Page 40 of The Therapist
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.
