Page 31 of Craving Cooper

I’ve also jerked off every night, and sometimes in the mornings, too. That’s made it even harder to look at her, knowing she fuels my fantasies. There have been a couple of days when she’s looked particularly alluring for some reason. I can’t say what that reason is, but she’s looked too sexy for words, and when we’ve finished work, I’ve rushed up to my apartment, the door barely closed behind me before I’ve had my dick in my hand.

I don’t remember being this horny, even when I was a teenager.

It’s like I can’t get enough… like I’ll never get enough.

I don’t remember coming so hard, either. Every time is just like it was in the shower on Sunday night… like my body is possessed.

By Mallory. By thoughts of Mallory, dreams of Mallory…

Which is why looking her in the eye has become practically impossible over the last few days… just like I knew it would.

Although it’s not just about sex. That’s what makes this situation even more weird.

Not only do I fantasize about stripping her out of her clothes, discovering her with my tongue, lying her naked beneath me, and burying myself deep inside her, I’ve also dreamed of other things. Things like taking romantic walks, sitting across from her at a candlelit table, cradling her in my arms while she sleeps…

I know it’s weird, and I never thought I’d say this, but for the first time in my life, I want more.

It’s a concept I’ve always shied away from. Meredith could testify to that, as could every other woman I’ve ever dated, and I wonder if that’s why I’m struggling… if that’s why I feel so strange.

I move over to the other side of the room, leaning against the countertop that runs around two of the walls, shaking my head, even though I can’t help smiling.

Why?

Because discovering Mallory doesn’t have a boyfriend can only mean one thing… and that’s enough to make any man smile. It means there’s no need to agonize over picturing her in the arms of another man. Instead, I can dream of her lying naked, her legs spread wide, her fingers strumming across her clit. I like to think she wouldn’t be gentle with herself, but that she’d rub ferociously, and maybe dip her fingers inside her soaking entrance. She’d be dripping with need, and she’d gather up her juices and smear them over her shaved pussy. In my dreams she’s shaved, you see, and I let out a groan, my dick as hard as nails, as the thought crosses my mind that maybe she’s so good at making herself come because she’s never had a boyfriend to do it for her.

I reach down and stroke my cock through my pants, struggling not to come.

What if she’s a virgin?

“Oh fuck,” I whisper, pulling my hand away.

I shouldn’t be thinking like that. And I should stop this nonsense. Except it isn’t nonsense, is it?

Yes, it is.

Mallory’s my receptionist. She works for me. I have a position of responsibility here…

Even if I can’t stop thinking about her. Even if I want her so much, it hurts.

I shake my head.

I need to think of something else, other than Mallory, naked or otherwise. If I don’t, I’ll still have a raging hard-on when my next patient arrives.

The problem is, she’s become a constant thought in my head… one I can’t seem to shift, even when I’m supposed to be thinking about other things.

Although Meredith isn’t one of them.

She was… at least somewhere in the back of my mind. But she’s not anymore.

I meant it when I said to Mallory that she didn’t have to worry about Meredith… because she’s a thing of the past after a conversation I had earlier today. It wasn’t a conversation with Meredith. I still haven’t heard a word from her, but I’ve heard of her, from Angela. She’s the receptionist at the Hart’s Creek Courier, and I met her by chance on Main Street.

I’d heard Mallory leave for lunch, and had gone out myself just a few minutes later, knowing she wouldn’t be at her desk, and I wouldn’t have to run the gauntlet of trying not to look at her. That’s something I’ve struggled with all week. I’ve struggled to the extent that I’ve even eaten lunch upstairs in my apartment on a couple of occasions, rather than spend too much time with her. I know that makes it sound like I don’t want to be with her, when I do. The problem is, I want more than lunch and idle chatter, friendly smiles and occasional touches over the kitchen sink. I want to devour her… to have her whisper her deepest, darkest needs to me, and then to fulfill them. Every single one. I want her to scream my name and beg me for more. And then, when I’ve given her everything she needs, I want to hold her in my arms and caress her soft skin until she falls asleep… and dreams of me.

And that’s the problem. When you want it all, having nothing is like torture. Imagine being a child in a candy store, feasting your eyes on all the brightly colored confections, only to be told none of it is for you. That’s what this feels like. There’s all the temptation, and none of the satisfaction.

The problem this lunchtime was, I needed some fresh air, so once I’d heard the front door close, I wandered out into the reception, waiting until I saw Mallory cross the street before I went out myself, turning left along the sidewalk.

I’d only gone a few paces when Angela came out of the newspaper’s offices, and we practically bumped into each other. I don’t know what her excuse was for not paying attention. Mine was Mallory. Either way, we apologized, and then she looked up at me, with a sympathetic smile on her face, which I found confusing.

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