Psyched (Taboo 101 #2) Read online

  When we arrive at my townhouse, I cut the engine of my Mustang Shelby and round the car to open her door, but she’s already stepping out. “I was going to get that for you.”

  “Oh.” She pushes her hair behind her ears and smiles sheepishly.

  Is she not used to being treated like a lady? That would truly suck. I mean, Blondie might be nerdy with her Doctor Who stuff, golden long hair tied into an unassuming ponytail, no makeup, dirty jeans, and sneakers, but she’s fucking gorgeous underneath it all. I mean, any guy can see that.

  I take her hand. “Come on, Ninth Doctor. You look like you need a good time.”

  “You have no idea.” She bites her lip, and all I can think of is how I’m going to be kissing and sucking on those in just a few minutes. We’re on the same page then, a beautiful thing.

  As soon as we’re standing in the foyer, I’m scooping her face into my hands, ready to taste those full lips of hers, or so I thought. Instead, she slams me against the wall, and suddenly, her mouth is over mine. Sweet, sensuous, tasting a bit of beer, but not a problem. I love beer, and I love curvy blondes, so there you go. I’d prefer we kiss a little softer at first, so I can take her in, but I get it—she just wants to get straight to the point.

  Still, there’s two of us, and I want what I want, too.

  Spinning and pushing her up against the wall, I pin her so she understands that in my house, I make the rules. Drinking in her lips, I taste their sweetness, inhale her skin’s scent, and explore the inside of her mouth, licking and sucking on her tongue, falling into an unspoken rhythm. When I feel her body gravitating toward me, bending and begging for more, I let her go, except for her chin.

  She stands there panting, chest heaving.

  I’m already rock hard, but I can wait longer than she can. Age and practice has its benefits, and I am a master in patience. “Let’s bring it this way…” I take her shaking hand and lead her to the sofa. My plan is to kiss her for a long time, bring her close to fever pitch with my hands and mouth, then drive her home with my fingers, but Blondie is clearly vying for power.

  When she reaches the sofa, she presses one knee into the cushion and quickly whisks off her shirt. Her ample soft tits are spilling out of a nude-colored bra way too small for her. Her skin is beautifully golden, darker than it should be for a natural blonde. The effect is gorgeous. She’s almost the same color from head to waist.

  Reaching behind herself, she undoes the bra, plucks it off, and tosses it aside.

  Natural, curvy perfection. I feel my heart race like it hasn’t in a long-ass time.

  “Fucking beautiful,” I say.

  Blondie says nothing, doesn’t have to—she doesn’t want to waste time. Listen, I get it, and guess what—my cock can easily be persuaded. Leaning on the arm rest, I reach for her and pull her toward me in one fell swoop, drinking in her open mouth, her neck, and finally her breasts. I squeeze one, loving the way it overflows in my fingers, as I lift and squeeze, let it fall then lift again. The other one I drink in, sucking on the light pink perky nipple that seems almost too small for boobs so big.

  Makes me harder. Less willing to wait.

  All of a sudden, I understand her urgency, because I feel twenty years old again, just wanting to get to it, get it over with. After years of building stamina, I was prepared to go the distance, but I’m realizing it’s not necessary. She’s horny and wants a release. With Blondie calling the shots, I can’t say I’m used to it, this battle for control, but I like it. Definitely issues to explore here, except she won’t be around soon for me to question her.

  I shift to the other tit and lick, nibble, and suck the hell out of it. I want so bad to bite it, but I hold back and squeeze them together instead, motorboating my face between them. Blondie may be a month shy of twenty-one, but her breasts already have that soft, maternal feel I want to sink myself into.

  Coming up to kiss her again, I feel her hand reaching down to grab my cock through my pants. “I want this,” she says. “Please, Roman.”

  I love hearing my name coming out of her pretty mouth, but bummer—I’m fresh out of condoms and wasn’t planning on fucking anyone tonight. I groan when she grips my cock through my pants and cups my balls, then suddenly, she’s sinking onto her knees.

  Holy fuck, she didn’t mean she wanted me inside of her—she meant she wanted it in her mouth. Fascinating, this need to please me first. I would say daddy issues or self-denial. Either way, feels damn good.

