A Different Kind of Therapy

My body flushes, he smirks at my reaction running a hand through his silky dark brown hair, that cocky little shit! He actually smirked, two can play that game.

I lean forward, letting my shirt dip just enough to reveal more of my cleavage, rubbing my hands up and down on my thighs letting my skirt rile up further. My heated gaze meets his "My mother's worried I'm not having enough steamy sex," I say huskily. "The last time I did, I asked to be spanked. You've no idea how much I love a good spanking-it makes me moan, and it makes me want to ride a guy like it's the last dick I'll ever have." my breathing a bit shallow from imagining him under me, rolling his eyes back in pleasure as he grips my hips- he interrupts my thoughts by clearing his throat.

His throat bobs again. His eyes darken. But his voice stays cool-barely.
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"The last time I had sex, I begged to be spanked. Hard."

I told him that just to see him flinch.

Dr. Xander Smith: my therapist. The man who's supposed to untangle my past, not get tangled up in my present.

To our families, he's just my boyfriend-because that's easier than letting them meddle. No rules. No promises. Just something to shut them up.

But Greece has a way of heating everything up: the sun, the nights, the way his hand brushes mine when no one's watching.

It was never meant to be real... until it was.

Fake dating. Forbidden desire. And a love that wasn't supposed to happen-but might just save us both.