The Lieutenant's Possession Read online

  Published by K. Langston

  Copyright © 2017 K. Langston

  Print Edition

  Cover Design: Kari March

  Editing: Wild Rose Editing

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and

  incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used

  fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark

  owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been

  used without permission. The publication and use of these trademarks is not

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  For mature audiences only (18 and older).

  Dedicated to my uncles Chris and Kevin,

  who put their lives on the line every day

  to protect and serve the streets of Memphis.

  “Know this: I am addicted to you.

  I have tasted your mind and I cannot forget its flavor.”

  -Unknown

  Prologue

  My addiction brought me to her.

  She became the drug I could not resist.

  Sweet poison in my veins, she fed my cravings.

  But I wanted far more than to stake my claim on her body.

  I wanted to possess her soul.

  Chapter 1

  Asher

  “Tell me why you’re here, Asher.”

  The way she says my name makes my dick hard and so do those sexy fucking lips. Ever since I walked in, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of them.

  What kind of therapist looks like this?

  I’d expected someone older. Someone less attractive. Someone who wouldn’t feed my addiction, but instead, she fuels it.

  Crossing and uncrossing her silky smooth legs, she sits up straighter in her seat, pursing her lips, tapping the notepad on her lap.

  Tap.

  Tap.

  Tap.

  It’s driving me fucking mad. Then she licks her lips.

  Fuck those lips.

  All I can think about is having them wrapped around my...

  She jots something down on her yellow notepad, distracting me.

  “What are you writing?” I ask, nodding to her lap.

  “Just making some notes here.” She folds her hands on top of the notepad this time, calm, cool.

  Meeting my gaze head-on.

  Goddamn, what I wouldn’t give to have those eyes looking up at me while I’m pounding into her from above.

  I wonder what she sounds like when she comes.

  “Please answer the question.”

  There’s an underlying coax tangled with the gentle command. The lilt of her voice expanding to draw me in. I swallow thickly, trying to summon the stupid fucking words trapped in my throat. Women never rattle me.

  Never intimidate me. I’m always in control. But not here.

  Here, I am at her mercy.

  A slave to her throne. A place to confess my sins and beg for redemption.

  Steeling my voice, I finally manage to get the confession out. “I’m addicted to sex.”

  Damn that feels good to say out loud.

  More writing.

  More hand folding.

  More pursing of those impressive goddamn lips.

  My dick throbs against the zipper of my pants and I try to elicit a thought, anything to shut it down.

  That’s not the reason I’m here.

  She keeps her attention trained on the notepad as she continues to write. “Why do you think you’re addicted to sex?”

  I knew coming in that she would dig. That she would scrape away at the surface and get to the heart of why I am the way I am.

  “I enjoy fucking. A lot. Probably more than one human should. And when I’m not fucking, I’m thinking about fucking. Constantly. Sex consumes my every thought. And it’s starting to affect my life negatively.”

  “In what ways?” she asks, no judgment in her voice whatsoever.

  I let go of a long breath, dragging a hand across the back of my neck. She makes me nervous the way her eyes bore into mine as if she’s acquainting herself with my soul.

  Why does that make me feel so uneasy?

  I know I need help. I know I do, but I’m afraid. I’m afraid something is wrong with me. “I just need to know if there’s a cure.”

  More writing.

  Then eyes back on me.

  Legs shift.

  Three heartbeats.

  "There's no cure for sex addiction, but I can help you find ways to control your urges, Asher.”

  Those urges rush hard and fast toward my aching cock in an avalanche of need. The way she says my name. The gentle rasp of her sexy voice working over the letters in a soft caress.

  Fuck me, I’ll never make it.

  I won’t be able to confess all of my deepest, darkest secrets to this woman and not be inside of her.

  It’s impossible.

  Leaning forward, I brace my elbows on my knees, deepening my voice. “I have the urge to bend you over that desk, pull your skirt up, rip your panties off, and fuck you until you’re clawing at that shiny wood beneath you. Think you can calm that urge, Doc?"

  Those pretty pink lips part on a gasp and for a half second I see the desire flare in her eyes, but being the professional she is, she quickly stomps it down. She squirms in her seat, straightening her spine, but there’s no denying the flush on her cheeks. I know the effect I have on women. I’m not blind. They see my tattoos. My tan skin. Firm muscles. It’s like flies to shit but her...

  She’s different.

  She’s a challenge.

  A conquest.

  And one I want to fucking conquer.

  I wonder how she likes it.

  Slow and easy.

  Hard and rough.

  Probably both.

  I bet she likes it in the ass, too. Nice looking girls like that, they’re always the dirtiest.

  “It’s good that you are mindful of these urges. Being mindful and aware is the first step to recovery.”

  More writing.

  No eye contact.

  Fuck, she’s driving me crazy.

  Tap.

  Tap.

  Tap.

