19

This was the longest group ever. Donovan wondered if The Grove still stocked straitjackets because he was losing his fucking mind—slowly and painfully. Group had been going on for half an hour, and he’d barely registered a word of what anyone was saying. Marin was sitting across from him, legs crossed, posture attentive and professional, but all Donovan could think of was how close they’d come to screwing all this up in one ill-advised moment.

They were hitting a breaking point. He’d thought he was the only one. But the way Marin had looked at him. She’d begged for his touch with everything but words. And he’d known with every male instinct he possessed that if he’d put his hands on her, she would’ve been warm and wet and willing. Her desire had been a palpable thing rolling off her. She’d needed relief. She wanted it from him. And goddamn, did he want to give that to her.

When he’d caught her watching Eli and Laura, he’d only gotten a glimpse of her reaction. Her lips had been parted, her skin rosy, and her breath held. But it’d hit him like a swift punch to the gut. Dr. Marin Rush had been in a trance seeing Eli fuck Laura fast and hard. And then Donovan had watched her face while the couple found their release. She’d held Donovan’s gaze through the ecstatic cries and erotic sounds—a coil of electricity sparking between the two of them. And it’d taken everything he had not to get hard right there. He’d caught clients fooling around before. It didn’t hit his sexual radar. It usually just pissed him off because it meant the treatment wasn’t working. But being in the same room with Marin with the sounds and fog of sex around them—that had been almost too much to take.

He’d tried to play it off, to make light of the situation. But when Marin had stood in front of him, looking like she could go off at the barest touch, he’d wanted to shove her up against the door, slide his hand up her skirt, and alleviate that problem for her right that moment. He wanted his name on her lips.

It’d taken every damn ounce of his self-control to not say, Fuck it all, and give them both exactly what they’d wanted in that moment. But neither of them had been thinking straight and clients had been down the hall. If he touched her, regret would be hot on their heels. Regret and serious consequences. But he was starting to realize how right Ysa had been. This wasn’t going to go away simply because they decided it should. They were trying, and it was only getting worse. It was making them reckless.

Something neither of them could afford to be.

He’d promised Marin that he wouldn’t push her, and until today, she hadn’t shown any sign of accepting the offer he’d made last week. At first he’d been relieved. He’d gotten a get-out-of-jail-free card after the lust-induced, ill-advised suggestion. But now—God, now he’d wished she’d said yes. He could deal with it fine if she wasn’t into him. But how was he supposed to handle it when she looked at him like she was fucking starved for him, like he’d landed the starring role in every one of her filthy fantasies?

He’d never obsessed about women like this. A woman was either interested in what he had to offer or not, no big deal. But working with Marin and keeping things professional had become slow, sweet torture. Last night, he’d barely made it into the house before he was hard with thoughts of her and climbing into the shower to stroke his cock. It was like when he’d had to pen the fantasies for the study. The dirtiest, lewdest things badgered his mind, demanding he play out the scenarios in detail. Marin writhing beneath him. Marin spread across his desk. Marin shoved up against a wall, taking his cock, begging for release.

“What would you say is an unhealthy level of masturbation, Dr. West?”

Jane Swenson’s question yanked him out of his spiraling thoughts, and he adjusted in his seat, his body becoming way too aware of the road his brain had been cruising down. “Um, I’d say that depends.”

That depends was always a good answer when you hadn’t been paying attention, though he felt like an asshole for letting his mind drift so much. He prided himself on giving his clients his undivided attention. He’d been an utter failure at that this week.

Jane frowned. “I feel like I’ve made a lot of progress. I haven’t hooked up with anyone in two months, but I’m worried that I’m relying on self-help a little too much. I’ve been using my vibrator every night, sometimes in the morning, too.”

Marin shot a look his way, like she somehow knew he hadn’t been paying attention, and then focused on Jane. “Masturbation can be part of the sex addiction, but Dr. West is right. It depends on the level. You need to ask yourself if it’s interfering in your daily life—getting in the way of obligations, putting anything at risk, if you’re fixating on it.”