  “Sweetheart, let me do you first. It’s only right. Come on.” I take her hands to pull her up to her feet, so I can fling her on the couch and figure out how best to please her, but she shakes her head.

  “No, this first.” Her fingers nimbly begin to unbuckle my pants, as she bites through her naughty smile. She waits like a good girl on her knees while I step out of my pants and unbutton my shirt. “Leave it on. Open, but on,” she requests, looking so good in just her jeans, naked from the waist up, big blue eyes looking up at me. There’s baby fat on her belly, and I love it. Makes her fuller, more womanly.

  The moment I step out of my shorts, her eyes widen at my full package, extending out toward her face like a heat-seeking missile. Yeah, I’ve always liked it, too. Can’t complain. “Not what you were expecting?” I ask.

  “I…wasn’t…whoa.” She laughs, moves it left then right, surveying the different angles she can take me from. And then, watching me, she slowly swallows me in, her warm, wet mouth taking me in whole, all the way to the back of her throat before I can think about anything else.

  Blue eyes close, and time slows down.

  Blondie just kneels there with my cock in her mouth, while her tongue slides underneath the length of it, slowly making room for it in her mouth. Holy shit, if I was really twenty, this would be the part where I blow my load early. Part of me wants to hold this pose forever, recording it in my mind for future self-sessions, but my cock wants to pull out slowly and push back in. I can’t wait anymore. I need to feel myself sliding in and out, fucking her face.

  Sensing my need for more, Blondie spits on my cock and begins sliding her hand up and back on my shaft while sucking on the head, licking underneath it and all around, then swallowing the whole goddamn thing again. What in the hell. I can name the best three blowjobs I’ve ever had, and they were all from older women. But this…this is a magical moment.

  She then dips underneath to take my balls into her mouth, and that’s when I see what she’s doing down there—dipping her hand into her pants.

  “You like what you’re doing?” I ask. A girl who gets off on giving blowjobs. Is there a better kind?

  Humming what I can only assume is a yes with my balls in her mouth, she nods and smiles so pretty. I hope I never see her around campus, or I’ll spring a boner right in front of her and everyone. For some reason, the thought of what her father would think if he saw his little girl like this flits through my mind, and I know right then that I’m a bad, bad man.

  “I needed this,” she tells me.

  “You and me both.” I want to know more. I want to know why she needed my balls in her mouth while fiddling her clit.

  I laugh to myself and breathe in deep to avoid spilling too soon, because she starts stroking my cock and slobbering over it like a starving animal. My urge to understand Blondie’s brain burns at me, but I have to push this one aside. First, because she’s no doubt a student where I work, or else she wouldn’t be at Taco Paco’s $2 pitchers night. And second, I can’t analyze every woman who ends up at my place.

  Somehow, they end up on my doorstep. Even when they don’t know who I am, they still find me. I’m like a magnet for crazy, hot messes—the best kind.

  Blondie’s fingers dig deep into herself, beginning to work into a rhythm. She goes back to swallowing my cock, looking up at me with those sexy blues underneath natural eyebrows, and before I know it, she’s moaning and tensing her legs together.

  “You’re going to come, aren’t you?”

  Sh
e mumbles, her mouth full of cock, then lets it out with a pop, opening her mouth and tossing her head back. “Not until you do. Give it to me, please. Come in my mouth.”

  As much as hearing those words will fuel my wet dreams for months to come, I can’t. I might be a lot of things, but one thing I’m not is an asshole. “You first, Blondie. I’m a gentleman.”

  “No, please, I need—”

  I know what she needs. I’ve got it. She wants to get off on my pleasure, but she needs to come first. She’s more important. Maybe this night was destined to be a battle of the sexes, but I can’t change that one thing about me. “Come for me, Blondie.” Sliding my cock back into her mouth, I hold onto the back of her head and fuck her face. I know she likes this. I know she’s getting off on my pleasure from the way her fingers move faster and faster.

  “You’re coming, aren’t you?” I say. “With my cock right in your mouth. That’s fucking beautiful.”

