I nod my head as much as I can with his heavy cock buried so far inside my mouth. And then he makes good on his promise and fucks my face. He interlocks his fingers behind my head and plows into me, leaving me with no control. I’m a choking mess. I’m sure mascara is all over my face, and my eyes are bloodshot.
And still, I moan around him.
Still, I want more. My pussy is so empty. I need to be filled. I want to plunge my fingers inside myself, but I don’t. That’s not part of the plan. Visions of my masked man fucking me over the weekend float around my head, but I keep coming back to Ryan too. Is it because he told me to, or is it because I’m really that fucked up?
When he demands that I close my eyes and picture my patient, I do. I imagine getting on my knees and sucking Ryan’s cock. Would he be rough like this or gentle and reserved? When my mouth is flooded with spurt after spurt of hot cum, I imagine I’m looking up at Ryan, tasting him and swallowing him down.
I revel in the musky taste of him, and there’s so much cum, I struggle to swallow it all. But he holds me in place while hecontinues to empty himself. Milking his cock dry has me on the edge myself. When he lets go of my head and pulls back, my mouth feels bereft, and my lips tingle from his rough handling. Some cum escapes my mouth, trailing from the corners of my lips and onto my breasts. I use my fingers to scoop it up before sucking them clean.
“I wonder if your patients imagine you like this,” he says, his voice gravelly and bordering on sinister. “I bet that patient who got you all hot and bothered imagines fucking your beautiful face. I bet he wants to bend you over your therapist chair and rip your clothes off, strip away your professionalism and find the filth underneath.”
I whimper at his words and the images he paints. My core tightens as humiliation burns me from the inside out at the realization I do want Ryan to think of me like that. My muscles ache from the awkward position, but I force myself to remain kneeling, my gaze fixed on the cold, unforgiving wood. The essence of him—sexuality and raw masculinity—hangs thick in the air. I’m soaked. Wetness trails down the inside of my thighs, and I clench my fists to hold back from touching myself. I don’t think I’ve ever been more desperate in my life.
“Up,” he orders, and I rise on shaky legs. “You love that idea, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir,” I admit as he positions me to straddle his lap.
“And I’ll give you everything you want. Everything.” He flips our positions so I’m on my back and slams into me, hard andunforgiving. “Now, be a good girl. Close your eyes and think of him when I’m fucking you.”
My eyes go wide as I trace what would be the contours of his face and inhale his scent, searching for any sign of a lie. I don’t find it. It’s not there. I read people for a living. I know when someone is deceiving me. When their words don’t align with their beliefs. When they’re telling me what they think I want to hear.
And that’s not what’s happening here.
“I don’t understand why you want me to think of him instead of you.”
“You’re so close to getting it,” he grits out. “Now shut your eyes.”
I do as I’m told this time, squeezing them tight as shame and pleasure crash into me. This is so wrong. So completely fucked up. But imagining Ryan’s body above me, my core tightens, and I come so hard that liquid gushes from me, soaking us both. It’s Ryan I see in my mind's eye when my mystery man pounds into me. Ryan’s groan I hear when he empties inside me. Ryan’s tongue I imagine when he pulls out of me and licks my pussy, cleaning me up of our combined release. And Ryan’s name I call out when he drags another orgasm from me.
But as soon as the waves of pleasure subside, all that’s left is the shame and the sheets clinging to my sweat and cum dampened skin. And it doesn’t feel sexy or taboo anymore. It just feels wrong. Tears prick my still-closed eyes, tracing a path down my temples and into the hollows of my ears. I want to disappear, to rewind the last hour, to erase the memory that is now etched onto my soul.The darkness behind my eyelids is my only sanctuary, but even there, the image of Ryan Rivera flickers like a cruel and persistent ghost. One I invited into my psyche.
The suffocating weight of regret eats at me, churning in my gut as every bad thought I’ve ever had about myself swirls in my mind. What the hell is wrong with me? Am I so pathetically needy to belong that I can’t just enjoy sex with a man without having to project every other need onto him? Without projecting the desires that I have for apatient?
How could I ever think I would be enough for either of them?
Ryan has made it clear what he wants. A family and his perfect woman. Something I could never give him.
I’m not even really a woman.
I’m a monster.
And the masked man is obviously just enjoying himself with the needy slut who has an anxious attachment style and will let him do whatever he wants to her. He won’t share himself with me, won’t even tell me his name. He obviously has no plans to stick around.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ryan
As soon as I feel the regret emanating from Maya, I know I’ve fucked up. I took it too far, way too fucking soon. Shit.
“Kitten,” I say sternly. “What’s going on?”
“I… I shouldn’t have done that,” she chokes out. “That was so… so… unethical. I… I…” Then she falls apart completely, letting out heaving sobs that have my wolf raging to escape so he can annihilate the threat to our mate.
Fuck.I’m the threat to my mate.Reality hits like a claw slicing into my gut. She really doesn’t know it’s me. I had hoped she was letting herself enjoy me, telling herself she wasn’t sure. But she really doesn’t know.
“Hey, hey, this is my fault. I’m so sorry, Kitten,” I say, scooping her up and cradling her in my arms. I smooth her hair back from her face and hold her tight, pressing kisses to her forehead and reassuring her. Promising her I won’t ever say anything. It was only a first name in a city of nearly a million people. She didn’t break confidentiality. Not really.
I can’t tell her that it’s me. That she didn’t reveal anything sensitive because she was talking to me about me. Fates, I want to. More than anything.