Jane shrugged. “I don’t think so. I mean, I don’t think about it while I’m at work or anything. It’s not like when I was cruising bars every night. The high for me was always the game of picking up a guy, not so much the orgasm. I liked feeling desirable, powerful. Masturbation doesn’t give me that.”

“I jerk off every day. Always have.” Dave, another group member, chimed in. “I don’t think that’s weird. I mean, yeah, if you’re rubbing yourself raw and blowing your salary on porn or something, probably not good. But otherwise? Meh.” He shrugged. “Plus, isn’t it like using a patch when you try to give up smoking? You’ve dropped the random hookups. Going cold turkey with no other outlet could set you up for failure, so maybe it’s a bridge for you?”

“That’s a great analogy,” Donovan said, back up to speed with the conversation. “It can be a great tool if you’re doing it in a healthy way. If you weren’t relieving that tension, it could put you in a more stressed state, one where you’d be more likely to relapse and seek a hookup.”

“Sex brain,” Laura said, not looking up from picking at her fingernail polish.

“Sex brain?” Marin asked.

Laura’s attention drifted briefly to Eli, who hadn’t said a word since group had started. “Yeah, when you get so horny all you can think about is screwing the nearest guy. It’s like starving yourself for days and then expecting to resist a buffet. You set yourself up for a fall and make crappy decisions. Then you do something stupid, and when you come down off that high, you realize you’ve messed everything up again. Giving your vibrator a workout has got to be better than that.”

The words were clearly directed at Eli, but he just leaned back in his chair, knees wide and expression bored. His lip curled in derision. “A toy or your hand can’t substitute for good sex. It’s like drinking diet soda when you want the real thing. I say, just drink the sugar.”

“And you do that enough, you get diabetes and die,” Laura said darkly.

Eli snorted.

“My vibrator is way better than a lot of sex I’ve had,” Karina, another group member, offered in an offhanded tone. “Hate to break it to you, boys, but you are very much replaceable.”

“Okay,” Donovan said, trying to refocus a conversation that was quickly getting off track. “Let’s explore this in a different way. We’re focusing a lot today on the physical pleasure of sex—which is an important component. But what hookups and masturbation lack is the intimacy you can find in a healthy relationship. The reason many of you are here is because you’ve leaned too far in the direction of the physical high of it. So how about we discuss some ways to start connecting with others without the physical component at the forefront?”

Different members of the group shared their opinions, and they ended up getting some good things discussed, but by the time the end of the hour was nearing, Donovan was exhausted and his shoulders tight with all the tension he was carrying.

He wrapped up things a few minutes earlier than he normally would have and let everyone file out while he stayed in his chair. He tried to focus on writing down some final notes, but Marin’s presence had his gaze straying. After telling everyone good-bye, she walked around the circle of chairs, picking up coffee cups and soda cans that people had left behind. It was a simple thing, but something about the way her skirt swished with each step and the slow click of her heels against the floor was unbearably erotic. He’d like to see her in just those heels.

She caught him watching her. “Good group. Laura’s clearly rethinking her behavior from earlier.”

Donovan grunted an agreement, trying to reel in the dangerous thoughts. “And Eli is not. But at least he behaved himself in group.”

“He did, mostly. And now I have a new term to add to my therapeutic repertoire.” She tossed the trash in the bin. “Sex brain.”

“Yeah, that’s a new one, but I think it resonated with the other members. We’ve all experienced that kind of thing at some point—jonesing for something to the point of bad decision-making. For a group fighting addiction, that can be a constant state. And unlike drug or alcohol addiction, lifelong abstinence from sex is not a reasonable goal.”

She smirked as she gathered some extra handouts and set them on one of the chairs. “I can attest that it’s survivable though.”

“Is it?” The question slipped out before he could stop it.

She paused, her smirk falling away, and peered toward the door as if to double-check they were alone. “Donovan, about earlier . . .”

When she didn’t continue, he leaned back and waited.

Her lips compressed like she was struggling to find the right words, but he didn’t fill in the silence for her. When you filled in for people, you chased off the truth. He needed to hear her truth.

She sighed. “I guess I’m the one suffering from sex brain.”

