“There’s a place near Madison Square Park. It has bocce ball and the best—”
“—Pasta primavera in all of New York.”
He raised an eyebrow as she cut in, finishing his sentence.
“Restaurants are my thing,” she said, by way of explanation. She loved researching New York’s best eateries, both the newest shi-shi ones, the off-the-beaten-path spots, and the best-kept secrets in dining.
“Then you’ll go with me to Gia’s tonight,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. It was a statement, and the way his cool blue eyes held her gaze made it clear he wouldn’t take no for an answer. She tilted her head, considering. The conundrum was this—Michelle wasn’t a woman who was turned on by a lack of choices, but she was a woman turned on by this man. And she hadn’t seen this give-a-woman-an-order side of him. Well, of course she hadn’t seen this side of him. She’d only spent one night with him. There was no reason why she’d know that he had this kind of intensity, and such a commanding tone to his rich, deep voice that was like a note held long and lasting on a bass guitar. And it made her feel like this . . .
“Yes.”
Because it turned out, she liked this side of him.
In his presence, she was keenly aware of her body. Of her physicality. She’d never been so aware of it before, but every bone, cell and nerve seemed to be on high alert near him.
He moved closer. She remained still, seated in her chair, facing him. He crossed the remaining distance and placed his palms on the arms of her chair, his chest inches from her, but not touching. The air between them was like an electrical storm in the summer. Charged, heated, and ready to crackle with a lightning strike in seconds.
“Did you think about me when I was with Kana?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice bare and truthful.
“Did you look me up online?”
Another nod.
“What did you learn?” he asked, never looking away or breaking the gaze. The man radiated intensity. She could picture him in a boardroom, owning a negotiation. Winning all the points in his favor without breaking a sweat.
“What do you think I learned?” she tossed back.
“What the press says about me.”
“I don’t care what the press says,” she said firmly, and his gaze drifted down to her throat. He stared at the exposed skin peeking above the top button of her silk blouse. “What do you care about, then?”
“I want to know how you can be a sex toy mogul and have intimacy issues,” she said, reaching her hand to his chin and forcing him to look up again.
“Why should I tell you? I’m not your patient anymore,” he said, and there was teasing now in his tone. The toughness was drifting away.
“But that’s why you’re here. In this office. Needing a therapist.”
“And that’s why I’m seeing another shrink. For my intimacy issues,” he said with a scoff. “Besides, why does my job have any bearing on my life outside of the office? Are you the same person in here that you were with me last night? Or did you show me another side?” he said, and brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek.
Her eyes floated closed. Her breath fled, and one thing was clear. She wasn’t the same person.
She was a different woman with him. A wanted woman. And it felt so good, especially as his breath ghosted over her neck and he whispered in her ear, “Did you touch yourself when I was in there?”
“No,” she said.
“Not even a little?”
She shook her head, glad that her eyes were closed because surely they’d give away this lie. He reached for her hand, and brought it to his mouth, drawing her index finger between his lips. Her eyes snapped open.
“I bet this finger was between your legs,” he whispered, disarming her.
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
“And I bet you didn’t finish the job.”
“I barely touched myself,” she admitted defensively, her skin heating up all over.
His eyes darkened, and he groaned appreciatively. “When you barely touched yourself, were you thinking about me?”
“Yes.”
“And were you thinking about me as your patient?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Were you thinking about me as New York’s most eligible bachelor?” he asked, and she could hear the disdain in his tone. He didn’t like those titles. She wouldn’t like them either.
“No.”
“Were you thinking of me as the man who wants to fuck you again?”
That was it. Her shoulders trembled, and lust took over. “Oh God,” she gasped, and her body was not her own. It was his, and she desperately wanted some kind of relief from the way she ached everywhere, desire pounding inside her, ready to escape.
“Because that’s who I want to be with you, Michelle with two Ls,” he said, loosening his tie further. Then he moved his hands to her knees. Moaning the second he made contact, she was almost embarrassed that this simplest kind of touch had her pulse racing.
He dropped to his knees, pushed up her skirt, and spread her legs open. “I have unfinished business with your pussy,” he growled, as he dragged a finger across the outside of her panties.
His blue eyes were hungry, and he looked as if he wanted to devour her. He lowered his head between her legs, buzzing a hot trail along a thigh. The temperature rose in her so high, she was sure she was giving off heat waves. He kissed the inside of her legs, teasing her as he slowly made his way closer to where she wanted him.
“Jack,” she moaned.
“Yes?” he asked, as he continued taking her hormones hostage with his sinful mouth.
“You’re teasing me.”
“I know,” he said, sounding wickedly pleased. “I told you I would, since you denied me last night.”
“I’m not denying you now.”
He moved his mouth from her leg to the wet panel of her panties, planting a kiss on the fabric that had her throbbing. “So many things I want to do to this beautiful pussy. So many ways I want to make you come,” he mused and her skin sizzled from the way he talked to her.
“I want you to make me come,” she said, spearing her fingers in his soft dark hair, pulling him closer to the place where he could soothe the ache.
He slid a finger underneath the fabric, touching her hot flesh at last. She cried out, then covered her mouth with her hand.
“Be quiet, Michelle. Even with the noise machine, I’m going to make you come so fucking hard that you might break the sound barrier,” he said, and she was about to call him a cocky bastard until he yanked her panties aside and pressed his lips to her wetness. She couldn’t say cocky bastard, because she could no longer form words. She couldn’t think. She could barely breathe. All she could do was feel. And she felt like she was flying, soaring into a new stratosphere of boundless pleasure as he swept his tongue through her wetness, groaning as he licked her.