“You don’t mean that,” Juliet counters with a confident smile.

“Yes, I do. It was entirely my fault. I apologize for my inexcusable behavior. I take all the blame,” I say, using my professional voice.

But Juliet won’t have a bit of it. “Oh, cut the crap. I was there, I know you enjoyed it. I know you enjoyed fucking me without restraint. You have nothing to apologize for. I wanted it as much as you did. I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you,” she confesses, and this is the first moment I’ve seen a glimmer of vulnerability in the unbending Juliet. “I still want you. And I know you want me too,” she asserts, looking up at me from under her mascara-clad lashes.

Wanting her is not the issue here. It’s the fact that I shouldn’t want her—that’s the problem. Juliet is a dangerous woman, and with her, all I can see is that danger escalating into hazardous territory. My brain tells me to throw her out, but my traitorous body is telling me that she’s no longer my patient, so what’s the harm in two consensual adults giving in to what they both want?

Juliet takes a step toward me, no doubt sensing my retreat, and I don’t back away, even though I know I should. She casually unties the sash from around her waist, peeling the brown trench coat from her slender body. The coat pools at her stiletto-clad feet and she takes another step toward me.

“Don’t be mad at me. Let me remind you how hot we were together.” She runs a red fingernail down my chest.

“Juliet,” I protest in a half-assed plea, but the moment she cups my rising erection in her palm, I’m hers.

“You may say no, Dixon, but your body is saying yes,” and as she rubs me harder, my treacherous body succumbs.

Before long, she’s dropped to her knees in front of me and is pulling down my sweats, my rigid body on full display, betraying how turned on I am.

“Do you know how good this felt in me last night?” she says, sliding her hand up and down my length.

“Tell me,” I demand, unable to tear my eyes away as she’s jerking me off.

“How about I just show you?” she suggests, and the moment she wraps her ruby lips around me, any uncertainties get thrown out the window, and I allow this vixen total control.

Her expert mouth glides down my cock with precision, and I can’t stop the moan that escapes my lips as I’ve never been blown this good before. I thrust my hips forward and throw my head backward when I hit the back of her throat. She deep throats me effortlessly.

“That’s it, oh fuck. You’re so damn good,” I pant, trying to rein in my early release. “Deeper, go deeper.”

This woman is a blowjob queen, and I’m not in the slightest repulsed at why she’s as good as she is because, as they say, practice makes perfect. Nothing else matters when she steadies a hand around my waist, her fingers squeezing in sync with her delicious mouth.

The harder she sucks, the faster I pump my hips and before long, I’m fucking her mouth with a desperate speed. The moment I try and pull away, as I’m afraid I’m hurting her, she latches on tighter, reaching down and palming my shaft. The friction of her hand, combined with the speed of her mouth is too much, and I’m seconds away from coming.

She senses my frantic need to explode and holds on tighter, her mouth creating an intense suction around me, and after two cavernous sucks, I’m shamefully done. I pull my hips away, but she licks and strokes with a deep pull and with no other choice, I explode in her mouth while cursing out my release. She milks me until I have nothing left, and only when the last aftershock rocks my body does she let go.

I’ve just received the best blowjob of my life, in the apartment I once shared with the love of my life. The apartment I promised another female would never enter.

Do I feel guilty?

Hell no.

8

Like a Hurricane

MADISON

“Maddy, I hate to say it, but I don’t think he’s coming,” says my best friend, Mary Mitts, as she wipes down table nine.

“You don’t know that,” I argue, her truthful comment snapping me out of my stare-off with the front door. “We never agreed on a time. Maybe something came up and he’s on the way. I mean, I did say sometime tonight,” I state, making up excuses for why Dixon isn’t here.

“Well, technically, it is tomorrow,” Mary says, looking at her watch.

“Not helping, Lamb,” I reply with a smile, using the nickname I’ve had for her since we were kids.

“I’m sorry, but what kind of best friend would I be if I wasn’t looking out for you? I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” she says, and I know she’s referring to Tim, my stalker, who Dixon saved me from the first night we met.

“I know, but Dixon is…”

“Don’t you dare say different,” Mary warns, wagging her finger at me while I bite back a smile.

“But he is,” I quickly rebuke, and duck to avoid getting hit in the face with a coaster.

“No, he isn’t. He’s a guy, therefore he’s a dick,” Mary states, but I don’t take it to heart, as she’s only bitter at the moment because she’s going through a tough breakup.

“Lamb, not all men are pigs. He didn’t have to jump in and save me from Tim, but he did. He didn’t even think twice about it. If that doesn’t scream ‘non-pig’ then I don’t know what does.”

“Oh please, that’s your hormones talking. That man is trouble with a capital T. And not to mention you’re like half his age,” she adds, fastening her fiery red hair into a tighter ponytail.

I can’t help but laugh, as I am so not half his age. Early thirties I’d peg him being, but it’s not his age I find myself uncharacteristically daydreaming about. His bright blue eyes and messy, chocolate brown hair are another story, however.

“I’ll give him another twenty minutes, and if he doesn’t show up, then I’ll forget I ever met Dr. Dixon,” I state, very unconvincingly.

“Ah-ha,” Mary retorts, totally not buying my pledge. “Again, I believe that’s your hormones talking.”

I playfully flip her off while she pokes her tongue out at me before heading off to serve table twelve.

I, however, continue wiping down a spotless table eight with my eyes peeled to the door, because I know he’ll arrive any minute now.

He has to.

Twenty minutes came and went with no sign of Dixon. It’s now 2 a.m., and I’m locking up. I can’t wait to go home and forget today ever existed.

I still can’t believe he stood me up. I know we didn’t have a date per se, but we did kind of have plans. I really thought he was different, as there is definitely something there between us. I know he felt it too, and by the not so covert glances, I also know he’s somewhat attracted to me.

But on the flipside, he did look like he was sneaking out of someone’s apartment this morning, and then he wanted me to fist bump him. Maybe I’m just reading into things ’cause God knows, I have limited experience with this kind of stuff.

I’ve never really had a boyfriend, and Tim doesn’t count. We were seeing one another for a month, and after two dates, I knew we wouldn’t work. But Tim thought otherwise, and that’s the reason why he got so mad at me the night Dixon and I met. He pretty much demanded I give him another chance. When I said hell to the fuck no, he suggested I “give it up,” as apparently that’s what our nonexistent relationship was missing. When I not so politely declined, he got a little physical, and that’s when Dixon saved the day.

Apart from the fact I am in no way attracted to Tim, I don’t actually know if I’ll ever be ready to “give it up.”

I’m good at hiding my emotions and feelings, I always have been. But when Dixon told me he was a psychiatrist, I thought my ruse was up. I almost got up and left, but walking away from the first male I was remotely interested in felt wrong. And besides, I promised myself I would no longer allow my past to weigh me down.