“Oh?” He tried to keep his tone neutral.

“Yes.” She walked over to the door, shut it, and then flipped the lock for good measure. When she turned back to him, her arms were crossed and her expression grim. “I’m sorry about earlier. I was caught off guard with Laura and Eli, and after everything I’ve been exposed to since I’ve started working here, all the videos and research and just—I don’t know. I guess I hit my limit, and it all spilled over. I lost my head for a second, and I—well, my reaction was inappropriate.”

“Getting turned on because you saw two people fucking isn’t inappropriate, Marin. It’s normal.”

She winced.

He should’ve apologized for using the crude term instead of the clinical one. But it was Friday, he was tired, and his ability to keep up propriety with Marin today was wearing thin. “So are we finally going to talk about this thing, then?”

“Thing?”

He braced his forearms on his thighs, keeping his focus on her. “Yeah. The glaring fact that we want each other. That earlier we almost risked both our jobs just to scratch that itch.”

She looked away, her lips rolling inward.

“I know you feel it. It’s been there since we kissed. Before that even. But I made you an offer and I’m assuming you’re not going to take me up on it. So now we’re left with this . . . thing. It’s distracting us both and it’s affecting our work.”

“Right. That thing.” She curled her fingers around the back of one of the chairs, looking just as weary as he felt. “It’s definitely . . . distracting.”

“Then why not do something about it?”

She wouldn’t look at him.

“I told you I wouldn’t pressure you and I won’t. But if you’re feeling like this, what’s stopping you from taking me up on my offer?”

“To check off my list?”

“Yes,” he said, maybe a little too emphatically. “To check off the list, to get some experience, to release all that tension you’re carrying around. I can help, Marin.”

“Right.” She finally met his gaze, defiance there. “And that’s exactly why I haven’t said yes.”

He stared at her in confusion. “What is?”

“I didn’t take you up on the offer because I don’t want to be your project, Donovan.”

He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

She groaned and looked to the ceiling before stepping around the chair and sinking into it like her marionette strings had been cut. “I appreciate that you want to help. It’s your nature. It’s what you do—fix people’s sexual problems. Believe me, I’m the practical one, so I see the logic in your offer. But the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve realized that’s not what I want.”

She peered at him like he was supposed to understand, but he stayed quiet, mulling over the words, trying to make sense of them.

“I’ve waited this long, you know? I don’t want to sleep with someone because he’s helping me check off a to-do list so that I’m better at my job. I don’t want it to be a favor. I don’t want it to be a training exercise. If I did, I’d just contract Lane for some sessions.” She shook her head and stared off toward the window, her voice getting quieter. “I want it to be . . . I want it to be like Eli and Laura today.”

“Like Eli and Laura?” He couldn’t hide the incredulity from his voice.

“I mean, I know it was a bad idea for them, but at least it was real. Raw and dirty and desperate.” She glanced his way, her voice fervent. “They were so into it, they couldn’t bear to stop when we walked in. It was that intense. Primal, even. I want that. Not some sanitized, emotionless version where we check off boxes. Not some nice thing where we cover the basics like a goddamned instruction manual. I’ve spent years doing controlled experiments. I don’t want my sex life to be one, too.” She looked down at her lap, her jaw flexing, her fists curling. “And I definitely don’t want to be someone’s pity project.”

A sound of disbelief slipped out of him, the words raw and dirty and primal still knocking around in his head and making bells clang. The word emotion scared the fuck out of him, but the others were loud enough to drown that out. “Are you being serious right now? You think I offered what I did because I’m some kind of martyr or that thorough of a mentor or that I fucking pity you?”

Her attention flicked upward, her gaze steely. “You sleep with people you think are safe.”

“What?”

She swung her hand toward the door. “You and McCray hate each other. Yet, that’s who you picked to sleep with.”

He blinked. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“She was safe. No risk. And it may be for different reasons, but you see me the same way. We can check off a list nice and neat. Build up my sexual experience like a piece of freaking IKEA furniture. And on top of that, you can feel like you’re helping me. You can walk away with a clean conscience, feeling like you did me a favor. Yay for Dr. West. Another client helped. Thanks but no thanks.”

