Page 73 of Biker's Conquest: Property of Rage

“Come on in.”

She reminds me of my first kindergarten teacher, who wasn’t black, but definitely had a set of tits on her. I knew I wanted a woman the second I laid eyes on those things, before I ever even knew what sex was or anything like that. I get up, my hands suddenly sweaty, and duck through the door to follow this therapist to her office.

Her perfume smells incredible. I am so sick in the head I can’t even focus on the reason I came into this office.

Gambling.

Not sex.Not thinking about my therapist’s ass or tits.

I can’t stop gamblingand I almost lost every penny that Iabsolutely needto pay for my mother’s cancer treatment. I finally hit rock bottom enough to admit that I have a problem and everything about this sucks.

They should serve liquor here.

Dr. Yancey opensher office door. There are two comfortable velvet blue couches, warm lighting, and a shelf with all types of large, intimidating books. I fight the urge to hit my vape in here or worse, pull out a cigarette. I sit down on the biggest couch and stick my head in my hands.

They didn’t warn me that the therapist would be hot.

“So, how are you doing today, Ethan?”

I look at her, struggling to hide my immediate arousal and attraction to her. I want to tell her everything, whichscares me. Openness rarely pays off for men. I scowl and sit back.

“My family thinks I have a problem with gambling.”

“I see,” she says. What the fuck does she see? And what is she writing in her little notebook?

“Do you have a problem?” she asks.

“No.”

“But you came here anyway, because you care about your family.”

“Yes.”

She stays quiet. So painfully quiet that I have to fill the silence.

“I almost lost… a large sum of money playing poker and I just… folks look at it differently when you win.”

I can hear myself trying to justify my behavior. A smart woman like this with Dr. or whatever it is in front of her name must think I’m an idiot. I fall silent again and lean back. She keeps staring at me, waiting for me to fill the silence.

“It’s not that I have a problem.”

“But you’re in a therapist’s office for your gambling addiction according to your intake form.”

“The addiction thattheysay I have.”

Her eyes meet mine again. Fuck. Is your therapist supposed to eye fuck you like that? I’ve always had this sick attachment to women in positions of authority over me. Teachers. Librarians. Hot therapists with glasses. There is something so fucking hot about taking a woman in total control of her life and unraveling that tightly wound bun pinned to the back of her head and stripping all that power away from her.

I havealwaysloved making a powerful woman cum all over my cock.

“Ethan?”

Fuck.

“Huh?”

“I asked you how it feels when you gamble.”

I lock eyes with her.This is why people hate therapists. She stares right back at me, fierce and unmovable. There is no fucking way in hell that I’m going to be discussing my feelings right now. I need to

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