me and straightened my skirt with almost clinical detachment, stepping away from me and nodding, like I was an item on his ‘to-do’ list and he’d ‘to-do-ed’ the heck out of me.
‘I’ll come back tomorrow.’ That was all. No ‘What time suits?’ or ‘We should talk.’ A directive rather than a question—a decision. A firm instruction.
And I’d nodded! What the hell had I been thinking? I should have told him no. That we couldn’t see one another again.
I should have told him how wrong we’d been to do...that. Oh, God. My insides are knotted. I know that when I slip away from Ivy and take a bath, my underwear will be wet with proof of my desire, that my body has been changed by Noah’s possession and he didn’t so much as show me his chest.
I can’t see him again. I must see him again. I’m so torn. I draw in a deep breath. I know I can’t see him professionally.
Our relationship isn’t formalised—he hasn’t filled anything out. I haven’t billed him. I sweep my eyes shut. That’s a technicality and I know it. But if I spell it out to him, making sure he understands that I can no longer have him in my office, no longer treat him as a patient, does that leave me ethically free to see him in other ways? And am I really okay with that?
‘Mummy!’ Ivy stamps her foot. ‘You’re just staring into space!’
‘Sorry,’ I mumble, turning my attention back to the job at hand.
I loop the ornament on the second-highest branch and, apparently satisfied, Ivy nods before reaching into the box and carefully unwrapping the next one along. Ivy has always been very careful. Even as a one-year-old she would take care when doing anything. She has always eaten neatly, used a napkin to wipe her fingers, placed her shoes side by side at the front door. She is the definition of particular.
