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IAM SO FUCKED.
My feet are pounding the pavement, the sweat pouring out of me as I run the familiar trail at the ungodly hour of four am. I couldn’t sleep, my mind racing a mile a minute at what I did yesterday.
What I did with Charlotte Pierce.
I kissed her.
Touched her.
Fucked her.
After three hours of tossing and turning, I threw the covers off me and decided to go for a run, hoping that the stress over sleeping with my married patient would melt away.
It is not working.
I knew I should have just made a drink.
I push myself well into mile four, my lungs on fire with the speed at which I’m flying through the park and yet, I can’t stop.
If I don’t stop, it didn’t happen. If I don’t stop, it didn’t happen.
Focus on the pain, Will.Focus on trying to get the air into your lungs and not the ache in your dick that comes every time you think about Charlotte.
Her sweet smile.
Her sweet…cunt.
I close my eyes.FUCK.She tastes like sin. Pure sex wrapped in a white satin bow that I’d had the great pleasure of unwrapping with my teeth. I worshipped at the altar of Charlotte Pierce’s body for hours in my office yesterday. No inch of skin was left unkissed, untouched, unfucked.
I knew it. I knew I should have turned Charlotte and her husband away. Refused to counsel them, made up some reason why I wasn’t the right fit, then recommended someone else. The second I saw those eyes and she shot me that smile, I should have walked away. The second that she began to speak and I felt my heart breaking out of the block of ice that had been surrounding it for years, I should have told them I couldn’t ethically be their counselor.
I had compassion for people, and the empathy that was required in my line of work. But that only went so far. I never let anyone in, due to things I learned as a marriage counselor: people are selfish and I wasn’t willing to put my heart out there just to have it eviscerated.
I’d done that for years and it almost killed me.
Enter Charlotte Pierce; she has the warmest disposition, the sweetest heart, and is one of the most insanely gorgeous women I’ve ever met. I let her in. Somewhere between her mouth on my balls and her ass in my hands as I fucked her on the leather sofa where she sat with her husband twice a week, I had let her in.
And now,I am fucked.
I mean it wasn’t completely my fault.I grit my teeth, angry at myself for trying to rationalize the choices I’ve made.
It’s true, her husband is a dick, without a doubt. To be honest, I don’t know why she puts up with his shit. I’ve counseled women that would have left his inconsiderate ass years ago.And they were married to men that were much richer.
They don’t have kids. What exactly is keeping her in this unhappy marriage?It can’t be the sex. They probably fuck face to face every time. Missionary style. Four polite minutes of sex and then they roll to their other sides of the bed.
There’s no way he fucked her the way he needed to.Certainly not the way I do,which had her coming all over my cock…and my fingers…and my tongue.
Fuck, now I am thinking about her coming. I am thinking about making her come. I am thinking about her taste.
I stop running. The conclusion as blatant and obvious as the “Stop” sign in front of me.
I fucked Charlotte Pierce and I was going to do it again.
IRUB A HAND OVERmy jaw as I recall how I got here in the first place. The steps I took and the decisions I made that have all led me to this moment—the woman I love is crying so hard she’s shaking in my arms. She’s in my lap, clinging to me as if I’m a life raft in the midst of the treacherous waters of her life. “Charley, sweetheart, we should get up.” I pull her face out of my neck, stroking the skin just below her eyes before placing a kiss on her lips. “Come on, we’re going to go home.”
“Home?” she squeaks, her eyes large and full of wonder, and I realize she’s probably not sure where that is exactly.
“My house.” I rub my nose against hers. “You need to be with me.”
