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Sixteen

Past

I checked out the following morning, completely and thoroughly mortified at my behavior the night before. I couldn’t bear to look at Cooper that morning. I couldn’t even speak.

What was I thinking?

The four days from check-out until our session are torturous.

I agonize over every detail. Every misstep that I made.

Never in my life have I been so brazen or wanton.

It was reckless and stupid. But my life has been so monotonous lately.

So boring and lonely and banal. The night at the inn gave me such a thrill that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I am hooked on something I can’t have.

I know I can’t continue to treat him.

The air in my office is thick, charged. I take a sip of water.

He sits across from me, exuding the same quiet dominance that always sets me on edge. Legs spread, arms draped along the chair as if he owns this space. As if he owns me . His dark eyes scan me, calculating, dissecting.

I clear my throat. “I can’t be your therapist anymore.”

His head tilts slightly, studying me like a puzzle he intends to solve. “No?”

I grip my pen tighter, nails pressing into the soft pad of my palm. “No.”

Silence stretches between us, thick and oppressive. He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t plead. He just watches, waiting for me to unravel myself in the space between my words.

“I’ve given this a lot of thought,” I continue, forcing the tremor from my voice. “This—our dynamic—it’s not…” I exhale sharply. “It’s not healthy.”

His lips curl at the edges, just enough to make my stomach flip. “Our dynamic?” he repeats, voice dripping with amusement. “Interesting choice of words.”

I hate the way my body reacts to his voice, the way it slithers down my spine and pools low in my womb.

I sit straighter, ignoring the heat creeping up my neck. “You know as well as I do that this—” I gesture between us, frustrated by how small my voice feels, “—is inappropriate.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, closing the space between us. “Inappropriate,” he muses. “That’s one word for it.”

I swallow hard. “Cooper.”

“Robin.”

The sound of my name in his mouth is my undoing. It always has been. He sees it, too—the flicker of hesitation in my eyes, the way my breath stutters.

His gaze darkens. “Tell me something,” he murmurs, his voice slow and deliberate. “Do you regret it?”

My stomach clenches because I do, but also, I don’t. “That’s not relevant.”

“Oh, but it is.” His lips curve, wicked and knowing. “Because if you truly regretted it, you wouldn’t be sitting there, gripping that pen like it’s the only thing keeping you from touching me.”

I bite my lip. I drop the pen.

His smirk deepens.

I force myself to stand, needing distance, needing air. “This conversation is over.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t argue. Just watches me, eyes smoldering with something dangerous. Something addictive.

I should end this cleanly before it’s too late.

But Cooper doesn’t let me go that easily.

He rises slowly, deliberately, and suddenly he’s there—so close I can feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint trace of cologne mixed with something inherently him.

I step back. He follows.

My breath catches. “You need a new therapist.”

He reaches out, fingers grazing my wrist—a featherlight touch that sends a shiver straight through me.

Everything seems to crumble inside me at once. Tears spill down my cheeks which are hot with embarrassment. He pulls me flush against him. Wraps his arms around me. He is strong and solid.

His embrace is warm and comforting, a safe harbor in the storm. I feel my body relax against his, the tension and uncertainty melting away. He doesn’t say a word, just holds me as I let the emotions flow.

After a few moments, I pull back slightly to look up at him. His eyes are full of understanding and kindness, with no judgment at all. He reaches up and gently brushes a tear from my cheek.

His head dips toward mine. I bite my lip. His thumb pulls it from between my teeth and then his lips are on mine. This time, it is all so different. The world parts, cracks wide, and swallows us whole. I tremble in his arms. Unable to break the kiss.

Cooper’s teeth pierce the soft flesh of my lip, making me cry out. I kiss him back harder, completely caught up in the moment. The flush on my skin spreads like wildfire, my cheeks stained with a rosy hue. My eyes are hazy, clouded with desire and need.

The taste of passion lingers on my tongue, a mix of salty sweat and sweet kisses, igniting my senses and sending me into a frenzy. My heart pounds in my ears, the rhythm matching the pulsing thrum of his heartbeat. Every breath is a sigh, every gasp a moan as his hands pull me closer and closer.

He grabs me by the hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my waist. My breasts squish against his chest, and the slick heat between my legs makes me squirm. He pushes me back against the wall, the impact knocking the air out of my lungs. His body presses into mine.

He doesn’t waste a second. His hands are on me, everywhere at once, demanding. One hand becomes a fist in my hair, pulling my head back so he can trail hot, biting kisses down my throat. The other tears at my blouse.

His mouth closes over one nipple, making me moan. He pulls back just long enough to hike my skirt up to my waist, his fingers shoving my soaked panties aside.

“I’ve fantasized about this,” he says, his voice low.

“Cooper…”

Before I can say more, his fingers are sliding inside of me. I cry out, my head falling against the wall as his thumb circles my clit with just enough pressure to make me see stars. My chest heaves in ecstasy.

Cooper stares at me in awe as I come apart for him. My body tense, my mouth open in a silent moan.