  She pulls away and cries out, “Yesss…” throwing her head back again. And there it is, Blondie’s cries and deep moans. Every woman has her own sounds, and hers have just become some of the best I’ve ever heard.

  Damn. Talk about rubbing one out. That was the fastest I’ve ever seen a woman come, and something about it makes me feel sorry for her and admire her at the same time. An enigma for sure.

  I lift her to her feet and kiss her deeply, tasting an intoxicating mixture of her scent and my own musky skin. What will she do now? Stay a while, work on me, or leave? From the way she slowly stands, I think maybe she’s going to leave now, but instead, I find myself getting pushed over the armrest. I go tumbling onto my couch, my legs splaying open. “Okay, thanks for that…”

  “I wanted you to come first. Don’t you get it?”

  “Yes, I get it, but no go, Blondie. My house, my rules.”

  Her eyes narrow playfully. “Fine, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure things are even.”

  I assume she means she’s intent on making sure I come, too, but what she doesn’t know is that I don’t care. I love when a woman comes, and that to me, is everything. Sure, it’d be nice to blow all over those beautiful big tits, but knowing I helped her feel good means I’ll sleep happy tonight.

  “You don’t have to, you know. I’m happy knowing my balls in your face made you come.” I laugh, because it’s funny but mind-boggling at the same time. I’m being used, and I love it.

  With me sitting on the sofa now, Blondie positions herself between my legs and takes my cock in both hands. Slowly, she pumps the whole thing, one hand gripping the bottom half, and one hand gripping the top. Seeing myself in her small hands like that makes me feel omnipotent, almost like she’s mine and mine alone.

  I don’t know why that thought flits through my brain, because I don’t know a damn thing about her. She was nobody to me an hour ago. Nothing but one night’s delight, but I’d be lying if I said the thought of her leaving here and never seeing her again doesn’t bother me.

  She wraps her thick lips around the head of my cock, and together with her stroking, I know I won’t last long. Not with those pretty girl eyes looking up at me out of her baby face, and her tits swinging back and forth as she bounces on my cock.

  God, that’s fucking it.

  I feel that electric warmth rising through my balls, tightening them up, as my legs stiffen, and then I hang suspended right over the edge. My seed spurts straight out, and I force my eyes open to watch where it lands, because that’s half the fun. Blondie can read my mind—she leans back to let it shoot all over her chest. Those tits are mine…I claim them as my own. Stupid thing to think. I don’t own her. But for a few seconds, watching my come run down her sweaty skin, I allow myself the luxury of believing it to be true. She doesn’t have to know.

  My woman…

  After cleaning herself up with tissues I hand her, she curls up alongside me on the couch. For a moment, I almost hesitate getting this close. If we’re never going to see each other again, maybe it’s better if we skip the cuddling. But she feels so right in my arms, her body so warm, I give in. Soon she’ll be gone—whether she asks me to take her home, Ubers now or in the morning, I don’t know.

  All I know is that I’m in no rush to see her leave.

  It happened so fast, and now it’s over. My only regret is that I didn’t get to kiss her deeper, longer. I never got to see her completely naked. Never got to feel myself inside of her. Blondie’s body is youthful with no lines or marks whatsoever, just purely smooth skin, but I’ll never know if she’s soft like Aphrodite or tough like Athena. I would love to explore more, but I haven’t been given a map.

  In the morning, I find myself spooning Blondie on the couch, both of us covered with a chenille throw. She’s still asleep but beginning to stir. Her body feels so deliciously warm against mine, I think about kissing her awake and starting another round before she has to go. But her eyes open, as she stiffens, realizing where she is, and she fishes around for her phone. Sitting up abruptly, she pulls the throw close to her chest while fiddling with her phone.

  “Everything okay?”

  She casts a glance my way, almost scared to make eye contact, and crouches to pick up her shirt. “Yeah. I just have to go. Which way is the bathroom?”

  “First door on your right.”

  While she dresses in the stillness of the living room then runs off to the bathroom, I sit on the couch, knees apart, pondering what more I could do to prolong her stay. When she returns, I say, “Hey, I could make you breakfast. Hungry?” I reach for her hand but she stops in front of me, fingertips grazing my cheek.

