“Look, in all seriousness, do you think it’s a good idea to buy her kid a kart? You might want to fuck her, but she is your therapist. And it’s an extravagant gift.”
“I’m buying it for Jett, not her. And it’s not an extravagant gift.”
“Said like a true rich kid. And trust me, nothing says, ‘I want to fuck you,’ like buying a woman’s kid a two-thousand-pound kart.”
“Look, are you gonna help me get the kart or not?”
“You know I’ll help. One thing though, can I be there when it’s delivered, so I can see her reaction?”
Buying it was the wrong thing to do.
I fucking hate it when Ryan’s right.
I can’t admit I was wrong about it now though. I have to see this through to the end.
Manning up, I unlock the door and pull it open.
God, she looks gorgeous. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold. The breeze is blowing her hair into her face. She pushes it back with her hand.
Her gaze immediately falls on my bare chest. Her pupils dilate, her eyes filling with obvious lust.
She wants me.
I have to hold back the smug grin I feel.
“You’re wet,” she says, sounding breathless.
Well, I am kind of hoping you are wet, too, baby, and that is why you are here.
“I was in the shower.”
“Oh. Right…” Her eyes are still fixed on my chest.
And even though I’d be quite happy to let her stare at me all day, I need to know if she’s here to yell at me for buying the kart, or if by some miracle she’s here to thank me for it.
I’m really, really hoping for the latter.
“India, did you need me for something?”
She seems to come back to her senses. “Oh, yeah, I did—I mean, I do!” Her eyes flick up to mine, the lust gone, replaced with fire and ire. “What’s the meaning of this?” She thrusts a piece of paper in my face.
She looks even more beautiful when she’s angry.
“What’s the meaning of what?” I ask, taking the paper from her, I look at it.
It’s a delivery note for the kart.
“The kart, Leandro. Why would you buy my son a kart?”
Here we go…
“Because Jett said he wanted to get involved in the sport. Having his own kart will make that easier for him.”
She looks at me, eyes wide. “Do you not see how wildly inappropriate buying a kart for my son is?”
I fold my arms over my chest. “No. I really don’t see the problem here.”
“You don’t see the problem here?” She screeches, gesturing wildly with her hands. “I’m your bloody therapist! That’s the problem!”
I glance around, making sure there was no one to hear that. Last thing I want is my private business to be spread about.
“Clearly, you’re pissed off, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t shout my business in the street.” My voice is low, angry. Now, I’m pissed off.
A flash of guilt passes over her face. “I shouldn’t have said that…I’m…sorry.” She looks contrite.
“Come inside. We can talk in here.” I stand aside, letting her in, and I close the door behind her.
Then, we’re both facing each other in my partially lit hallway. She leans against one wall, arms folded over her chest, and I lean against the other.
“Look, I know you were trying to do a nice thing, Leandro…but I’m your therapist. It would be wrong of me to accept your gift.”
I can tell that some of her anger has dissipated, but it’s still there, simmering beneath that hot skin of hers.
Part of me wants to make her angry again. I like angry India. She is sexy as hell.
“I didn’t buy it for you. I bought it for Jett.”
“And Jett is my son. It would be”—she runs her hand through her hair, letting out a sigh—“unethical to keep it.”
That word explodes in my head. “Jesus Christ! I’m so fucking sick of hearing that word! It was a gift, India. Accept it. Don’t. I really don’t care. But stop throwing the unethical-therapist bullshit in my face! You say this, me buying a gift, is unethical. That barely scratches the surface of the unethical things I want to do to you.”
I hear her sharp intake of breath. It is like a soft palm over my cock.
Her eyes fill with lust again, her full red lips parting.
God, I want to kiss her. Fuck her…
I move off the wall, taking a step toward her. “Right now, I want to get down on my knees, pull off your panties, and show you just how unethical my tongue can be.”
“Y-you can’t say things like that to me,” she stammers.
“No?” I cock my head to the side as I take another step toward her. “So, you don’t want me to make you come with my unethical tongue or fuck you with my unethically hard cock? Because it is hard, India. Really fucking hard because of you…for you.” I palm my dick through my pajama pants.
Her eyes go to my hand, watching me touch myself. “N-no.” Her voice sounds weak, inefficient.
I know she doesn’t mean it.
“Liar.” I take another step. “You want me as much as I want you. You’re just afraid to admit it because of the bullshit reasons you’ve built up in your head.”
She says nothing.
I take her silence as an invitation.
I move forward the final step and press my body against hers. She feels amazing.