The words were like sharp little thorns burrowing into his skin. “Jesus, Rush. I don’t see it as a fucking favor. I’m not that much of a dick. And no risk? Are you kidding me right now?”

She gave a petulant shrug.

He almost laughed. She had no idea! No. Fucking. Idea. How she affected him. No clue that the Donovan she’d seen these past two weeks was some alternate universe version of himself. A doppelgänger that showed up on time and laughed and joked and walked around with this lightness he didn’t even recognize. She didn’t even know. He stood and put his arms out to his sides. “I almost risked my goddamned job earlier. Like threw away years of building this whole thing for one chance to have you. One damn chance. And I fucking like you. Like think-you’re-cool-as-shit like you. You’re nothing but risk, Rush. You’re like terror-threat-level risk.”

His voice echoed in the room after he was done, but she’d gone still and silent.

He let out a breath and raked a hand through his hair, his seams unraveling. “Look, I’ve been honest with you. You know you deserve more than what I can offer. Relationships . . . aren’t my thing. I’ve tried. I’m not that guy. So if that’s what you’re wanting, I’m sorry. I promise I will let you down. But I didn’t suggest the list to make things clinical. I suggested it because I thought you’d feel safer knowing what to expect. You don’t like going into sessions blind, so I figured you’d be the same when it came to this. But don’t think for one second that it was motivated by anything other than the fact that I want you in my bed, that I would kill to be the one to show you those things on that list, and that I haven’t been able to think about anything but getting my hands on you since you walked back into my life.”

She was staring at him like she’d never seen him before, with this odd wonder. But she still didn’t say a word, which sent him rambling on. Once he’d started, he couldn’t seem to fucking stop.

“And we already know we have what Eli and Laura had in spades. Do you really think we’re capable of having mediocre, to-do list sex?” He took the chair next to her and spun it so he could sit down facing her. “We kissed last week and our clothes almost caught on fire. We’ve got chemistry, Rush. And if you think I’m doing this as a favor and that I don’t crave exactly that kind of rawness that you’re talking about, you haven’t been paying attention. I’m happy to take things slow since you’re new to so much. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think about hauling you up against a wall, hiking your skirt up, and fucking you like I own you. I think about it. I think about it. All. The. Fucking. Time.”

Her neck had gone rosy red while he was talking, the flush creeping up, her breath quickening. He’d seen her reactions enough to know this time it wasn’t embarrassment. She was picturing what he’d said, she was imagining him taking her. Knowing that settled something inside of him, put him back on a playing field he felt more comfortable on instead of feeling stripped down to the studs there in front of her.

He lowered his voice. “So you need to tell me what you want. Do you want to do this or do you want me to leave you alone?”

Her throat worked as she swallowed, but she didn’t look away. For a moment, he thought she wasn’t going to answer at all, that she was just going to get up and walk out. Leave him hanging again. But finally she said, “I think about it all the time, too. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

The air he’d puffed up with during his declarations sagged out of him in a long exhalation. Thank God. Thank. God.

He couldn’t stop himself after that. He spread his knees and pulled her legs in between his, her chair dragging loudly against the floor, and then he kissed her. Kissed her like he’d been wanting to since that day in the office, carding his hands through that silky hair and holding her right where he wanted her, drinking from her, all that desire, all that frustration pouring into the connection.

She whimpered into his mouth, a pleading, unraveled sound, and all he could think of was getting her onto his lap, of her straddling him, of tugging away these clothes and getting her to make more of those noises. He wanted to find every thread lacing her up and undo her until she was all feeling and response and sweet need. Until she was his. He gripped her skull, fighting off that blinding need to take more, to take it too far, to take it all. But his body was responding and his heart was pounding and the taste of her on his tongue was driving him over the edge.

His mind playing one message over and over in his head. This. Yes. This.

But just when he was about to lose all semblance of his control, she planted her palms against his chest and eased him back. “Donovan, wait—”

She was breathless, her nipples pressing hard against her shirt and her lips puffy, but her eyes were focused. That potent hazel stare broke through some of the insanity coursing through him, that single-minded instinct to claim her. He took in a breath and nodded. “Right. We’re at work.”

