Page 38 of The Therapist

“Robin,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. Like he’s the only one who calls me that, stripping me of the title that has defined me for so long. “I want something from you.”

My stomach flips. He’s been leading up to this for days—planting thoughts in my head, teasing me with promises of something darker, something more.

I swallow. “What is it?”

His lips curve into a slow, knowing smile. “I want to watch you.”

I blink. “You do watch me.”

He shakes his head. “Not like this.” His fingers skim higher, trailing between my legs, coaxing a gasp from my lips. “I want to watch you with someone else.”

A sharp pulse of heat floods my body. I sit up, my breath unsteady. “Cooper…”

“You trust me, don’t you?” He props himself up on one elbow, eyes gleaming with something dangerous. “You know I’d never put you in a situation you couldn’t handle.”

I do trust him. That’s the terrifying part.

I bite my lip, remembering the way he’s led me into his world piece by piece, showing me how exhilarating it can be to surrender.

He tucks a curl behind my ear, his touch unbearably gentle. “Just think about it. I want you to experience it the way I do. To feel what I feel when I watch you.” His fingers tighten around mywrist, just enough to make my breath hitch. “You liked it, didn’t you? Knowing I was watching that first time?”

A rush of shame, of arousal, twists through me.

Yes.

I liked it too much.

“Say it,” he urges. “I need to hear you say it.”

I wet my lips, pulse hammering. “I liked it.”

His smirk is triumphant, but there’s something deeper in his eyes—something reverent. He brushes his mouth against mine, a slow, claiming kiss.

“Then let me give you more.”

I close my eyes, letting the words settle over me. This is dangerous. Reckless.

But as he pulls me beneath him again, coaxing moans from my lips like confessions, I know the decision has already been made.

***

We’re at the Ocean Voyeur. The room Cooper’s put me in is grand and well-appointed. The soft glow of the bedside lamps casts long, inviting shadows, and the air is thick with something unspoken—anticipation, sin, promise. Cooper hands me a nip of vodka from the mini-fridge.

I stand motionless, my hands trembling at my sides. My knees feel funny and I hear my heart beating in my ears. I take a step away from the door, my feet sinking into the carpet with every step, little tufts of grey fibers tickling the spaces between my toes. Looking around the room, I take in the enormous four-poster bed and the silk bedspread covering it. The painting over a gas fireplace. It’s opulent.

Too much so to feel homey and warm.

Instantly, I don’t want to play anymore. I want to run back to the safety of my own bed and crawl under the covers with Flash.

My insides feel jiggly. Cooper smiles at me reassuringly. The feeling spreads to my hands. He notices, takes them in his own and squeezes. I can’t look him in the eye, so I focus on the scar, a faint, thin white line at his hairline.

“You’re going to love this. Please don’t be nervous.” His tone is gentle and calming. “Do you remember the safe word? Just say it, and it will all end.”

“Tide.” The word croaks out of me like a frog.

Cooper nods and presses his body flush against mine. I hold on to him as if he’s going to miraculously dissolve into a wisp of smoke. He is so male. Authoritative. Confident.

He watches me with quiet amusement, his presence steady, grounding. He retrieves a tiny bottle of vodka from the mini fridge, twisting off the cap before pressing it into my palm.

---