Page 39 of The Therapist

“It’ll take the edge off,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over mine in a whisper of a kiss.

I down the vodka in one swallow, wincing as it burns its way down. My pulse pounds in my throat as I stare at him.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

Cooper’s hands slide onto my shoulders, firm and sure, his thumbs pressing slow, soothing circles into my tensed muscles. His touch is reassuring, his confidence infectious.

“You can,” he assures me, his voice thick with certainty. “James will come in soon, and I promise when he touches you, you’ll forget all your insecurities.”

I shudder, not just at his words, but at the way he says them—with that calm, knowing smirk.

“And you’ll be there?” I point to a chair in the bedroom.

“The whole time,” he promises.

I suck in a breath. My heart is a chaotic rhythm in my chest, my body warring between fear and something far darker—farneedier. Arousal curls hot and low in my belly, pooling between my thighs in a way I’ve never felt before.

Never in my life have I done anything so risqué.

Before I can second-guess myself, there’s a knock at the door.

My stomach flips.

Cooper doesn’t hesitate—he moves past me, calm and collected, opening the door as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

And then James steps inside.

He is tall and devastatingly handsome, with sharp features and an easy confidence that makes my breath catch. His dark eyes roam over me, slow and assessing, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile.

“You must be Robin,” he says smoothly, his voice deep and honeyed as he steps closer.

I nod, unable to speak.

Cooper moves to the chair, settling into it with the kind of effortless dominance that makes my knees weak. His long legs sprawl slightly, and he rests an arm over the side, watching—waiting.

“Go on,” he encourages. “Let him touch you.”

James moves behind me, his hands finding my hips first, then trailing up to my waist. His touch is light, teasing, but I feel it everywhere.

He leans in, his lips ghosting over my ear. “Relax,” he murmurs. “You’re shaking.”

I exhale shakily. “I’ve never done this before.”

James chuckles, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of my blouse, grazing the bare skin of my stomach. “Then I’ll go slow.”

I hear Cooper shift in his chair, and my eyes flick to him instinctively. He’s watching me—watching this—with dark, hooded eyes, his expression unreadable.

Heat floods through me at the realization.

James begins to undress me systematically, his fingers precise and patient. He unbuttons my blouse first, sliding the fabric from my shoulders. His hands skim my bare skin, igniting goosebumps in their wake. My breath catches when he moves behind me again, unzipping my skirt and letting it slip to the floor.

Cooper exhales softly.

I turn my head toward him, seeking some kind of reaction, but his expression remains steady—though the way his fingers tighten slightly on the arm of the chair tells me everything I need to know.

This is affecting him.

And God help me, knowing that makes my desire burn hotter.

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