She rubbed her lips together. “And I haven’t said yes yet.”

His heart fell into his shoes. “What?”

“I have conditions.”

Relief flashed through him. Okay. Conditions. He could deal with conditions. Conditions weren’t a no. “All right.”

“I’m going to give you an out,” she said simply.

He frowned, the words like a straight pin to his balloon of relief. “What?”

“Thirty days.” She shifted against him and her pulse beat frantically at her throat, but there was resolve in her voice. “I want to do this, but in thirty days, I will walk away from this and so will you. You’ve already got your exit strategy in place.”

“An exit strategy? I don’t need—”

She pressed her fingers to his lips, hushing him. “Listen to me. You already know how this will end. I’m telling you that you’ve got a guaranteed out. We won’t let this get messy. But since I’m giving you that, if we do this, I need you to leave the other stuff behind, those things that keep this neat for you. I deserve more than neat and so do you.” Her fingers twitched against his lips but her gaze didn’t falter. “I want the Donovan I knew in college, the one who operated on gut and didn’t orchestrate everything to make it fit into a certain schematic. The one who showed me that passion isn’t just a word in books. And the one who wasn’t afraid of being human in front of me. I know he’s still there. I see him sometimes. I saw him just now.”

The words pinged through him, setting off a cut-and-run reaction. She knew more than he thought, saw more. Right through him, in fact. She wanted him. Not the doctor or the trainer or the mythical Orgasm Whisperer. She wanted Donovan West, the geeky kid who lost his parents, wore Freud T-shirts, and used to sleep in a tiny office because he had nightmares about the boogeyman. He didn’t know if he was capable of that anymore. He’d been so fucking vulnerable back then. That kid had shored up his life with duct tape and a coat of paint, thought he was managing in the rough winds, and then Mari had set him all off kilter. She was doing it again. This was the girl he remembered. The one who had pushed every one of his buttons, gotten him to talk about things he never had, given him her virginity, and then walked off like a boss. Bold bravery wrapped in a quiet, steel-lined package.

His heart beat loud in his ears as she lowered her hand from his mouth. He drew his tongue over his lips, tasting the salt from her fingertips there.

She leaned back. “Say something.”

He didn’t know what to say, but honesty won the fight. “I’m not sure I know how to do that anymore. Be that.”

Her lips curved into a half-smile. “Then maybe we can both teach each other a thing or two.”

A breath coasted out of him. He wanted her more than he could bear. His entire body thrummed with that need. But if she thought she could fix him somehow, put together what was broken, she was only going to be disappointed. His pieces weren’t just in a pile on the floor. Many had been lost completely. Even if reassembled, the holes would forever be there. “I’m not going to change, Marin.”

Her smile softened. “Not asking you to. Just asking that you be you, not the guy everyone thinks you are, not the guy you were for McCray.”

He stared at her, marveling at this woman. Marin was young and inexperienced. And she blushed and got flustered when it came to sex. But hell if she wasn’t tougher than any woman he’d ever met. She wasn’t afraid to ask for what she wanted—no, she didn’t ask, she required. There was a price to be with her and she wasn’t going to negotiate.

It was dangerous.

And so fucking sexy—like made-him-hard-just-thinking-about-it sexy—that he found a single word slipping from his lips. “Okay.”

Her brows went up. “Yeah?”

He leaned forward and slid his hand along the back of her neck. “Yeah. This is uncharted territory for me, but I want you, Rush. And I’m willing to try it your way.”

“Says the man who likes control.”

His lip curled. “I never said I was giving that up.”

She smoothed her hands over her skirt, the slightest tremble visible, proving that she wasn’t quite as steady as she sounded. “I’m okay with that. I know I’m inexperienced, but that doesn’t mean I don’t remember the recordings. I know your dirty secrets, West.”

He wanted to touch her so badly. He could just move his hands up and he’d be at her thighs. He could part her legs and see if this conversation was affecting her as much as it was affecting him, get on his knees and taste her, but he settled for moving his hands to the outside of her knees, rubbing the soft skin there. “You think so, huh?”

