Asher

“Tell me why you’re here, Asher.”

The way she says my name makes my dick hard and so do those sexy fucking lips. Ever since I walked in, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of them.

What kind of therapist looks like this?

I’d expected someone older. Someone less attractive. Someone who wouldn’t feed my addiction, but instead, she fuels it.

Crossing and uncrossing her silky smooth legs, she sits up straighter in her seat, pursing her lips, tapping the notepad on her lap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

It’s driving me fucking mad. Then she licks her lips.

Fuck those lips.

All I can think about is having them wrapped around my...

She jots something down on her yellow notepad, distracting me.

“What are you writing?” I ask, nodding to her lap.

“Just making some notes here.” She folds her hands on top of the notepad this time, calm, cool.

Meeting my gaze head-on.

Goddamn, what I wouldn’t give to have those eyes looking up at me while I’m pounding into her from above.

I wonder what she sounds like when she comes.

“Please answer the question.”

There’s an underlying coax tangled with the gentle command. The lilt of her voice expanding to draw me in. I swallow thickly, trying to summon the stupid fucking words trapped in my throat. Women never rattle me.

Never intimidate me. I’m always in control. But not here.

Here, I am at her mercy.

A slave to her throne. A place to confess my sins and beg for redemption.

Steeling my voice, I finally manage to get the confession out. “I’m addicted to sex.”

Damn that feels good to say out loud.

More writing.

More hand folding.

More pursing of those impressive goddamn lips.

My dick throbs against the zipper of my pants and I try to elicit a thought, anything to shut it down.

That’s not the reason I’m here.

She keeps her attention trained on the notepad as she continues to write. “Why do you think you’re addicted to sex?”

I knew coming in that she would dig. That she would scrape away at the surface and get to the heart of why I am the way I am.

“I enjoy fucking. A lot. Probably more than one human should. And when I’m not fucking, I’m thinking about fucking. Constantly. Sex consumes my every thought. And it’s starting to affect my life negatively.”

“In what ways?” she asks, no judgment in her voice whatsoever.

I let go of a long breath, dragging a hand across the back of my neck. She makes me nervous the way her eyes bore into mine as if she’s acquainting herself with my soul.

Why does that make me feel so uneasy?

I know I need help. I know I do, but I’m afraid. I’m afraid something is wrong with me. “I just need to know if there’s a cure.”

More writing.

Then eyes back on me.

Legs shift.

Three heartbeats.

"There's no cure for sex addiction, but I can help you find ways to control your urges, Asher.”

Those urges rush hard and fast toward my aching cock in an avalanche of need. The way she says my name. The gentle rasp of her sexy voice working over the letters in a soft caress.

Fuck me, I’ll never make it.

I won’t be able to confess all of my deepest, darkest secrets to this woman and not be inside of her.

It’s impossible.

Leaning forward, I brace my elbows on my knees, deepening my voice. “I have the urge to bend you over that desk, pull your skirt up, rip your panties off, and fuck you until you’re clawing at that shiny wood beneath you. Think you can calm that urge, Doc?"

Those pretty pink lips part on a gasp and for a half second I see the desire flare in her eyes, but being the professional she is, she quickly stomps it down. She squirms in her seat, straightening her spine, but there’s no denying the flush on her cheeks. I know the effect I have on women. I’m not blind. They see my tattoos. My tan skin. Firm muscles. It’s like flies to shit but her...

She’s different.

She’s a challenge.

A conquest.

And one I want to fucking conquer.

I wonder how she likes it.

Slow and easy.

Hard and rough.

Probably both.

I bet she likes it in the ass, too. Nice looking girls like that, they’re always the dirtiest.

“It’s good that you are mindful of these urges. Being mindful and aware is the first step to recovery.”

More writing.

No eye contact.

Fuck, she’s driving me crazy.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

“I would like to see you, at the minimum, three sessions a week until we have your cravings under control.”

My cravings?

Jesus Christ, I’ve only known her half an hour and she’s my new craving. Seeing her three days a week will be torture. I’ll be lucky if I make it through this visit, let alone the next, without trying to get between those long silky legs.

You can control yourself, asshole.

“I’ll also give you my personal number so you can reach me day or night should a sudden urge arise.”

Yep, I’m totally fucked.

Three days a week in the same room with her and a direct line to her pussy, I don’t stand a chance in hell. There’s no cure for what I have anyway, she said it herself, so I might as well drown myself in my addiction, and what better way to do that than with her?