“I work for a law firm. I’m just a file clerk, but I don’t really need to work, as Daddy takes care of me.”

I nod, feeling a tad disturbed that a twenty-six-year-old woman refers to her father as “Daddy.” I write down that a possible cause to her issues could be because she was sexually abused as a child. Most sex addicts describe their parents as being rigid, distant and uncaring. But in Juliet’s case, it seems her father was the complete opposite. I make a note to revisit this point later.

“What about your social life? Do you smoke? Drink? Take drugs?”

Juliet smirks, and straightens in her seat. “Yes to all of the above.”

Ms. Harte is getting more complex by the minute. “What drugs to do you take? Prescribed or illicit?”

“Mainly illicit,” she calmly states. “I like acid, ecstasy and cocaine.”

Holy shit, this woman is bad, bad news. But the more she confesses her sins, the more I want her.

“That’s quite a cocktail of drugs. When did you start using?”

She ignores my question as she slowly, and purposely, uncrosses her legs. I can clearly see the white triangle of barely-there cloth scarcely covering her pussy, but I remain professional as I don’t want to blow this. I know if I give in to my rampant libido, this will be the last time I see Ms. Juliet Harte, and after this introduction, I want more.

“Have you ever fucked while on acid, Dr. Mathews?” She closely gauges my reaction to see how I will respond to her crude question.

“This isn’t about me, Ms. Harte, but rather about you and your feelings. Did you want to tell me how you felt when engaging in a sexual act while high?” I coolly question, cocking an arrogant eyebrow.

I’ve been in the game for a long, long time, and it’s going to take more than a hot piece of ass with a filthy mouth to get me going. She’s testing me now, and Ms. Harte is a lot smarter than I gave her credit for. I must watch my back, and dick, with this femme fatale.

“It felt unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. My entire skin was on fire, and my senses were so in tune with my body, I anticipated every move my partners made. Every touch, slap, lick, pull, thrust, tickle, everything—it was amplified, tenfold, and nothing has ever felt that good,” she says, her pupils dilating, no doubt reliving the memory of her ménage à trois, as I didn’t fail to note her intentional mention of the word “partners.”

“So you enjoy sex?” My over-stimulated brain is begging me to stop with the torture.

She nods, and her eyes dart to my crotch. “Yes, I love it.”

“What exactly do you love about it? Besides the physical gratification, that is.”

Juliet smirks, before replying, “I love the power.”

Images of being cuffed to a bed while I call Ms. Harte “Mistress” flash through my brain, and I realize that this woman could be quite hazardous to one’s health.

Ms. Harte is one fucked-up little unit, and I can’t wait to find out what makes her tick.

An hour later, I’m sitting in my chair, highly strung, and about ready to come in my pants. Ms. Harte is in the bathroom freshening up, as our session got a little heated and I reduced her almost to tears. I still can’t work out whether they were genuine or not, which troubles me. She really is an anomaly, which is a strange, almost-refreshing change, as most women don’t keep me guessing. But she does.

“So, same time next week?” she asks, exiting the bathroom and jarring me out of my thoughts.

Looking up from my desk, I see that she has applied a bright red shade of lipstick, which stands out against her pale hair. Nodding casually, I pretend to type on my laptop, appearing informal and laid-back.

“Sure, that’ll be fine. Please go ahead and schedule your session with Ms. Vale.” My curt response is a silent dismissal, and she reads it loud and clear.

”Thank you for today, Dr. Mathews. I feel…better,” she says, but I have a sneaking suspicion “better” was not the word she wanted to use.

”See you next week, Ms. Harte,” I reply, giving her a small smile.

“Okay, see you then.” She firmly nods and I keenly check out her tight little ass as she exits my office.

The moment the door closes, I let out a deep, agonizing breath and allow my staged composure to slip. That was damn intense, and the unrelenting wood I’m sporting is proof of how damn tense that really was.

If I were smart, I would tell Susanna to cancel any future appointments Ms. Harte has made and refer her to another doctor. But I never said I was smart. School smart—yes. But sex smart—hell to the fuck, no. I have never met such a sexually aggressive woman before, and I’m man enough to admit that Juliet Harte turns me on and scares me, all in the same breath.

I have no idea how to approach this as there is some unseen sexual spark between us. I know that sounds ludicrous, seeing as she is a self-confessed sex addict. But there is something more to her, and I’m intrigued to find out what.

Looking down at my lap, I sigh, as this tenting erection is going nowhere. Deciding to rub one out before my next client, I lock my door and make my way into my personal bathroom. The moment I switch on the light, her perfume assaults my nostrils and I take a moment to bask in her scent. The floral fragrance does nothing to help my predicament and I quickly unsnap the button on my pants, ready to get to work. However, my hand freezes as my eyes fall to the mirror above the basin.

Written in bright red lipstick across my mirror is a phone number—no guessing whose. Underneath sits a perfect imprint of her lipstick-stained kiss marks, taunting me with their blatant sexual innuendo. This is obviously Ms. Harte’s way of hinting that I call her, as I’ve already obtained her contact details via her client form.

Goddamnit, I’m screwed.

Surrendering, I unzip my fly, reach into my pants, and find my release within minutes. Who would have thought an innocent, lipstick-stained kiss mark could warrant such an explosive orgasm? But I know there is absolutely nothing innocent about Juliet Harte.

4

Twisted

DIXON

This week has been an absolute disaster. So when 6 p.m. Friday night ticks over, I’m out the door, happily bidding sayonara to the week from hell.

I’m meeting with Hunter and his parents, Marie and Ralph, who are in town for the weekend.

Walking into a popular bar and grill, I spot them sitting at a booth in the corner of the room. Hunter gives me a quick wave and I make my way over to them, dodging a lingering waitress who gives me a sultry smile.

After the fucked-up week of jacking off with zero satisfaction, I’ve decided to steer clear of all women, because at the moment, two women are more than I can handle. I shouldn’t even be thinking about Juliet Harte because it’s wrong on all counts, the kind of wrong that would send me straight to hell. Yes, I’ve bagged a few of my clients, which I know is ethically and morally and professionally wrong. But they weren’t genuine clients; they never really needed my help.

But Juliet, she is someone with genuine issues, and the doctor in me wants to help her. However, the horny male in me wants to help her by screwing her six ways to Sunday.

Pushing these inappropriate thoughts from my mind, I give Marie a double cheek kiss and a warm hug as I approach their booth.

“Hello, Dixon. Oh my, I love your hair,” she says, playfully running a hand through my messy locks.

My hair at the moment most likely resembles a bird’s nest, as I’ve been yanking at it in frustration all week.