  “I would like to see you, at the minimum, three sessions a week until we have your cravings under control.”

  My cravings?

  Jesus Christ, I’ve only known her half an hour and she’s my new craving. Seeing her three days a week will be torture. I’ll be lucky if I make it through this visit, let alone the next, without trying to get between those long silky legs.

  You can control yourself, asshole.

  “I’ll also give you my personal number so you can reach me day or night should a sudden urge arise.”

  Yep, I’m totally fucked.

  Three days a week in the same room with her and a direct line to her pussy, I don’t stand a chance in hell. There’s no cure for what I have anyway, she said it herself, so I might as well drown myself in my addiction, and what better way to do that than with her?

  Chapter 2

  Marley

  Two weeks later...

  I haven’t seen or heard from Asher Cunningham since our first session two weeks ago and while I would never admit it to anyone, I haven’t stopped thinking about him. The way his
eyes ate me up. The way his fingers curled when he said all of those dirty things to me or the way he licked his lips when I shut him down.

  I’ve tried to call a couple of times but he hasn’t returned my calls. I even had my receptionist, Clara, send him a letter, but nothing. Maybe he sought treatment elsewhere. Which is smart considering the strong attraction between us.

  Attraction, really? Would you listen to yourself?

  Of course he’s attracted to you. He’s attracted to anything with two legs and a vagina.

  “Mama, I'm ready,” Lyla announces as she walks into the living room. It takes everything in me to stifle the laugh threatening to burst from my lips. Dressed in a rainbow tutu and blue leotard, she stomps across the hardwood floor with her neon pink rain boots, topped off with a monkey beanie.

  She shoulders a small Hello Kitty purse. She has a thing for purses. Can’t go anywhere without it or her Shopkins that I know are stuffed carefully inside.

  “Sure you got everything?” I ask, playing along.

  “Yes, ma’am.

  The knock at the door sends my thoughts flying and dread pummeling to my stomach. I hate every other weekend, knowing I have to send her with him, but the court order says I have to.

  I move to open the door as Lyla beats me to it.

  “Daddy!” she squeals, leaping into his open arms.

  He hoists her up into his arms, giving her a big hug. “Hey, monkey butt. How was your week?”

  “It was great! I missed you, Daddy.” Her tiny arms wrap around his neck.

  “I missed you, too,” he says, squeezing her back.

  He sets Lyla back down on her feet, bringing his eyes to me. “Marley,” he greets.

  “Hello, Steven,” I reply before retrieving Lyla’s bag from the couch and handing it to him.

  She has her own things at her dad’s place so I don’t bother sending her with much, just some things that remind her of home, like her favorite blanket and a few toys. Surprisingly, Steven and I get along rather well considering our nasty divorce. Although, I might not have fought him so hard if he hadn’t lied about everything during our marriage.

  And I do mean everything.

  “I drew this for you at school today.” Lyla waves the drawing of us as a family at the zoo and it breaks my heart a little. Being that she’s only four years old, she’s still too young to understand. All she knows is Mommy and Daddy can’t be together anymore. She has no idea how much this man lied and deceived me. But she adores her father and that’s the only reason I’ve been able to set aside my differences with Steven and create a somewhat healthy relationship with him, and the court order says I have to.

  “I love it. We’ll hang it up on the fridge when we get home. Can you give your mom and I minute to talk then we’ll go for pizza? What do you say?”

  “Yay!” She claps as she heads over to the couch to watch Peppa Pig. Steven steps inside and closes the door, guiding me into the kitchen and out of earshot of Lyla.

  “What is it, Steven?”

  “I want more time with her,” he demands.

  “You already get every other weekend. I think that’s more than enough.”

  I can hardly stand it when she goes now. There’s no way I’m giving him more time.

  “She’s my daughter too you know,” he grits.

  I stand my ground. “Yes, I’m fully aware of that, but I think we should adhere to the terms of the court order for now. At least until I know I can fully trust you.”

  “Trust me? What the hell do you think I’m going to do to her? Kidnap her? I would never hurt her.”

  Deep down I know he wouldn’t hurt her, not intentionally, but I still won’t do it, not unless the court demands me to. Not until I can fully trust he has our daughter’s best interests at heart.

  His anger soars but he keeps it reeled in, his voice low and menacing.

  “If you don’t give me more time with her, I’ll haul your ass back into court. Every other weekend isn’t enough. I miss her all the time and it kills me that I don’t get to see her every day.”

  Despite his flaws, and Lord knows he has many, Steven loves his daughter and Lyla thinks he hung the moon and stars, but I’m still weary. He manipulated me for six years; I can’t allow that to happen again.

  If he wants to take me to court he can but I’m not giving him any more time than what the court demands.

  “Do whatever you have to do, Steven,” I reply calmly, unaffected by his threat. I refuse to be intimidated by him, and that’s always been a source of contention between us.

