Page 17 of Physical Therapy

“Can’t judge me based on one incident, Edith. That wouldn’t be very fair of you, would it?” His fingers massage my shoulders, inching higher towards my neck.

I find myself setting my hands on his hips as second nature. It feels so… normal.

“Why am I here, Boe?”

His chest rises with a deep breath, his focus steady as he gently traces the line of my jaw with his thumbs. “I hoped you’d be able to explain that for me.”

Theories. That’s all I have. Theories. “I wish I could.”

He searches my eyes, palms possessive around my neck before he once again leans down to kiss me. Only, this time I don’t resist. Titles melt away, our relationship nothing more than two adults who could have met under any number of circumstances.

I soften to his touch, lifting my hand to the nape of his neck. My fingers find the trimmed hairs at the base of his head, massaging their coarse tips while my thumb traces the strong muscles in his neck. Boe’s tongue sweeps against my bottom lip, testing, asking. I tilt my head and deepen our contact, aware that our bodies creep closer, our hips brushing against one another.

He repositions his hands to my waist, lifting me with one firm jerk so that I’m held against his strong body. I brace myself with hands to his shoulders, unable to wrap my legs around him due to the restriction of my dress.

“If I’d known therapy could be this fun, I would have started sooner.”

“Fun?” I tease, lifting one eyebrow.

“What else would you call it?”

Boe takes two steps back before turning to set me on the rear of the sofa. I perch on the backrest, heels hooked around his calves. His arms wrap around me, the gentle tug of my dress tells me he has the zip in hand before I feel the material loosen. Firm palms guide the garment from my shoulders, hungry eyes taking in every inch of exposed skin. The dress pools at my waist while he slips his index fingers beneath the front straps of my bra and runs them down toward my breasts.

I arc my back toward him, sliding off the furniture to let the dress fall to my ankles. He sucks in a sharp breath, palms tracing the contours of my body: breasts, waist, hips, and thighs.

“Tell me you don’t wear lingerie this sexy every goddamn day.” Boe’s fingertips explore the ornate detailing of my lace bra and panties.

“A girl’s allowed to treat herself, right?”

A low rumble sounds deep in the back of his throat. “I think it’s me who has the treat, Edith.” Thumbs hooked in the waist of my panties, Boe kneels.

I lift one leg and then the other, intrigued when he chooses to leave my heels on. Taking my hand in his own, he leads me around the sofa to the wide space before the windows. My heart races as he sets first one, and then my other hand on the sill before he gently guides my hips back toward him.

“Just like that.”

I peer over my shoulder, confused as to why he wants me like this if he intends to walk away. Boe takes a seat on the armchair behind me, legs wide, and an obvious erection tenting his gym pants. I dampen at the sight of him. Such a distinguished looking man when dressed in a suit, yet like this, he exudes only dark and dangerous desire.

“Now play with yourself.”

I should have known. A man who’s addicted to control would never engage in sexual activity that had the partners as equals. I face the window again and rest my forehead against the cool glass before closing my eyes. Slowly, I creep one hand down my belly and between my legs.

The sensual groan from behind me is more than enough encouragement.

My first two fingers run a gentle path along the lips of my pussy, back and forth. My flesh swells, the dampness between growing slicker by the second. I catch the shuffle of fabric on fabric from Boe, and then the tantalizing sound of a man who finds relief. He sighs, muttering to himself as I spread my lips apart and tease the sensitive depths with a finger.

“Rock your hips back a little, beautiful.”

My need grows when I catch a peek of Boe, one strong hand wrapped around his length while he leisurely tugs. I obey, arching my back so that my pussy is on better display for him. A sigh falls from my lips, my fingers now alternating between which one plunges my depths, and which one rubs my folds.

I’ve never played like this for a man before. All my past relationships were with men I met through work connections. Men who are as sensible in the bedroom as they are with their choice of tie for the boardroom. A person could almost say I’ve had a very sheltered sex life.

But that doesn’t mean I’m naïve to what else there is to experience.

“Talk to me,” Boe orders. “Tell me how it feels to finger yourself, Edith.”

I can’t. I just can’t. If I orate this experience it’ll end too soon. I don’t want this feeling to rush by. I want to savor it, every damn second of it.

“I’m waiting.” He moves.

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