Page 60 of The Bonds We Break
I step around the counter, reach for her by the waist, and hoist her onto the kitchen island. “Fine.” I take the pencil, and I divide the page into four. At the top of each box, I write a title. Physical accelerators. Physical Brakes. Mental Accelerators. Mental brakes. “I’m guessing accelerators are things that get you in the mood to fuck and help you come, and brakes are things that kill the mood.”
“I’m so not having this conversation with you,” Rae says.
“Thought you were a psychologist. A therapist. You make people have conversations they don’t want to with you all the fucking time, right?”
“That’s a bit of a simplification.”
I grin. “So not untrue then.”
“Fine. Not entirely.”
I stand between her legs and slowly slide my hands beneath the fluffy sweater. Her skin is so warm to the touch. And soft. So soft, my callouses probably scratch her. “I intend to fuck you. A lot. It will be better for both of us if you enjoy it.”
Her eyes narrow. “You realize that is a ridiculous sentence.”
My hands drift over her waist, feeling the way it narrows. “Is it? Way I see it, you have a problem. I want to help fix it.”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Yes. You’re a therapist. I bet you’ve read all sorts of books about bodies, how they work, how they don’t work. And none of it has changed anything for you. Now, I have two guesses why.”
Rae rolls her eyes. “Please, enlighten me.”
I bite back a grin at the sarcasm. “The first is, all you did isreadabout it. I bet you never actuallytriedtheir methods to see if they work. Or second, you tried too few times. They say it takes twenty-eight days to build a habit. I’m guessing getting good sex for you will probably require some repeated effort.”
“Jesus. I changed my mind. Slitting my throat and burying me in the Pines is sounding a lot more appealing.”
She tries to slide off the island, but I don’t let her avoid the conversation. I slide my hands up her ribs until my thumbs reach her bra. I rub them softly over her nipples. Despite the thin cotton, I can feel how erect the little nubs are. When I slide the bra cups down and tweak them gently, she sucks in a breath and then bites down on her bottom lip.
I grab the pencil and make a note in the physical accelerator square.
She leans over. “Wait. What are you doing?”
I finish writing, then slide the pencil behind my ear. “You won’t write my diagnostic list out; I’ll have to start from first principles.”
She grabs the pad. “Likes nipple play?”
“Is that a lie?” I raise an eyebrow, and she slams the pad down on the counter.
“It’s ridiculous. That’s what it is.” But I hear the hint of something more than frustration with me. Hopelessness. Embarrassment. I can’t figure it out. But it fucking tugs at me.
“Look at me, Rae.” I like her struggle to obey. Makes it all the headier when she finally does, lifting that chin and those long lashes. “I intend to use your body. I can be an utterly selfish prick about it if it makes you feel less exposed.” I cup her cheeks and try to ignore the tiny tug in my chest when she leans her cheek to my palm. “Or you can let me do this one good thing and help you leave here as confident in bed as you are in every other facet of your life.”
“Fine,” she says but snatches the pencil from behind my ear. “I’ll write my own list before you get any other wild theories.”
“You mean like the one where I wonder if there isn’t a connection between the lack of Shakespeare quotes about sex and your response to sex?”
Her jaw drops open. “What?”
“You heard me. I’m guessing there aren’t too many sex quotes in Shakespeare for you to learn from.”
Her pencil hovers over the paper. “‘O, that she were an open-arse and thou a popp’rin pear.’”
“A what pear?”
“A popp’rin. It’s olde English slang forpenis. Mercutio said it.Romeo and Juliet.”
“Hardly the kind of dirty talk that gets your engine revving.”
