CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Seven days to go—then I’m going to fuck her into next week.
Dr. Lorraine is just sitting there, smiling at me like a fool. She’s never this quiet. Something’s up with her. Maybe she got laid last night. Don’t think you’re supposed to ask your therapist that, so I continue to blab about work and Sutton, hoping the hour passes quickly.
“I gave Sutton a key to my house and . . .”
She cuts me off. “Have you told her you love her?”
“I never told you I love her.”
She laughs at me. “Have you told her?”
“Just once, accidentally.”
“You accidentally told her?”
“It just came out,” I say.
“Then what happened?”
“I told her I didn’t want to discuss it.”
“I’m sure you did. Does she love you?”
“She said she did once.”
“You didn’t want to discuss that, either?”
“Nope.” She leans forward and gets that look on her face, the look that scares the crap out of me. So naturally, I try to avoid it, leaning back on the sofa and relaxing my posture.
“Who’s loved you?” she asks.
“Lots of women.”
“Name a few.”
“Annie, Daphne, the woman before her and . . . well, pretty much all of them say they love me.”
“What do all these women have in common?”
I try to think. They all looked different, came from different backgrounds. I don’t have a particular type, besides sexy as hell. “I don’t think they have anything in common, besides me.”
“So the common thread is that they all loved you.”
“Yes.”
“And you left them all?”
I tug at my shirt collar before shifting. Is that true? I leave the people who love me? “I guess so.”
“Why?” she asks, her brown eyes narrowing.
“I don’t know.”
“Why could you be the man who sticks for Annie, but not any of the other women you’ve been intimate with?”
I tense at the mention of intimacy and Annie and clip, “I said I don’t know.”
“You better figure it out,” she says, her voice firmer than usual.
God, that sounds ominous. But I don’t think I’d leave Sutton. I’m doing things differently this time. “Isn’t that your job? To figure me out?”
She flashes a smile. “Okay, if you’re going to let me in that thick skull of yours and thicker heart.”
“I’ve been on my best behavior. Why don’t you look happy?” I ask. I look at my watch, hoping our time is up. Fifteen minutes left.
“It’s only when we’re at our worst that we can trust someone’s love for us. Only when we’ve seen someone at their worst that they truly know how much we love them.”
“Can I just enjoy the good part for a little while?”
She lets slip a little chuckle. “Let’s talk about your parents. Let’s start with your mom.”
My chest and gut both clench. It’s a contest for which feels worse. I need to control the narrative here, so briefly, I fill her in on my parents’ relationship and how it all went to hell after my father left us.
Dr. Lorraine tilts her head. “There’s no one more beautiful to a little boy than his mother.”
“The days she wore her hair up felt so light,” I say. “But then one day, she asked me to pull her hair up for her. She taught me how because her back was so bruised, she couldn’t lift her arms.”
“I’m sorry that happened.”
“He got smart about where he hit her.”
“They usually do.”
“She’d yell for me to go outside, not wanting me to see or hear. She always wanted to protect me. I’d run over to Annie’s house.”
“Annie is very important to you?”
I nod. “Finally, I had enough.”
“And what happened?”
“I fought the guy. My mom never saw him again after that.”
“You do like to take care of women, don’t you?” she asks. “I like that about you.”
I offer a tight smile. “Are we finished?”
“One more thing,” she says, her eyes soft. “How old were you when she died? When you went to live with your dad and stepmother?”
“Fourteen. Almost fifteen.”
She puts her hand over her chest. “I feel this pain in my chest for you. Hearing your story hurts. What are you feeling as we talk about it?”
I feel the urge to flee. I can’t take this conversation any farther, hating this psychobabble. Time to deflect. “Next week will be twenty-nine days sex sober.”
She chuckles. “Pierce, you can go off your diet now.”
*
I think I drove a hundred miles an hour to my house, excited to get to Sutton and needing to outrun the old ghosts nipping at my heels. I know Sutton will be there, since it’s after work hours. She still has her room at the hotel, but she stays with me most of the time. I barrel through the front door, throw my keys down, and call out for her.
“Pierce,” she calls back. “In here.” I find her sitting on the sofa with a pile of design books around her. She tosses a book down on the table. “Is everything alright?”
“I’m off my diet.”
“So you’re done with the therapy?”
“Not yet, but she took me off the diet.”
“Oh,” she says and starts to chew on her bottom lip, and I wonder why we still have clothes on.
Then it hits me. Sutton has me on her own diet. I just realized it. “Sutton?”
Her forehead wrinkles. “I . . . I’m . . .”
“Fuck, Sutton? I’ve been waiting forever.”
Her eyes spark, and she pounces up, ready to fight. “Well, you can wait a little longer.”
“Sutton, I’m going to bend you over that sofa and fuck you and you’re going to like it.”
She puts her hand on her hip and asks, “Does it actually work when you talk to women like that?”
“Yes, always.” She steps closer until her face is inches from mine. She smirks, and I smirk back. Then she giggles, and I chuckle. “I thought you’d be as excited as I am.”
She reaches into her purse, pulling out a pouch and showing me the lettering on it.
Oh, Bloody Hell.
Then she unzips it, showing me the contents—every kind of female product imaginable. “It’s my time of the month. Just started.”
Part of me is happy. At least she isn’t rejecting me. She has a valid reason. The other part of me can’t believe the terrible luck. Yet another part of me wants to die laughing at her period pouch humor.
“I’m sorry. I feel terrible,” she says and steps back. “I thought you’d be off your diet next week. I had it all worked out in my mind.”
