Page 40 of Physical Therapy

“Answer it.”

I cry out when he flicks my clit with his finger.

“Unless you want her to come in here.”

Shit.He’s right. I gingerly pick up the receiver, my body still languidly rocking across my desk with each thrust of Boe’s hips.

“Molly. Hi.”

“Um. Are you okay?”

“Yes, fine. We’re just… oh…”

“Edith?”

“We’re talking,” I snap as my walls close around Boe. He massages my clit with his thumb, stealing my next breath.

“Okay. Well. Your next appointment is here.”

“I’ll be right out,” I rush in one breath. The phone smashes into the cradle, the light thankfully extinguishing to show the call disconnected as my orgasm hits.

I bite my lip so damn hard I swear I draw blood. If not, I’m definitely going to have an imprint for my next session. Never mind the cum on your desk, Edith …

“We have one more appointment together,” Boe grits out between breaths. “I don’t think it’ll be enough to resolve my—” He stalls as his climax hits. I feel every damn pulse of his cock as he unloads into me. “Issues.”

“Then book more on your way out.” I follow, arms falling to my sides and knocking things off my desk left, right, and center as I shake through my orgasm.

Boe withdraws, his face falling stoic while he tucks himself away and then retrieves his pants. “You should clean yourself up,” he states. “You’re a fucking mess.”

I’m left spread-eagled in a state of shock as he quietly redresses and checks his reflection in the small mirror on my bookshelf.

“Um, okay?” Cum spills from my still swollen core as I pull myself into a seated position.

“How does it feel?” he asks with one quirked eyebrow, knotting his tie.

“How does what feel?” I search frantically for something—anything—to clean myself with.

“To be used?”

I turn to answer him, yet to my utter horror, he strides for the door and tugs it open. I drop from my desk and lunge out of view, slamming it shut behind him.

Asshole.

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