She’s now lying on her back on my desk, her legs dangling over the edge, while her fingers are recklessly coaxing her to come. As her back bows, she lets out a low growl and her body undulates as I watch her explode. It takes every ounce of self-control to not flip her over and make her mine.

I’m not sure how long she lies sprawled out on my desk, breathless and totally spent. But I don’t attempt to make a single move, because watching this profound creature is akin to discovering a hidden treasure. I take her in, appreciating the way her lissome body comes down from its high, and I know I’m screwed. I’m utterly enchanted by Juliet Harte, and we haven’t even fucked.

Juliet turns her head, looking at the clock above the mantel. With a sated sigh, she slowly slips down her dress. I try not to weep, as I preferred her barely clothed. Ever so slowly, she rises to full height, but remains seated, her legs hanging over the edge of my desk. She places one stilettoed foot between my parted legs, and rolls my chair toward her. Of course I don’t hesitate and allow her to draw me closer to her body, curious as to what comes next.

My chest is pressed against her legs, and my eyes are now crotch level. My restraint really is commendable.

“Thank you, Dr. Mathews,” she says, and leans forward, placing a single kiss on the corner of my mouth.

Before I can even think of a response, she hops down from my desk and smoothes out her dress before taking a seat on the sofa. I stare, stunned, needing a second to process what the hell just happened. She just called me Dr. Mathews, therefore, does she expect our session to go on like nothing happened?

As she reaches for her bag and pulls out a compact to check her reflection, I know that’s exactly what she expects.

I just watched the hottest woman I have ever met come all over my desk, and now I’m expected to play the role of therapist, ignoring the fact my hard-on is about ready to blind anyone who walks through that door.

This is seriously fucked up, and suddenly I think I might be the one in need of therapy.

We never have drinks on a Monday. What with Finch’s daddy duties and Hunter’s shiatsu, it’s fair to say Mondays are usually off limits, but when Hunter called me and heard the disbelief in my voice after Ms. Harte’s session, he called an emergency catch-up, and that’s what brings us to now.

If my day wasn’t uncomplicated enough, I’ve organized to meet up at The Pony Bar—Madison’s place of employment. Yup, I’m a masochist.

“So, how’d it go?” Hunter asks, reaching for his beer, awaiting my bombshell.

“Well…” I commence, lost for words. “Finch, do you want to block your ears?”

Finch holds both hands up, shaking his head bravely. “No, give it to me. It can’t be that bad.”

If only he knew.

Lowering my voice, I lean forward, and my friends do the same. “She got herself off…on my desk…in my office. And I watched.”

Jesus, that sounded dirty. It certainly didn’t feel dirty when I watched it happen, but saying it aloud makes it sound like a kinky peepshow.

There is dead silence. I look at my friends, needing them to say something, anything, because the silence is killing me.

“Guys?” I say, waiting for one of them to tell me I’m not as perverted as I feel.

Hunter’s mouth is hanging open, but a half smile mars his features, as he’s no doubt visualizing the very graphic picture I just painted.

“Finch?” I ask, looking at my best friend, who has paled whiter than a ghost.

“She m-masturbated…on your… desk?” he shrieks, breaking the silence a little louder than anticipated.

“Shh!” I whisper, gesturing with my hand for him to lower his voice.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes with a frown. “But Dix, oh my God, who is this woman? Who goes around jerking off on their psychiatrist’s desk?”

“Apparently Juliet Harte does,” Hunter says with a chuckle.

“Dixon, Gabriella has been in your office. Oh dear lord, my baby daughter has been subjected to a bordello!” shouts Finch. I groan, as his volume control is nonexistent tonight.

Totally ignoring his melodramatics, Hunter asks with a wink, “So did you, ya know?”

“No, I did not,” I reply, reaching for my scotch, failing to mention that she didn’t even offer.

“So what happened?”

“Nothing. We had our session…”

“Hold up,” Hunter interrupts, brushing his hair from his face, as it’s slipped free from his manbun. “You still went through with the session?”

I pathetically nod because the situation is as ridiculous as it sounds.

“You are either the smartest, or stupidest motherfucker alive!” He laughs, slapping his hand on the tabletop.

“He’s definitely the smartest. Good on you, Dix,” Finch says, nodding his head in encouragement.

“Thanks, man. At least you’re a good friend.” I look pointedly at Hunter.

“Hey, don’t be hating on me. I told you to handball her to another doctor. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

I sigh because he’s right. It was absolutely ludicrous attempting to act professional. The session was a total disaster, and I should be ashamed of myself for allowing it to ever get that far.

“You’re not seeing her next week, are you?” Hunter asks with an incredulous look.

“Well…” I reply, guiltily chugging down my scotch.

“Are you insane?” Finch cries, sitting tall in his seat. “Dixon, this person is a dirty, dirty, slutty slut from the planet ‘I’m a big whore who masturbates in offices where babies have been!’ You need to never see her again, and you need to buy a new desk!”

I can’t help the laugh that rumbles from my chest; Finch is utterly entertaining when riled up. Hunter joins in and Finch runs a hand over his full beard.

“You guys are sick bastards.”

And just like that, I instantly feel better.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” I say, pushing back my chair.

“Make sure you don’t bump into any masturbating nymphos on your way out,” Hunter playfully chides while I flip him off.

Walking through the packed restaurant, my thoughts drift to Juliet and the predicament I find myself in. The right and smart thing to do would be to tell Ms. Harte I can no longer treat her. But that thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth, and I have no idea why.

My mother was a devout Catholic, and in times of crisis she would tell me to pray to the Lord, and apparently he was supposed to give me some magical answer. I really could do with some answers right about now, so God, if you’re listening, how ’bout you cut me some slack and give me a sign. Please?

“Oh, shit!” a voice from beneath me—yes, beneath me—yelps.

I jolt back, part in shock, part in horror, as I blindly walked straight into someone. Now that poor person is sprawled out on the floor on her stomach.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you,” I say in a rushed breath, quickly dropping to a squat.

“It’s okay,” she replies, laughing quietly.

As she turns around to face me, my words get caught in my throat. “M-Madison?”

I knew she worked here, that’s part of the reason why I’m here, but I wasn’t expecting to literally bump into her.

“Dixon?” she says, gasping. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here with friends. We’re having drinks. And you did say if I was ever in the neighborhood…” I reply, mesmerized by her stunning green eyes.

“Oh.” She sounds surprised that I actually came.

I suddenly realize she’s still lying sprawled out on the floor, and like a jerk, I haven’t even offered to help her up.

“I’m the one who’s sorry. Here, let me help you up.” I offer my hand, which she gratefully accepts.

The moment she sits up, I see that her white T-shirt is ruined because when she fell, she was holding a tray of drinks. The drinks have spilled haphazardly across the floor, and I feel like a total ass, as I know those drinks will probably come out of her pay.