A sexy smirk crossed his face as he answered, “Briefs.”

Damn, he was so stinking hot. Everything about him—from his large, masculine hands to the deep, sultry sound of his voice—had me completely spellbound. I knew I was walking a dangerous line. Dr. Michaels was a therapist—my therapist. He was totally off-limits, but I just didn’t care. He was way too tempting, like a special treat that I was forbidden to have. I only wanted one little taste, one little bite, and then I’d walk away. I knew nothing was ever going to happen. It couldn’t. But that didn’t stop me from seeing just how far he was willing to go.

“Left or right side of the bed?”

“Left.”

“Have you ever been with a man?”

“Umm … No,” he answered unwaveringly, and I had to fight my urge to laugh.

“How old were you when you had your first kiss?”

“Twelve.”

“Have you ever regretted sleeping with someone?”

“Yes.”

One question after the next kept popping into my head, each one a little more suggestive than the last. The slope was becoming more slippery by the minute—literally and figuratively. “Have you ever been with an older woman?”

“Yes.”

It was answers like that, which made me regret having a speed round. I wanted to know more about the older woman and his experience with her, but it wasn’t the way the game worked. “Favorite part of a woman’s body?”

His eyes drifted down my body, slowly, daringly, and then he answered, “Personally, I’ve always been a leg man.”

The heat of his stare trailed up my thighs to my center, and my entire body tingled as goosebumps prickled across my skin. I’d never been one for foreplay. It was just another form of sexual frustration, just another long stream of letdowns, but the feeling he gave me with that one simple look had me wondering if I’d given up too soon. Maybe there was a chance I’d been wrong about staying clear of men altogether.

“Lights on or off?”

“Lights on, but I’m good with whatever she’s more comfortable with.”

“What’s your biggest turn on?”

His eyes grew intense as he replied, “Making a woman come.”

A warmth washed over me as I noticed the spark of hunger in his eyes. I felt like a horny teenager playing a round of truth or dare. While we weren’t doing any dares, I still felt that same rush. I knew I was walking a dangerous line. I knew I should stop, but the questions just kept spilling, without once considering the consequences. “Would you consider yourself to be dominant or submissive during sex?”

“Dominant.”

Suddenly, I imagined him ripping my shirt wide-open. Buttons scattered along the floor while he kissed along the curve of my breast, and my body lifted from the floor as he pulled me closer. With my legs wrapped around his waist and my back slammed against the wall, he’d slip his hand under my skirt while he tore my lace panties from my body. Then he’d reach for his belt buckle, the alluring sound of his zipper sliding down. Oh yeah … Dominant. It was a good word—a very good word.

I studied him for a moment and decided he was simply too good to be true. No man could be so perfect. I’d seen it for myself. I knew he had to be just like the others, and I was just setting myself up for a fall. There had to be some flaw, some imperfection. Knowing it was a question that could change everything, I asked, “Have you ever cheated?”

When he paused, I knew I wasn’t going to like his answer. I finally found the tarnished spot on his crown. “Yes, but only once. I was young and foolish, and I still regret it to this day.”

Bam. Just like that, it was as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over me. It wasn’t fair to hold it against him, but it was the only thing I had to hold on to—to keep me from crossing that imaginary line, a line that I knew in my heart neither of us should cross. The rush was gone, and I was back in the land of reality, leaving me with no more questions to ask. I sank back in my seat and tried not to let my disappointment get the best of me.

Apparently, he missed my sulking state as he leaned forward with his eyebrow cocked high, and asked seductively, “Is it my turn now?”

I knew the moment was gone, but I was still curious to see what questions he’d ask. Deciding I didn’t have anything to lose, I answered, “Sure. I’m ready when you are.”

His lips curled into a wicked smile as he asked, “You sure about that?”

Seeing the expression on his face interested me, and I found my excitement slowly returning. “Sure.”

“What’s your biggest pet peeve?”

“Someone clicking their pen.” I raised my eyebrow as I stared at the pen in his hand. His lips pursed as he lowered it onto his lap and smirked.

“Have you ever lied about your age?”

“Ah … yes. A couple of times.”

“Do you sing in the shower?”

“Depends on my mood.”

“What scares you most?”

“Being alone in the dark.”

“Proudest accomplishment?” Each question brought on another memory, another revelation about myself, and there were some that I hadn’t even considered until he asked.

“The day my first article was published.”

“If you could have a special power, what would it be?”

“Umm … I don’t know.” I thought for a moment then answered, “I guess I’d like to be able to read minds, but not all the time. Only when I’d want to know what someone was thinking.”

“What the funniest pickup line someone’s used on you?”

“Hmm …” I’d heard plenty, so it was hard to pick just one. Finally, I remembered one I’d heard recently. “A guy once told me, ‘Your breasts remind me of Mount Rushmore—my face should be among them.’”

We both laughed, and he was still chuckling when he said, “That’s a good one. I had a woman approach me with, ‘My doctor told me I was missing Vitamin U. Can you help me?’”

“Now, that’s just lame. There was another guy who said, ‘Excuse me. My friend over there is a little worried. He’d like to get your phone number.’ When I asked him why, he told me, ‘He wants to know where he can get a hold of me in the morning.’”

“Yours are better than mine.”

“That’s not saying much.” I teased.

“No. I guess that’s true.” His head tilted to the side as his eyes glanced up towards the ceiling. After he’d thought for a moment, he looked back at me and asked, “Okay. I’ve got another one. Have you ever gone skinny-dipping?”

The question caught me by surprise, and I couldn’t stop myself from giggling as I thought back to the camping trip I took with some college friends. “Yes, but it was a long time ago.”

“Where was your first kiss?”

