The Therapist (6) (Chase Walker) Read online

  With tumbler and bottle set down on one of the bedside units, Chase gripped hold of the scruff of his shirt and tugged it up over his head. As soon as he’d shucked that, he worked the buttons of the jeans he’d donned to walk home, the fitted boxers he preferred over briefs. After bunging them all in a basket, he padded his way back to the bathroom, relishing the prickle of his bare flesh in the cool air.

  Truth was, he didn’t even need the bath. He washed after every client. Often washed at the end of every day, before changing from his work suit. But the water soothed him, and he felt the power of its calm as soon as he’d stuck even a foot into its shallow depths.

  The water still spilled from the tap as he settled his butt down, that already in there just reaching his hips as he shuffled himself forward and lay back against the tub’s sloped rim. The cold of the surface sent a chill skimming over his flesh, but he pressed back harder rather than withdraw. Beneath his chin, his nipples poked outward, two solid nubs of what the fuck at the assault, but their hardness only took Chase’s mind back. Back to earlier, and the stiff peaks of Abi’s breasts as she’d stared at him in the shower. The growing rigidity of his cock as he’d taken those details in—just as it grew then with the mere memory of the afternoon.

  Closing his eyes on his body, he slid himself deeper into the rising water, but no matter how much he ordered his brain to the present, it defied him and stayed on the session with Abi.

  Maybe if he only referred to it as a session, he could shut off any emotions he harboured for the girl. Compartmentalise it as work. Only work. A job. Nothing more. Nothing less. That was how he usually dealt—with any client other than Abi.

  Except his dick seemed to respond to thoughts unrelated to those in his head.

  Or maybe it didn’t.

  Because the more he thought about Abi—whatever thoughts he had about her—the more he noticed the low ache starting up in his balls, the more that damned vein throbbed along his shaft.

  Fuck his cock. Fuck his stupid head. Fuck his weakness and unwelcomed emotions.

  Even as he mentally berated himself, though, he recaptured that image of Abi standing naked and wet, her eyes totally hot with what he suddenly decided was want, and his hand reached for his pulsing hardness.

  As soon as he gripped its length and squeezed, his head tilted back a little further and his lips popped open on an exhale. Like he’d held captive his own breath and it’d just gotten a taste of freedom.

  Keeping his eyes closed, he slid his palm in a slow path upward. He could picture Abi so vividly. On her knees. Peering up at him all innocent and sweet—though, nowhere near as innocent as she’d been weeks ago, when he’d first met her. If Chase had his way, she’d become even less so. All he needed was a day—one day—to make it happen.

  Ignoring the truth that that’d never happen, he mentally opened her mouth, braced her hands against his hips, so fucking delicate and small. He quickly dipped his hand into the bath water to wet it, and imagining the enclosing of it around his cock to be the wet heat of her mouth, he skimmed it downward. Down to the base. Rubbing his thumb across the head as he imagined her tongue tracing the same route.

  It was a dangerous game to play, but Chase didn’t care. Fantasies were about as close as he’d ever be permitted to get to Abi O’Shay, and he’d take those over nothing.

  Besides, sometimes fantasies trumped all else. And Chase should know. He’d lived with them for years.

  Lifting his hips to the stroke of his hand, he allowed himself to relax into his movements. Relax into each roll back of his foreskin, each roll up.

  Before him, on her knees, Abi fought for balance, as he dragged the fingers of his free hand through her hair, forced her mouth lower over his cock, his cock deeper into her throat. With each grunt she gave, each squeak as she tried sucking in air, he conjured the soft fluttering of her hair across his belly, his hips. Imagined the brush of her breasts against his inner thighs.

  “That’s it. Just like that,” he whispered—as if she needed guidance.

  She probably would, he realised. And he’d be more than happy to take her on that tour.

  Fisting his hand tighter into her hair, he forced her face down harder, faster, thrusting his hips up until he slammed hard into her mouth. The whimper she gave was like candy to a diabetic, and he withdrew and drove upward even harder, letting out a low groan at the rapid build of heat, the twisting tightness in his balls.

  Fuck, he’d come fast and hard before, but laying there right then, he’d barely touched himself beyond a few strokes. And he was close already. So fucking close it hurt. All too often, that torturous ache would lead his actions, have him dragging it out and prolonging his release until he ended up as nothing but a panting mess desperate for ejaculation and willing to do anything to achieve that.

  But right then, Chase already felt like a desperate mess, and dealing with the pain of withholding wouldn’t help fix that.

  Tightening his grip, he upped the pace, upped the friction. Pumped his hand up and down over his shaft so hard and fast, his body jerked like it seizured and his breaths sounded like they came from something wild and rabid.

  It took twenty seconds. Twenty fucking seconds before his legs shot out and collided with the tub’s sides and his shoulders clenched into one solid mass of muscle as his throat spewed out a pathetic high keening sound.

  He snapped open his eyes, just as a holy fucking fountain of cum spewed from his cock before raining back down. Over his groin. His belly. All the fuck over the surface of the water and the sides of the bath. In an orgasm that left him panting and twitching and cursing beneath his breath.

  “Fuck.” His entire body seemed to be breathing hard, shrugging itself inward, as if worshipping some great moment it’d shared with his dick, and it took moments before Chase felt in control enough to uncurl himself, to straighten knees that’d flexed upward, to unroll shoulders that’d hunched so tight they burned. As soon as he had, his body seemed to slap back into position in the bath, and Chase lay there, his breaths still heaving at his chest, his body clinging to the surround spunk skimming the water’s surface like mutant frogspawn.

  “Fuck,” he muttered again.

  His head bashed back against the enamel, and he smacked it back a second time, a third, the entire time mentally screeching away for allowing himself to go where he’d just gone. For not being stronger and ordering Abi O’Shay the fuck out of his head.

  ‘The fuck was wrong with him? Wasn’t like he knew Abi. Wasn’t like he’d get to know her. So, why the hell couldn’t he shut down where the damned woman was concerned?

  Jones had been right, he realised. Finally realised.

  And so were the girls.

  Abi was dangerous.

  To him. To his mental stability.

  To the practice he’d spent years building.

  He should’ve recognised that in her from the start. Maybe then he could’ve avoided it reaching the point it had. Some might call his interest in her a crush, but Chase recognised it for what it was.

  At some level, he’d probably always recognised it for what it was.

  An obsession.

  But, as he’d told Rae, he’d only have to deal with Abi a couple more times, and she’d leave his services, be gone from his life for good. Badda-bing-badda-boom.

  He could deal with a couple of sessions. He could deal with her walking away and marrying some guy he didn’t even know and hoped never to meet because he couldn’t promise civility if he did.

  Shutting off the tap, he bust his arse out of the water until standing in the pool of his own weakness. I got this, he tried assuring himself as he stepped out and reached for a towel.

  But deep down, in some dark corner his brain he didn’t grant a voice to very often, he couldn’t help but wonder who the hell he was trying to kid.

  ***

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  OTHER TITLES

  Holloway Pack

  Beginnings

  The Wolf Within

  Blue Moon

  Caged

  Unnatural

  Cornered

  Hereditary

  Enticed

  ABOUT

  Best known for her Holloway Pack Stories, J.A. Belfield lives in Solihull, England, with her husband, two children, a cat and two dogs. She writes paranormal romance, with a second love for urban fantasy. And now she writes erotic romance, too. Because she can. ;)

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