Page 21

Eighteen

Past

I shouldn’t have let it happen. That night in my office—where it all began—was a mistake. A line I never should have crossed.

And yet, I crave him.

Cooper has a way of unraveling me, stripping me down to my rawest self, making me feel beautiful and filthy and seen. In his presence, I don’t have to be the poised, put-together therapist. I don’t have to be Dr. Robin Richardson.

I can just be… his.

I tell myself it’s just for now. A brief indulgence before I return to reality. But then he touches me, and I stop caring about consequences.

Three weeks pass in a fever dream of tangled sheets and whispered confessions.

Our sessions no longer exist in the way they once did—there is no couch, no chair, no safe distance between us.

Instead, he has me pinned against walls, bent over desks, spread out beneath him on the floor of my own office.

His voice—low, commanding, coaxing—pulls truths from me I never dared to acknowledge.

And I love it.

I love the way he looks at me, the way he makes me feel young and reckless and starved for something I hadn’t realized I was missing.

But tonight… tonight is different.

I see it in his eyes, feel it in the way his fingers trace lazily over my bare thigh as we lie tangled in my sheets, our bodies slick with the remnants of our latest sin.

“Robin,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. Like he’s the only one who calls me that, stripping me of the title that has defined me for so long. “I want something from you.”

My stomach flips. He’s been leading up to this for days—planting thoughts in my head, teasing me with promises of something darker, something more.

I swallow. “What is it?”

His lips curve into a slow, knowing smile. “I want to watch you.”

I blink. “You do watch me.”

He shakes his head. “Not like this.” His fingers skim higher, trailing between my legs, coaxing a gasp from my lips. “I want to watch you with someone else.”

A sharp pulse of heat floods my body. I sit up, my breath unsteady. “Cooper…”

“You trust me, don’t you?” He props himself up on one elbow, eyes gleaming with something dangerous. “You know I’d never put you in a situation you couldn’t handle.”

I do trust him. That’s the terrifying part.

I bite my lip, remembering the way he’s led me into his world piece by piece, showing me how exhilarating it can be to surrender.

He tucks a curl behind my ear, his touch unbearably gentle.

“Just think about it. I want you to experience it the way I do. To feel what I feel when I watch you.” His fingers tighten around my wrist, just enough to make my breath hitch.

“You liked it, didn’t you? Knowing I was watching that first time? ”

A rush of shame, of arousal, twists through me.

Yes.

I liked it too much.

“Say it,” he urges. “I need to hear you say it.”

I wet my lips, pulse hammering. “I liked it.”

His smirk is triumphant, but there’s something deeper in his eyes—something reverent. He brushes his mouth against mine, a slow, claiming kiss.

“Then let me give you more.”

I close my eyes, letting the words settle over me. This is dangerous. Reckless.

But as he pulls me beneath him again, coaxing moans from my lips like confessions, I know the decision has already been made.

***

We’re at the Ocean Voyeur. The room Cooper’s put me in is grand and well-appointed. The soft glow of the bedside lamps casts long, inviting shadows, and the air is thick with something unspoken—anticipation, sin, promise. Cooper hands me a nip of vodka from the mini-fridge.

I stand motionless, my hands trembling at my sides.

My knees feel funny and I hear my heart beating in my ears.

I take a step away from the door, my feet sinking into the carpet with every step, little tufts of grey fibers tickling the spaces between my toes.

Looking around the room, I take in the enormous four-poster bed and the silk bedspread covering it.

The painting over a gas fireplace. It’s opulent.

Too much so to feel homey and warm.

Instantly, I don’t want to play anymore. I want to run back to the safety of my own bed and crawl under the covers with Flash.

My insides feel jiggly. Cooper smiles at me reassuringly. The feeling spreads to my hands. He notices, takes them in his own and squeezes. I can’t look him in the eye, so I focus on the scar, a faint, thin white line at his hairline.

“You’re going to love this. Please don’t be nervous.” His tone is gentle and calming. “Do you remember the safe word? Just say it, and it will all end.”

“Tide.” The word croaks out of me like a frog.

Cooper nods and presses his body flush against mine. I hold on to him as if he’s going to miraculously dissolve into a wisp of smoke. He is so male. Authoritative. Confident.

He watches me with quiet amusement, his presence steady, grounding. He retrieves a tiny bottle of vodka from the mini fridge, twisting off the cap before pressing it into my palm.

“It’ll take the edge off,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over mine in a whisper of a kiss.

I down the vodka in one swallow, wincing as it burns its way down. My pulse pounds in my throat as I stare at him.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

Cooper’s hands slide onto my shoulders, firm and sure, his thumbs pressing slow, soothing circles into my tensed muscles. His touch is reassuring, his confidence infectious.

“You can,” he assures me, his voice thick with certainty. “James will come in soon, and I promise when he touches you, you’ll forget all your insecurities.”

I shudder, not just at his words, but at the way he says them—with that calm, knowing smirk.

“And you’ll be there?” I point to a chair in the bedroom.

“The whole time,” he promises.

I suck in a breath. My heart is a chaotic rhythm in my chest, my body warring between fear and something far darker—far needier. Arousal curls hot and low in my belly, pooling between my thighs in a way I’ve never felt before.

Never in my life have I done anything so risqué.