These weren’t your typical therapy types of questions, and while I enjoyed them much more than his questions from earlier, I wondered just how far he was going to go. Curiosity got the best of me, so I answered, “On the tailgate of Sam Kingston’s pickup truck.”

“Have you ever been with a woman?”

“No.”

“Kissed a stranger?”

“Yes.”

“Where is your favorite place to be kissed?”

His face was void of expression, but his eyes and body movements told it all. He couldn’t hide it any longer. I could see that he was becoming aroused by the topic of our conversation, and even though I knew it was wrong—very, very wrong—I liked it. “Just below my ear.”

“Your favorite position?”

I knew he meant during sex, so with no hesitation, I answered, “On top.”

“So, you like being in control?”

“Not exactly.”

I didn’t want to explain. I wasn’t ready, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready. It just wasn’t something I wanted to talk about and was relieved when he asked, “Would you say you’re submissive?”

“I don’t know.” His eyes never left mine as I replied, “I’ve never really thought about it.”

He smiled with mischief. “Isn’t that the point of this? You aren’t supposed to think.”

“Okay. Then, I’d have to say … yes, but only to a certain point.”

“Bondage?”

“Again … to a certain point. I liked watching Fifty Shades, it was a turn on and all, but that doesn’t mean I want to act it out.”

“Understood.” His smile practically lit up the room as he leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Have you had enough, or should I keep going?”

Afraid that the conversation might change direction, I told him, “I’m up for a few more.”

“Good, but let’s slow it down a little. I feel like I’m missing out on a few things.”

“Like what?”

“Like the time you kissed a stranger. Why don’t you tell me a little about that?”

I raked my front teeth across my bottom lip as I twirled my silver bracelet nervously around my wrist. “It was the night I graduated from college. I’d gone to the bar with my best friend and a roommate to celebrate. We were all having a great time, talking about our plans while we had a few drinks. My roommate was telling one of her wild stories when I noticed a man staring at me from the opposite end of the bar. He was older and very attractive, and even though he was with a large group of men, his attention was solely focused on me.”

“Did you like that you’d drawn his attention?”

Remembering how it had made me feel, I answered, “Yes. Especially since my best friend, Katie, and my roommate, Anna, were both gorgeous, and he’d shown no interest in either of them.”

“So, you were flattered?”

“Yes, but it was more than that. It was the way he was looking at me—like I was the only person in the room. It made me feel sexy.” I’d never been one to think of myself as sexy. I knew I was attractive, pretty even, but I often felt awkward, especially where sex was concerned. “It was the only time I’d ever made the first move with a man. I’m sure the alcohol had a lot to do with it, but when he walked past me to go to the restroom, I got up and followed him.” I giggled as I told him, “I surprised him a little when I opened the door to the bathroom, but he got over it. Because the next thing I knew, we were kissing.”

“Did you have sex with him?”

There was a different tone to his voice, strained and forced, as he asked the question. I knew it was crazy, but it made me think he might’ve been a little jealous. Reassuring him, I shook my head. “No. We’d only been kissing for a few minutes when someone came barging through the door. I got embarrassed and rushed out. I never even spoke to him, but I’ll never forget that night.”

Without skipping a beat, he asked, “How many men have you been with?”

It was one of those questions that brought out the liar in all women. Men shouldn’t ever ask about our weight, our age, or the number of bed partners we’ve had. Most women out there didn’t want to come off as too fat or too slim, too young or too old, and we certainly didn’t want to seem like a prude or a dirty slut. Because there was no good answer, I had no idea how to reply to his question, and an anxious feeling started to creep over me.

After mulling it over for a few seconds, I decided I’d probably never see Dr. Michaels again, so there was no point in lying. “Four.” Okay, I fudged a little, but it was a very close number. He didn’t respond, so I was left wondering if he thought that was too many. Needing to defend myself, I spoke way too quickly as I explained, “My first time was with Sam, my boyfriend in high school. He was also my first real kiss. We were together for over a year before we decided to sleep together. Then there was Matt. We dated for a couple of years in college, but it never really went anywhere. Then, Luke—we didn’t date long. He was very good-looking, and that was pretty much all there was to him. And finally, my latest ex, David—we were together for almost three years.”

I took a deep breath as I glanced back at him. For the life of me, I couldn’t read his expression. His body language gave me an unsettled feeling, and I suddenly missed the way he’d looked at me earlier—hungry and seductive. For some absurd reason, I found myself longing for it … needing it, and I was worried it wouldn’t return.

After several long and agonizing seconds, he asked, “In these past relationships, would you say that your sexual needs were fulfilled by these men?”

His voice was low and strained, almost a growl—yes, he actually growled at me as he spoke. While I had no idea why, he just asked me the one question I prayed he wouldn’t. I thought back to each of the men I’d been with and remembered all the fake heavy breathing and the overdramatic moans of pleasure. Yes, I faked it. Hell, I could’ve given a porn star a run for her money with the show I’d put on. I knew it was wrong to pretend that I was having the time of my life; I was only hurting myself, but I didn’t do it just for them, I did it for me. I tried to manipulate myself into believing that I was actually enjoying it, that I loved it all just as much as they did.

In my defense, it wasn’t always like that. At first, I tried to guide them and show them what I liked. But they didn’t listen, or they just didn’t care, and it always ended the same. Each of them would have this spectacular orgasm while I remained consumed with frustration. Thankfully, I had Bob, my battery-operated boyfriend, at my side, otherwise I would’ve given up on sex altogether. My vibrator was the only way I knew I wasn’t broken. There wasn’t anything physically wrong with me; I’d yet to find a man who could satisfy me sexually.

I knew it was a risk. I knew it might turn him off completely, but I’d already disclosed so much that I didn’t see a point in lying. So, I took a deep breath and answered truthfully. “No.”