AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You’re not paying me to know my secrets,” I tell her, the rough edge to my voice just another clue giving away my state of arousal. Charlotte’s always been a bit of a flirt during our sessions, but she’s upped her game today. “Why don’t you tell me about your most recent experience?”
I should be shot in the goddamn head for asking that.
What in the hell are you doing? Apparently, I really like to torture myself.
“Would you—” She’s cut off when her phone pings. Leaning forward, she grabs it from her purse. After checking the screen, she lifts her beautiful eyes to me. “I’m afraid I have to cut this session short. There’s something I need to take care of.”
Disappointment settles in my gut, but I mask it behind a smile. “I hope everything’s okay.”
She grabs her purse, slinging it over her shoulder, and stands. I get to my feet. “Nothing serious. Just work stuff.”
She walks toward me, not stopping until she’s only a foot away. Her delicious citrusy scent engulfs my senses, playing havoc with my body.
Her eyes slide down my body, lingering at my groin for a moment, before rising back up to meet mine. “I’ll see you next Thursday, Dr. Erikson.” Her voice is smooth like silk, but I notice a hint of huskiness.
“Until next week.”
She looks at me for a moment longer, her stare holding untold wants and desires, before she turns on her heel and walks out the door.
I blow out a breath and rub the back of my neck, massaging the tense muscles.
Tipping my head back, I give thanks Charlotte is my last patient of the day and that my office comes with its own bathroom.
Just like every Thursday, I’ll be spending the next fifteen minutes relieving the perpetual ache she always causes.
2
Charlotte
Sliding my big designer sunglasses over my eyes, I take a seat on a bench underneath a big tree in the park. Several people mill about, walking their dogs, talking on their phones, or gabbing with friends.
It’s not those people I’m interested in. It’s the guy thirty feet away, sitting on another bench across from me. His head is bent, reading a book. He looks to be in his early-to-mid thirties, with sandy blond hair and a nice build. His clothes suggest he’s middle class. None of that matters though. Not for what I have in mind. Anyone will do actually, so long as they are of age and not old enough to be my grandfather.
I set my purse down on the bench beside me and check my surroundings, making sure no one is around who shouldn’t witness my actions. Satisfied, I unbutton my blazer and slide it down my arms, setting it on my purse. The blouse beneath is sheer white and feels splendid against my bare breasts. The way it rubs my nipples almost has a moan slipping past my lips. I specifically chose this shirt because without a bra or cami, you can easily see the outline of my breasts, especially the darker color of my hardened nipples.
My sunglasses hide my eyes, so I can easily watch the man across from me without anyone noticing. His focus is still on his book, but I’m not worried. I know he’ll look up soon. They always glance up every so often to look around. And they always find what I want them to.
I uncross my legs and let my knees part a couple of inches. The breeze blows up my skirt, cooling the fevered, naked flesh between my legs. I let out a sigh, enjoying the feeling. It’s almost like a feather-soft caress.
Inconspicuously, I glance back at the man, and just as predicted, he’s looking directly at me. If I wasn’t so turned on, it would be comical t
o watch his eyes dart back and forth between my boobs and up my skirt, fighting with himself on which he wants to see more.
I tuck my feet under the bench and cross my ankles. The action causes my legs to fall open another inch. The man makes his choice and settles his eyes on my legs.
I grab my blazer and lay it across my lap so I can get my phone from my purse. When I pick the blazer up to put it back on my purse, I purposely slide the material over my legs, dragging my skirt higher up my thighs. The hem is only a few inches away from completely exposing me.
Pretending to look down at my phone, I tilt my head up just high enough so I can keep the guy in view. A ripple of excitement forms in my stomach at the blatant lust on his face. He licks his lips, like he’s imagining running his tongue over my slit.
Being an exhibitionist is something I discovered I enjoy a couple of years ago. The first time was by pure accident. I was taking the bus to work one morning when I caught a guy seated a few spots down from where I was staring at me. It’s not uncommon for guys to hit on me. I’m not being vain when I say I know I’m beautiful. It’s a simple fact, born from the many, many desirous looks I’ve gotten from men over the years.
The look on the guy’s face on the bus was different. More intense. Deeper. He was turned on just by looking at me, and I have no doubt had my hand wandered to his groin, he would have been rock-hard.
I liked that look. I liked knowing I put it there. That just looking at me caused his mind and body to react so strongly.
It wasn’t until he stepped off the bus that I realized in my mad rush getting dressed that morning because I was running late, I missed a couple of buttons on my blouse. I wasn’t flashing partial cleavage; I was damn near showcasing everything I had in that department. And because I dropped my pen, I’d bent over, giving the guy even more to look at. I’m pretty sure he could have told anyone the color of my nipples.
Most women would have been mortified by the experience. It did the exact opposite for me. I wanted the guy to come back so I could show him more.
