She should. I’m standing here holding her toy like some kind of creep.
But beneath that—there’s something else.
Heat.
Her eyes move over me, lingering. My body. My erection.
She swallows. Licks her lips.
Jesus.
Stop. You didn’t come here for this.
“Sorry,” I manage, voice rough. “I just… I came to talk to you.”
“That’s why you’re sniffing my vibrator?”
Her tone is calm. Too calm.
She steps closer. Slow. Deliberate.
The temperature in the room spikes.
I know that look.
“Sierra…” I lift a hand to stop her. She ignores it. I step back. She follows. “Wait.”
“You said you came to talk.”
Her finger trails down my chest, catching the drawstring of my pants and tugging it loose.
“So talk.”
“I can’t—” My breath stutters as her hand slips under my shirt, sliding over my skin.
“Can’t what?”
“I can’t talk to you like this.”
I can barely think.
“Good. I don’t want to talk either.”
The back of her hand brushes me, and I jerk at the contact.
When she wraps her hand around me, my vision flashes white.
When it clears, she’s on her knees.
“Sierra,” I rasp, gripping her hair. “Stop. We can’t?—”
“Yeah, I know. Client-patient relationships are banned. I’ve heard the rules.” She smiles. “Well, lucky for you, I’m not your client.”
Then she bends down, slow and deliberate. Unzips me, takes me in her mouth.
“Fuck.”
The sound rips out of me.