“Yeah. I do.” She put her hands over his, linking their fingers, and staring down at the connection. “Because I’ll let you in on my secret. They’re some of mine, too.”

“What?”

She wouldn’t look up, as if eye contact would be too much. “I kept those recordings. I kept them and I listened to them so much in the year following that I could probably recite them by heart. It was my escape. I wanted to wish them into existence. Sometimes I still do.”

His breath zipped out of him, fire lighting his blood. “You want the stuff on the recordings?”

Desire rumbled up through him like a threatening storm, wide and dark and fast-moving. This was so much more than he’d originally imagined with her. He’d thought he could go through Marin’s list with her, teach her things, enjoy the basics with her. He liked all kinds of flavors of sex. Simple and sexy with Marin would’ve been fantastic. But what she was asking for was like offering him his personal heroin with a side of hell yeah. She wanted to play the games. She wanted to step into those shadowed places where the rules and niceties went lax.

“You sure know how to knock a man on his ass. That’s . . .”

“I mean, unless you’ve already gone there with . . . other women and that’s not exciting for you anymore.” Her voice was hesitant for the first time in a while.

He hated that she even had to think of it. Hated that his relationship with Elle had been tossed in her face or that she had to think about other women at all. He took her hand and guided it up his thigh until they reached his very obvious erection. She sucked in a breath.

“This is how non-exciting I find it.”

Her eyes widened, and her fingers curled around him. Her warm grip was like fucking heaven even through his slacks. She slid her hand along his length, tentatively mapping him.

He closed his eyes and breathed through the surge of arousal. He fitted his hand against hers when she moved to stroke him again. After the restraint required over the last two weeks, he didn’t trust himself not to go off like a teenager. He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her knuckles as he met her gaze. “I’m sorry that the Elle thing is here between us, that you have to think about that at all. But hear this. Whatever happens between you and me is not a repeat of that or a substitution or a consolation prize. There’s no reason to compare the two situations. They’re completely different. I don’t hate Elle. But we weren’t friends and won’t be. We’re two workaholics who served a basic need for each other. We didn’t have long chats. We didn’t hang out. We didn’t even hug good-bye.”

She looked down at their linked hands. “You don’t have to explain yourself. Your past relationships are your business.”

“I’m telling you because I need you to know that nothing about you is going to be been-there-done-that for me.” He brushed his thumb over the top of her hand. “You make everything new. Have from the start.”

She looked up at that.

It was a thought he normally wouldn’t have shared. It cut a little too close. But he’d promised her he’d be honest, so he fought past the filters he usually kept in place. “You cut me off at the knees with a kiss. I can’t even imagine how hot exploring fantasies with you will be.”

The slow smile she gave him was like sunlight breaking through clouds, sending a strange, pleasant warmth moving through him—one that had nothing to do with the iron state of his dick. He liked that he’d put that smile there on her face. He wanted to kiss it off of her. “What are you so pleased about, Rush?”

She leaned forward, smile still in place, and tapped his cheek. “Now look who’s blushing.”

He straightened. “What? I am definitely not. I don’t blush.”

Her grin went wide and she slipped her hand from his. “Shall I grab my phone to document this rare occasion?”

He grabbed her wrist before she could reach for the phone she’d left sitting two chairs away. “Don’t you dare.”

Her gaze sparked at his grip, sexy challenge there.

That’s when he knew there was no going back. This was going to happen. Marin wanted him in her bed—to teach, to explore, to show her things she’d only fantasized about. She wanted raw, gritty sex. And she wanted to do it with him. Holy fucking gift from above.

He didn’t deserve the luck or that level of trust from her, but he was damn sure going to figure out how to be worthy of it. He let his gaze drift over her. Despite her bold gaze, she was holding her breath. He liked that. No. Loved that. Knowing he could affect her, knowing he could turn her on with a simple touch. It wasn’t practiced or put on. It was honest and real.

