Therapy Threesome novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: The First Prescription

On the leather couch Wade's fingers take her to the edge while Thorsby talks them through it, and Thorsby sets the next appointment: nothing under the blue dress.

Wade's hand stopped on my thigh.

His fingers spread over the skin just under the hem of my dress, and neither of us breathed.

"Higher," Dr. Thorsby said again, quieter. "She's not going to break."

Wade looked at me.

I looked back.

"Tell him," Dr. Thorsby said to me. "Don't make him guess."

"Higher," I whispered.

The word felt filthy in my mouth, and I loved it.

Wade's hand slid up under my dress, slow, until his thumb brushed the edge of my panties.

I made a sound I'd never made in front of anyone.

"Look at me," Wade said, and his voice was rough gravel.

His eyes were black in the low light, and they were not angry anymore.

They were hungry.

"Julian said you wanted this," he said. "I need to hear it from you."

"I want it," I said. "I've wanted it since the first week."

His breath caught.

Then his other hand was in my hair, and his mouth was on mine.

The kiss was nothing like I imagined, and I had imagined it a lot.

It was hard and deep, his stubble scraping my chin, his tongue pushing past my lips.

I grabbed his shirt in both fists and pulled him closer.

He groaned into my mouth.

"Good," Dr. Thorsby murmured from the armchair. "Don't stop. Mallory, lie back."

I went down on the leather without thinking.

Wade followed, one knee on the cushion, his big body hovering over mine.

The couch squeaked, and I didn't care.

His hand went back up my thigh, and this time it didn't stop at the hem.

His thumb pressed against the wet cotton between my legs, and I jerked.

"She's soaked," Wade said, awed.

"Of course she is," Dr. Thorsby said. "She's been soaked for months. Take them off."

Wade hooked two fingers in the waistband of my panties and dragged them down my legs.

I lifted my hips to help him.

He tossed them on the floor, and I saw Dr. Thorsby's eyes follow them down.

Then Wade's hand was between my thighs, and the first slow slide of his fingers through my wetness made me arch off the couch.

"Oh, God."

"Yeah," Wade said. "Like that?"

"Yes. Yes, don't stop."

He circled my clit with his thumb, rough, careful, a man who knew how to use his hands.

The calluses dragged against me, and the friction was almost too much.

I grabbed the arm of the couch.

"Spread your legs for him," Dr. Thorsby said. "Wider. Let him see you."

I opened my knees, and the cool air hit my pussy, and I felt completely exposed.

Wade looked down, and his whole face changed.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Mallory."

"Put a finger inside her."

Wade pushed one thick finger into me, and I cried out.

It was a stretch and a burn and a deep, perfect fullness.

He curled it, and stars went off behind my eyes.

"There," Dr. Thorsby said, as if reading a chart. "Add another. Slowly. She's tight."

Wade added a second finger, and I clenched around him so hard he swore.

"God, she's so tight. Doc, I don't."

"You do," Dr. Thorsby said. "You will. Slower. Let her feel every inch."

Wade fucked me with his fingers in long, slow strokes, his thumb working my clit in time.

I couldn't think.

I could only feel his hand, and the lamp hum, and Dr. Thorsby's low voice moving over both of us.

"That's it, Mallory. Let go. Tell him what you need."

"Faster," I gasped. "Harder, please, Wade."

"Say my name again."

"Wade."

"Again."

"Wade, Wade, please."

He gave me what I asked for.

His fingers drove into me, deeper, faster, the wet sound filling the room, and my hips rolled up to meet every thrust.

I should have been ashamed.

I wasn't.

I was a girl on a therapist's couch with her stepfather's fingers inside her, and I had never wanted anything more.

"Look at her," Dr. Thorsby said. "She's close. Watch her face, Wade."

Wade bent over me, his forehead almost touching mine.

"Come for me," he said. "Come on, baby. Let me see."

The word baby hit me somewhere I hadn't known was empty.

The tension in me wound tight, tighter, and then it snapped.

I came with a cry that I couldn't stifle, my back bowed off the couch and my thighs locked around his wrist.

Wave after wave crashed through me, and he kept working me through it, murmuring something I couldn't hear.

When I finally went limp, he slowed his hand and eased his fingers out.

They were wet and shining.

Without thinking, I caught his wrist and pulled his fingers to my mouth.

I sucked them clean.

Wade made a noise.

Across the room, Dr. Thorsby shifted in his chair.

"Remarkable," he said, and for the first time his voice wasn't perfectly smooth.

I lay there, shaking, my dress rucked up around my waist.

Wade sat back on his heels with his shirt half open and his erection straining the front of his jeans, and he looked wrecked.

He looked at me.

"Don't be ashamed of that," Dr. Thorsby said. "Either of you."

He stood and straightened his sleeves.

He picked up my panties from the floor and held them for a moment between two fingers.

Then he folded them once and slid them into his pocket.

"Julian," Wade said, a warning.

"Evidence," Dr. Thorsby said mildly. "I'll keep them safe."

He went to his desk, tore a sheet from a small pad, and wrote on it.

He handed it to me.

It read: Tuesday, 4 p.m. The blue dress.

Under it, in neat block letters: Nothing under it.

My heart was still pounding.

"That's a prescription," he said. "Take it exactly as written."

I looked at Wade.

Wade looked at the paper, then at me.

He didn't say no.

He didn't say anything at all.

Dr. Thorsby unlocked the door.

"Same time next week," he said pleasantly, and held it open for us as though nothing had happened.

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