Before I can second-guess myself, there’s a knock at the door.

My stomach flips.

Cooper doesn’t hesitate—he moves past me, calm and collected, opening the door as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

And then James steps inside.

He is tall and devastatingly handsome, with sharp features and an easy confidence that makes my breath catch. His dark eyes roam over me, slow and assessing, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile.

“You must be Robin,” he says smoothly, his voice deep and honeyed as he steps closer.

I nod, unable to speak.

Cooper moves to the chair, settling into it with the kind of effortless dominance that makes my knees weak. His long legs sprawl slightly, and he rests an arm over the side, watching—waiting.

“Go on,” he encourages. “Let him touch you.”

James moves behind me, his hands finding my hips first, then trailing up to my waist. His touch is light, teasing, but I feel it everywhere.

He leans in, his lips ghosting over my ear. “Relax,” he murmurs. “You’re shaking.”

I exhale shakily. “I’ve never done this before.”

James chuckles, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of my blouse, grazing the bare skin of my stomach. “Then I’ll go slow.”

I hear Cooper shift in his chair, and my eyes flick to him instinctively. He’s watching me—watching this—with dark, hooded eyes, his expression unreadable.

Heat floods through me at the realization.

James begins to undress me systematically, his fingers precise and patient.

He unbuttons my blouse first, sliding the fabric from my shoulders.

His hands skim my bare skin, igniting goosebumps in their wake.

My breath catches when he moves behind me again, unzipping my skirt and letting it slip to the floor.

Cooper exhales softly.

I turn my head toward him, seeking some kind of reaction, but his expression remains steady—though the way his fingers tighten slightly on the arm of the chair tells me everything I need to know.

This is affecting him.

And God help me, knowing that makes my desire burn hotter.

James’s hands glide up my sides, his thumbs brushing the under-curve of my breasts. My head tilts back against his chest as I let myself sink into the sensation, into the forbidden thrill of it all.

And as Cooper watches from his chair—dark-eyed, intense, completely in control—I realize with startling clarity…

I like being seen.

James moves me to the bed, buries his face between my legs. Cooper undoes his pants and slips out his cock, stroking his hand up and down his length. I clutch the sheets in a death grip of lust.

My body hums with satisfaction, the aftershocks of pleasure still rippling through me as James presses a final, lingering kiss to my shoulder. His touch is reverent, his breath warm against my damp skin.

“That was incredible,” he murmurs, his voice thick with spent desire.

I barely manage a breathless laugh, still floating somewhere between reality and the dark, decadent haze Cooper has led me into. I feel deliciously used, utterly worshipped. My limbs are heavy, my skin fevered, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so wholly… free.

James presses one last kiss to my temple before slipping from the bed, his body moving with quiet efficiency as he grabs his clothes. He doesn’t say much as he disappears into the bathroom, but he doesn’t need to. We both know what this was—what it was meant to be.

The sound of the shower turning on fills the silence, and I exhale deeply, rolling onto my side. My eyes find Cooper instantly. He’s still in the chair, his posture deceptively relaxed, but I see it—the tension coiled tight beneath his skin, the hunger that hasn’t abated.

For a moment, he just watches me.

Then, he moves.

I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until he’s standing at the edge of the bed, undoing the top buttons of his shirt with an easy, practiced motion.

My heart slams against my ribs.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” His voice is smooth, but there’s an edge to it—something dark, possessive.

I nod, my mouth dry. “Yes.”

His lips curve slightly. “Good.”

And then he’s climbing onto the bed, moving over me with slow, deliberate intent. His hands are warm, steady, as they trail over my skin—tracing the paths James had traveled, reclaiming me.

Heat sparks in my belly, my limbs pliant beneath his touch.

“You’re still trembling,” he says, his lips brushing against my jaw, down my throat.

I bite my lip. I can’t tell if it’s from the aftershocks of pleasure or the anticipation of more.

“Maybe I need more.” The words slip out, breathy and wanting.

Cooper hums in approval, his teeth scraping my pulse point as his fingers slide lower, parting my thighs. My breath catches as he touches me—possessive, knowing, making it clear that he is the one who truly owns my pleasure.

And when he finally takes me, it’s slow and consuming, the kind of lovemaking that feels like a fever dream—intoxicating, dizzying. His body moves against mine with practiced control, every thrust deep and precise, unraveling me all over again.

James exits the bathroom, smirks as he slips into his shoes, and leaves.

I cling to Cooper, nails digging into his back, lost in the sensation of being his.

He murmurs my name like a plea, his forehead pressing to mine, and when I shatter beneath him, it’s with a raw, helpless cry.

Cooper follows, his body tensing before he groans into my mouth, his release pulsing deep inside me.

For a moment, neither of us move.

We just breathe.

I don’t know how long we lay there tangled together, but eventually, the exhaustion seeps into my bones, my body sinking into the mattress as my head rests against his chest.

His fingers trace lazy circles on my back.

I feel safe. Sated. Completely and utterly wrecked.

As my eyelids grow heavy, my last conscious thought is that I have never felt so wholly satisfied—so lust-drunk—in my entire life.

And with Cooper’s steady heartbeat beneath my ear, I drift into sleep, unaware of the way his gaze lingers on me long after I’ve surrendered to the dark.