I slide my arms around her waist. “I’m not opposed to . . .”
“Of course you’re not,” she says, slapping me playfully. “Are you opposed to anything when it comes to sex?”
“I won’t share you,” I say.
“I didn’t realize that was even an option.”
“And I don’t do anything with other dudes. So don’t get any fantasies about me and some other guy.” Her mouth drops open. Sometimes I forget how innocent she actually is.
“Well, darn. That sounds fun,” she teases.
“Oh yeah?” I take her by the waist and start to tickle her until I have her on the sofa. I look down at her bright face, smiling and laughing. The L word pops into my head.
“Can you wait a few more days?” she asks, and I groan inside. “I’m not saying we’ll have to abstain every month, but right now, I’m not comfortable.”
I guess a few more days won’t kill me. “Then we play?”
“Yes,” she breathes out.
God, it’s so sexy how she gets breathless. I slide my hand to her breast. “I’ve got so many ideas.”
“Um,” she moans, forcing me up. “I can’t wait for you to show me, but the next few days, I’d like to focus on you.”
She reaches out her hand to me, and I slip my hand into hers. She leads me up the stairs into my bedroom and sits me down on the bed, dimming the lights. It’s funny to watch her. She finds some music on her phone, like she’s setting the mood. Does she not know that men don’t need all that crap? We pretty much live in the mood, but it’s sweet. I’m waiting for her to start sprinkling rose petals on the bed.
She turns to me and lifts her shirt over her head and slides down her shorts. She has on a cute pair of black boy short panties and a matching lace bra. If those are her period underwear, that’s totally fine with me. It’s sexy in a demure way.
She steps toward me and runs her fingers through my hair, my face buried in her cleavage. I inhale her, drinking her in. I want her. I push back and trail kisses down her stomach as she plays with my hair. She pushes me back on the bed and straddles me. I can’t take my eyes off her as she undoes the buttons on my shirt slowly, her eyes lighting up as more of my skin comes into view.
Has any woman ever looked at me like this?
It’s more than desire. It’s more than wanting to please me. It’s more intense than either of those things. She removes my shirt and slowly runs her fingers around my muscles. I reach for my belt, and she catches my hand and shakes her head at me.
“I decide when you finish, how you finish,” she says.
I chuckle. She’s going to be really fun to play with. It all just comes so naturally to her. I know she’ll enjoy the kinky stuff. “Yes, mistress.”
She laughs. “You are so naughty.”
I flash her my best grin, and she lifts herself up and slides down my pants until I’m laid out naked before her. “Touch me,” I say.
Yeah, I know she’s trying to be in charge here, but let’s just face it, that isn’t ever going to happen.
She runs her fingers up my inner thighs and my body constricts. I sit up and pull her into me, feeling her heat surrounding me through her panties. My hand goes to the back of her neck, and I kiss her hard on the mouth, her breath now my breath, our tongues wrestling with each other’s, our hips finding a rhythm. Sex with her is going to be incredible, I just know it. “You like that, baby?”
“God, yes,” she moans. “I can’t wait for you to be inside me.”
“I want that, too,” I say, catching her eyes, hoping she’ll relent.
Our bodies continue to grind into each other. “I want to feel you hard, your smooth skin, your warmth,” she says.
“You’re killing me,” I say.
She pushes me down and straddles me, taking me into her hands and stroking me, but pushing her hips into me at the same time. It’s almost like she’s on top fucking me, only she isn’t, but I can feel her hand and watch her body.
“Ride me hard,” I groan.
She pushes harder, and her hand moves faster. I look at our bodies moving, her hand sliding up and down me, rubbing against her clit. What a view—flat on my back, her curvy little body on top of me, her hair falling over her shoulders, the sweet sounds of her panting. God, this girl is good, her hand and hips in perfect rhythm. She’s going to get us both off at the same time.
“I’m coming,” she screams out, and her legs squeeze together, and just then I shoot out all over my stomach.
“Fuck.”
She pumps me a few more times, taking all of me, then collapses down next to me, her hand still resting on my dick, gently stroking me with her fingers. I pull her into a kiss then reach for a tissue box, but she beats me to it. “Sutton, you don’t need to clean . . .”
“Shh,” she whispers, tossing me a smile. “I’m full-service.” I watch her hand, her fingers, the way her eyes move over my body. There’s a gentleness to her touch. Her desire to take care of me extends beyond what’s between my legs. And I let her.
“I love you,” I say.
She looks down at me, stunned. I’m in complete control this time when I say it. No accidental declaration, no panic after. I’ve always been a direct man; it’s time to be true to that.
“Thought you didn’t want to discuss it?” she asks.
“Changed my mind,” I say, smirking at her. “I plan on talking about it all the time. Telling you multiple times a day, writing you poems and sonnets. Hell, I might even tattoo your name across my ass.”
She cracks up laughing. “Please don’t.”
I hug her, and she melts into my body. Right when she starts to let go, I hug her a little tighter and whisper. “I love you. I didn’t know what it meant before, but now I do.”
“What’s it mean?”
“It means there is no one else for me. I can stop looking. It means gazing in your eyes for hours, when it feels like minutes. It means you will never give up on me, and I’ll never give up on you. It means I’ll give up all the nights on the town for dinner in the bathtub with you. It means when we fight, I know you won’t leave. It means the part of me that’s missing is found. It means forever. I’m done.”
Her hand flies over her mouth, tears running down her cheeks. “I love you.”
Those are my three favorite words now.