The Fallout (The Therapist #3) - W.S. Greer Page 0,38

Dr. Monroe for help getting over my obsession with sex with Ava, and I end up wanting to fuck Dr. Monroe in just a few weeks of therapy. Have I simply replaced Ava with Dr. Monroe? Some may see it that way, but all I know is I want her.

From the moment I stepped into her office the first time, I knew she had a certain quality about her I found attractive. Her red hair, her blue eyes, and most of all, her confidence. The way she speaks is so calm and soothing, I can't help but wonder what it sounds like when she screams. What does her voice sound like when she shrieks in ecstasy? What does she sound like when she comes? What does her face look like when she’s rocked by a proper orgasm? Every bone in my body aches to find out, and now I can legitimately wonder if I’ll get the chance to know after what just happened.

With my back still against the door and my cock still simmering its way back down, I prepare to walk away. It’s going to be a horrible torture having to wait an entire week until I see her again, but she has left me no other choice. I stand up straight and turn to my right, where I plan on walking down the empty hall before going through the lobby of the building to exit. As I step away from the door, I hear what sounds like a moan escaping Dr. Monroe’s office.

I freeze, my brow furrowed in confusion. Did I hear what I think I just heard? No, it can't be.

Convinced I must be hearing things, I turn around and start down the corridor again, but I’m frozen into silence a second time when I hear another moan come from my therapist’s office.

This time I’m certain I heard it. Dr. Monroe is moaning on the other side of the door. There's no mistaking it.

My feet move all on their own as they lead me back down the hallway toward her door, where I prop myself once again. I press my ear to it like a child listening in on his parents’ conversation, and I hear what sounds like Dr. Monroe pleasuring herself in her office.

“Oh, god,” she whispers much louder than she thinks, and I’m absolutely stunned.

I can picture her behind her desk with her tight red dress pulled up to her waist, exposing her bare pussy, with her fingers massaging her clit in soft circles. She moans again, but it’s muffled as if she has her hand over her mouth. Another moan finds my ear and my cock reacts, stiffening as a rush of blood surges into my shaft. This is totally an invasion of privacy, but I can't help myself. I just left her office, and now Dr. Monroe is masturbating. It’s hard to think I don't have something to do with this.

“Yeah,” Dr. Monroe says in what’s supposed to be a whisper but comes out much louder. She seems to have gotten so immersed in it she doesn't realize how loud she is. If there was anybody else in this hallway, they’d hear her. Luckily for Dr. Monroe, it’s just me.

“Oh, my god,” she says now, and my hand flies to the doorknob. Do I go in? Should I help her finish? Fuck. What do I do?

“Oh, shit. Yes, Malcolm.”

A million spikes explode within me. She just said my name. She just said my name! She’s pleasuring herself to thoughts of me.

“Yeah, cut my dress. Cut it, please,” Dr. Monroe moans through the door so loud I wonder if she knows I’m listening. How can this all be an accident?

My brain is a tornado of thoughts and urges. I don't know whether to go in and give her what she so desperately wants from me, or if opening the door would ruin it all. What if she doesn't know I’m listening and would be appalled and crippled with embarrassment if I walked in on her with her fingers in her pussy? Fuck. What am I supposed to do?

“Yes,” she says. “I do want it. I do want your head between my legs. Yes, sir.”

I could melt into a puddle on the floor right now from hearing her say yes sir. It sounds so good coming from her mouth, and my hand squeezes the doorknob harder. I want to go in, but I’m torn by the possibilities.

“Oh god. Yes, lick it. Oh fuck. I’m gonna