He pulled her closer and let the fingertips of his other hand slide over the nape of her neck. Usually he gravitated toward women with long hair, but Marin’s wispy cut had drawn his eye from the moment he’d seen her in the parking lot. He’d since pictured running his tongue along her bared neck and gripping the silky, dark hairs in his fist when she was on her knees for him. He drew a circle with his fingertip on her nape, earning him a shiver. “So we’re doing this?”

“Looks like it.”

He kept making those circles on her neck, enjoying the way her pupils grew wider, darkened. “Are you making a sex brain decision, Dr. Rush?”

She smoothed her lip gloss. “Probably. I’m not sure how to tell anymore.”

He stared down at her. “There’s one way to find out.”

Her brow wrinkled.

He bent forward, closed his eyes, and brushed his lips against her ear.

“I watch you across the room,” he said, sliding into the tone he used to use for the recordings.

She made a noise in the back of her throat.

He loved that sound. Wanted to hear it again. Wanted to imagine her making it when she’d listened to his recordings in the dark of her bedroom. How many times had she touched herself with his voice in her ear, his dark fantasies in her head? The thought pushed so many of his buttons, he lost count.

He hadn’t done recordings in ages. The ones that had gotten published were decidedly milder than the versions from college. More vanilla. More commercial. Not him. And he’d never used that style of dirty talk or the scripts in real life. Women had asked. He’d hated when they’d asked—felt like a hired monkey being asked to perform.

But now the words rolled off his lips as if they’d just needed his muse there with him to conjure them. “You’re paying attention to the group, but you keep crossing and uncrossing your legs, making me wonder if you’re still thinking about what you saw in your office. If you’re slippery and hot beneath this neat little skirt, imagining people fucking, imagining being the one getting fucked, imagining people watching you take it. If you’re wishing you could get some relief.” He pressed a kiss to the spot behind her ear and whispered, “If you want me to be the one to give it to you.”

Her breath was a gust of air against his hair. “Shit.”

He massaged her neck and pressed his nose to her hair. “Are you wet, Marin?”

He could sense her tense, hesitate, but then her muscles softened beneath his fingertips. “Why are you asking questions you already know the answer to?”

It took everything he had not to drag her to his office, take her right there. But he forced himself to lean back, to look at her. To see the naked lust on her face and not let himself off the leash.

“If we’re going to do this, I want to know you’re choosing it with a clear head. I don’t want to be your Eli.” He let his hand slip away from her. “So go home, use one of those toys you’re researching. Give yourself that relief. And then if you’re still feeling the way you do now, if you still want to do this, meet me at my place at seven tonight. I’ll make some dinner and we can . . . hang out.”

“Hang out?” she asked, her voice strained, like it was taking everything she had to focus on the conversation. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“Yes. We’ll eat, talk. We don’t have to force this. Put us in the same room, and I think we’ll be all right.”

“You don’t hang out with the women you sleep with.”

She said it like a statement of fact. He hadn’t told her that explicitly. But she said it like she could read the truth about him as easy as picking up a book. And she was right. This was uncharted territory for him. He hadn’t had a “date” since he’d broken his engagement. He had roller-coaster stomach just thinking about it. “I hang out with you every day, Rush. I think I can handle it.”

“Right. Okay.” She scooted her chair back, like she needed to break that touch between them, but he helped her get to her feet before standing up with her. She smoothed her skirt and seemed to regain some of her calm. “You don’t have to feed me. I can come over later.”

He frowned, not liking that she was setting such a low bar for him already. He reached out and tipped her chin up. “Let’s get something straight, Rush. I’ve agreed to your terms, but here are mine. If you come over, you’re putting yourself in my hands. That’s the deal. And I will feed you if I want and taste you how I like and make you come in more ways than you can think of before this is all over with. So just be on time, bring your appetite, and I’ll worry about the rest, all right?”

The whoosh of her breath was all he needed. He pressed a quick kiss to her mouth and released her. “See you later, Dr. Rush.”

He walked out first, ignoring his throbbing erection and his pinging nerves, leaving her standing there in the group room alone.

He had to force himself not to look back.

To not think too hard about the deal he’d just made.

Marin would be in his bed tonight. That’s all that mattered. He’d figure out the rest later.