  “Thank you,” she says right as I hear a car’s engine idling outside. “But I really do have to go. My ride’s outside.”

  It’s better this way. I can’t commit to anything but work, and no one knew this more than my ex. “My pleasure, Blondie. If that’s really your name.” Maybe she’ll tell me her real name, now that we’ve shared a night. Though, why would I even care to know if it’s better this way?

  No chance at the real name. She takes one last look at me, smiles, slips out the door, and closes it behind her. No kissing. No questions. No drama. And just like that, I’m alone again. Same way I’ve been for three years now.

  Three days later, it’s Monday morning.

  I’ve been getting to work earlier than usual. My office is where I think, where I focus and escape to, to get away from my own dark thoughts. After spending the weekend studying my case files, finally getting together with my buddy who stood me up at Taco Paco Friday night, and obsessing over what went wrong with Bridget for the millionth time, strolling into my office feels like salvation.

  My office is organized. My house is not. Bridget always complained about this irony. She said I was methodical at work but a mess at home. She said my brain only seemed to function correctly when I was worried about my patients, but when it came to my private life, I was emotionally unavailable. Something turned off inside me. In the end, this was why she left—I couldn’t give her what she needed.

  When you listen to cases all day long, the last thing you want to do when you get home is listen to your wife unload as well. I paid the price for that deeply. Bridget found herself an artist who will listen to her while I continue to find solace in my office. Being a therapist is a double-edged sword. The paychecks can be nice, especially at Blaketon, a private institution where most students come from affluent homes, but life at home can be lonely.

  I spend every damned day of my life worried I’ll never be able to fix that about myself.

  As much as I kick ass at fixing others.

  There’s that.

  Then, there’s Blondie. Normally, I say goodbye to my one-night-stands and move on. But Blondie has stuck in my head all weekend. Why? What was it about that girl? Why do I keep seeing her blue eyes in my mind? Her sweet laugh the few times she let me hear it. There was something desperate and hauntingly dejected about her. A part of me will always wonder what I might’ve learned had I asked
her to stay.

  “Dr. Lee, your eight o’clock is here.” Mrs. Gio’s fluffy gray head pokes into my office. “Do I send her in?”

  “Give me a minute to go over her file,” I say, taking the first folder off the pile on my desk. It’s thin—nothing but the intake forms of a first-time client. “Is she a fangirl?” I whisper.

  “Doesn’t seem like it,” Mrs. Gio replies. It’s our little joke about the young women who make appointments with me because they’ve heard I’m cute or whatever. It’s all nonsense. “No makeup, hair’s a mess.”

  “Nice. I like it.”

  She closes the door.

  On their intake forms, I ask patients to describe what it is they think they’re feeling, even if they don’t have the right self-diagnosis. It gives me a good idea of where to start. This one has written that she’s dealing with “school issues”—the usual—but she also lists “detachment.” Interesting. I’ve never had a student say they’re having “detachment” issues, so I don’t even know what to imagine.

  Female, twenty years old, Electrical Engineering Program here on campus. Get it, girl.

  Mrs. Gio knocks twice on my door loudly, the signal that my patient is coming in. I stand ready with a handshake and a polite smile. “Dr. Lee, this is Alice Verano…”

  My eight o’clock walks in.

  Holy. Shit.

  Every muscle in my body tenses. Of course, this would happen to me.

  Blondie has a name—Alice Verano.

  Different T-shirt, same beautiful full breasts, same everyday jeans, same blonde hair pulled back into a haphazard ponytail. Same gorgeous blue eyes, widening now in fear or shock, maybe both. My saddened sprite. My Friday night blowjob queen. She drops her mouth open into a big “O,” and immediately, my cock snaps to attention.

  I’m overwhelmed.

  It’s something I can’t name. Am I happy to see her? Relieved she’s back in my life? Terrified? I resist the urge to acknowledge that I know her, lest Mrs. Gio notice. Older women can be very protective of younger women, which is why I hired her. To make sure she’s always around and I never succumb to the touch of a female patient.