  He studies me for a moment, his face constricting with a mix of anger and frustration before he schools his expression and addresses his daughter in a calm voice. “Let’s go, Lyla Jo.”

  Lyla hops up from the couch and hurries to give me a hug, curling her tiny arms around my neck. I’ve gotten good at putting on a brave face for her, even though I want to break down and cry every time she leaves me.

  “Love you, sweet girl,” I tell her, fighting back the tears.

  “Love you too, Mama.”

  Once they’re gone, I pour myself a tall glass of wine and draw a bath, turning it to the hottest setting I can stand, hoping it will help me expel some of the tension coiling in my body. The cupcake bath bomb works wonders too as I ease down into the water, muscles soaking up the heat as the sweet aroma engulfs me. I close my eyes in an effort to clear my mind and take a long sip of wine, not at all looking forward to another weekend alone. But then my thoughts drift to the man who has dominated all of my secret thoughts. This is the only time I allow myself to think of him, when I’m all alone.

  Placing my wine glass on the edge of the tub, I rub my hands up and down my body, allowing myself to chase the fantasy once more. I tell myself it’s the last time. The last time I’ll bring myself to orgasm thinking of his tattooed hands roaming my body, but I know that’s a lie.

  My phone vibrates from the counter, tearing me from my dark journey.

  “Shit.”

  Lifting up from the tub, I quickly wrap a towel around my body and dry my hands before grabbing my phone and swiping to answer the unfamiliar number.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Doc.”

  The husky voice cools my warmed blood and the muscles I just loosened go tense.

  The sound of his voice clearing echoes down the line, his voice growing gruffer. “You said I could call.”

  “Lieutenant Cunningham?”

  His deep chuckle has warmth settling deep in my belly. “I was afraid you’d forgotten about me.”

  Not hardly. Asher Cunningham is not a man I can easily forget.

  “I’m surprised to hear from you. I left messages but you never returned my calls.”

  “Sorry about that. I had to take care of some things with my family out of town.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “For the most part.” There’s some hesitation in his reply. “I was hoping I could see you next week. Monday preferably. The sooner the better.”

  His voice sounds different. Lighter but still with an edge that has a shiver shooting down my spine, but I ignore the feeling and say, “I’ll have to look at my schedule but I’m sure I can squeeze you in. I’ll give you a call on Monday morning and we can go from there. Will that be okay?”

  Silence.

  I look at my phone and see the call is still connected and then put it to my ear once more. “Asher, are you still there?”

  “I’m curious,” he says, his voice warm and husky, “do you give all your patients your personal number?”

  My mouth goes completely dry as I shift on my feet. “Well, um, no. Not usually.”

  “Then why me?”

  That is a damn good question. Over the last two weeks I’ve asked myself the same thing but I haven’t been able to come up with a rational answer. I acted on impulse, which is not like me at all. But I could tell Asher wasn’t the kind of man who would easily confess his sins to just anyone, and for whate
ver reason, I needed to be that someone.

  “Because I want to help you.”

  “I would think that’s a standard reply, Doc. Now the truth.”

  From the moment he walked into my office, my body seemed to take on a life of its own. I’ve never had that kind of reaction to a patient before. There’s something about him that pulls at a dark place deep inside of me. I can’t explain it. Giving him my personal number was completely irresponsible and reckless but I couldn’t stop myself.

  Maybe it’s because, hidden behind all of those tattoos and cocky arrogance, I can see the pain he hides. And I’m desperate to find out what it is that caused that pain and what caused him to become so emotionally detached. I want to peel the layers and find out who this man really is.

  When he confessed his urge to bend me over my desk, I thought I would incinerate right there on the spot. I did everything I could not to let him know the effect he had on me but those perceptive eyes seemed to pierce my sturdy armor.

  What is it about him that has me so worked up?

  Is it his dark navy blue eyes?

  Sharp.

  Intense.

  Stripping me bare with his gaze alone. Is it his commanding presence? Or perhaps it’s the colorful tattoos covering each of his arms and the one peeking out from the collar of his uniform that make him look so dangerous.

  “Have you been thinking about me?” he asks, breaking the silence.

  “You’re my patient, Asher. Of course I’ve been concerned about you.”

  He grunts at my reply. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

  “Lieutenant,” I warn.

  I’m way out of my element here. In my office I can control the conversation but here it feels too intimate. Too much.

  Too forbidden.

  Giving him my personal number was a huge mistake.

  “I’ve been able to resist the urge to fuck every warm body I’ve been tempted by since the day I left your office.”

  “And why do you think that is?”

  “Because I’ve been fucking my hand nonstop thinking about you. Every goddamn second of the day, all I can think about is you tap, tap, tapping that notepad with your pencil. How your small fingers clenched the fragile wood when I told you I wanted to bend you over that desk. The shift of your legs up and down and up and down. The way your teeth scraped along your bottom lip. The slender curve of your neck and how badly I want to taste it.”