squirm “—emotional connections with, um, people.”
“So this was a purely sexual connection?”
“No.” He rubbed his palm on his thigh. God this was uncomfortable. He paid this woman to listen to all kinds of shit he didn’t want to talk about, and this was the worst so far. “Not purely sexual.” Mostly, maybe.
“I didn’t think so. I don’t think you would have mentioned him to me if it was.”
Damn her damned doctorate in psychology. Ian sighed. “I guess not.”
“You want to see this man again?”
“Yes.” That surprised the hell out of him—more so than hearing himself say it wasn’t just a sexual connection. “I do.”
“Have you asked him how he feels?”
Ian lifted his head, horrified. “Am I supposed to?”
“Generally yes, that’s the way these things work. I’d recommend not just informing him he’s going to see you because you like him.” Janet failed to smother a laugh.
“Thanks,” he muttered.
“No problem. That’ll be one hundred fifty dollars.”
Ian went back to staring at her. “My insurance pays for—”
“That was a joke, Ian,” she gently interrupted.
“Are therapists allowed to crack jokes?”
“This one is, unless you’d prefer she didn’t.”
Ian rubbed his thigh more, thinking. “No. I guess I kind of like it.”
On Saturday night, Ian stood at Sam’s door, waiting for him to arrive home from work. He couldn’t explain away why he was doing something so supremely dorky, so he had another approach in mind. And here came Sam now, climbing the stairs. Waiting here for him was phase one of Ian’s master plan.
Sam reached the top—after plodding up like only the truly exhausted working stiff could—and stopped. He frowned at Ian, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was.
Ian smiled.
Sam blinked. Blink. Blink, blink.
“Can I come in?” Ian asked after a few more blinks.
Sam heaved a sigh. “I guess,” he said, finally digging his keys out of his pocket. Ian stood behind him, not too close, while he worked the lock. Once Sam had the apartment door open, Ian followed him in, and immediately moved to phase two of the plan.
He grabbed Sam’s arm, turned him around, and backed him up against a wall, looking into his eyes the entire time he leaned toward him, right until Sam got too blurry to see. He wanted Sam to know he knew what he was doing.
A guy like him didn’t purposely kiss a guy like Sam without it meaning something. A guy like him didn’t date a guy like Sam without talking about it first. This kiss would make sure Sam knew what was coming.
Sort of. It made sense to him.
When he kissed Sam, nothing made sense anymore.
In spite of advancing slowly, staring into Sam’s eyes the whole time, the kid wasn’t ready for the kiss. Ian could tell by the way his jaw hung slack for those first few seconds. Then his chin tilted up as he stretched for more. He tilted his head and opened wider, rubbing his tongue against Ian’s like an affectionate cat that wanted to be petted.
Theoretically, Ian owned this kiss, but in reality he didn’t own shit. Sam was soft and malleable in his mouth and under his lips, and he responded to tiny cues from Ian, until Ian just needed more . More of Sam, and more of his acquiescence. He let go of Sam’s tongue and bit his lip instead, making him moan back in his throat and push his hips off the wall and into Ian’s. When Sam moaned like that—so low Ian felt the vibrations—Ian realized who was really in control here.
It’s only for this one kiss .
When he finally did end the kiss, pulling slowly away and letting go of Sam, he couldn’t catch his breath. He stood there panting into Sam’s face, unable to make himself move more than an inch or two. He needed to keep that mouth nearby. It was some kind of national treasure only Ian knew about. He watched his thumb tracing Sam’s reddened lower lip. Had he bitten it too hard? He had to fight back the urge to test Sam’s limits for
“So this was a purely sexual connection?”
“No.” He rubbed his palm on his thigh. God this was uncomfortable. He paid this woman to listen to all kinds of shit he didn’t want to talk about, and this was the worst so far. “Not purely sexual.” Mostly, maybe.
“I didn’t think so. I don’t think you would have mentioned him to me if it was.”
Damn her damned doctorate in psychology. Ian sighed. “I guess not.”
“You want to see this man again?”
“Yes.” That surprised the hell out of him—more so than hearing himself say it wasn’t just a sexual connection. “I do.”
“Have you asked him how he feels?”
Ian lifted his head, horrified. “Am I supposed to?”
“Generally yes, that’s the way these things work. I’d recommend not just informing him he’s going to see you because you like him.” Janet failed to smother a laugh.
“Thanks,” he muttered.
“No problem. That’ll be one hundred fifty dollars.”
Ian went back to staring at her. “My insurance pays for—”
“That was a joke, Ian,” she gently interrupted.
“Are therapists allowed to crack jokes?”
“This one is, unless you’d prefer she didn’t.”
Ian rubbed his thigh more, thinking. “No. I guess I kind of like it.”
On Saturday night, Ian stood at Sam’s door, waiting for him to arrive home from work. He couldn’t explain away why he was doing something so supremely dorky, so he had another approach in mind. And here came Sam now, climbing the stairs. Waiting here for him was phase one of Ian’s master plan.
Sam reached the top—after plodding up like only the truly exhausted working stiff could—and stopped. He frowned at Ian, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was.
Ian smiled.
Sam blinked. Blink. Blink, blink.
“Can I come in?” Ian asked after a few more blinks.
Sam heaved a sigh. “I guess,” he said, finally digging his keys out of his pocket. Ian stood behind him, not too close, while he worked the lock. Once Sam had the apartment door open, Ian followed him in, and immediately moved to phase two of the plan.
He grabbed Sam’s arm, turned him around, and backed him up against a wall, looking into his eyes the entire time he leaned toward him, right until Sam got too blurry to see. He wanted Sam to know he knew what he was doing.
A guy like him didn’t purposely kiss a guy like Sam without it meaning something. A guy like him didn’t date a guy like Sam without talking about it first. This kiss would make sure Sam knew what was coming.
Sort of. It made sense to him.
When he kissed Sam, nothing made sense anymore.
In spite of advancing slowly, staring into Sam’s eyes the whole time, the kid wasn’t ready for the kiss. Ian could tell by the way his jaw hung slack for those first few seconds. Then his chin tilted up as he stretched for more. He tilted his head and opened wider, rubbing his tongue against Ian’s like an affectionate cat that wanted to be petted.
Theoretically, Ian owned this kiss, but in reality he didn’t own shit. Sam was soft and malleable in his mouth and under his lips, and he responded to tiny cues from Ian, until Ian just needed more . More of Sam, and more of his acquiescence. He let go of Sam’s tongue and bit his lip instead, making him moan back in his throat and push his hips off the wall and into Ian’s. When Sam moaned like that—so low Ian felt the vibrations—Ian realized who was really in control here.
It’s only for this one kiss .
When he finally did end the kiss, pulling slowly away and letting go of Sam, he couldn’t catch his breath. He stood there panting into Sam’s face, unable to make himself move more than an inch or two. He needed to keep that mouth nearby. It was some kind of national treasure only Ian knew about. He watched his thumb tracing Sam’s reddened lower lip. Had he bitten it too hard? He had to fight back the urge to test Sam’s limits for
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