Dr. Chase Hudson (The Surrogate Book 2) Page 2

  “Thanks,” she mumbled, her eyes moving from mine.

  I felt myself chuckle. I couldn't help it. “Do you find me attractive?” I asked, expecting a pause, a mumble, a tripping of words.

  She answered immediately and clearly. “I think the entire continental US would find you attractive.”

  Oh, yeah. She was good. That was quick. To anyone else, it would have been a satisfactory answer. But I couldn't let her get away with it.

  “That's wonderful,” I said, leaning closer, “but I wasn't asking the entire continental US, I was asking you.”

  Her eyes slid slightly to the side, making it appear that she was still giving contact, when, in fact, she was looking at my earlobe. “Yes,” she admitted in a quiet voice.

  She was done.

  I had pushed her far enough for the intro session. If I kept going, she would shut down and then not come back.

  “Good,” I said, getting out of my chair and moving out of the seating alcove. “So, I will see you... Tuesday for your first session.” It was a half-declaration, half-question, giving her the chance to object though I knew she wouldn't.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay,” I repeated, opening the door and stepping into the space, waiting for her to follow. She did, making sure her body didn't so much as brush mine in the process. “Seven at night work for you?”

  There was the barest of pauses. “Yes.”

  My hand lifted, pressing into her lower back, trying to see her reaction as I led her into the waiting room. She tensed, but only slightly. I let her go as soon as I walked up to the reception desk.

  “See you then, Ava.”

  Something flashed across her face. It was too quickly gone to decipher before she mumbled numbly, “Okay,” as she went out the door.

  After the Session

  I should have recused myself.

  I knew it the second I closed myself back up in my office when she left.

  It was unprofessional to go on, to work with a woman I was more than professionally interested in.

  Desire may have, in a way, been a part of the process. It was supposed to be in a detached sort of way, a thing I managed to have happen so I could help my clients. It wasn't meant to be the point of it all.

  But there was no mistaking it, I was attracted to Ava.

  As in... I wanted to know what she sounded like when I was buried deep inside her. I wanted to feel her nails in my back. I wanted to feel her tighten around me just before her body pulsated, grabbing my cock.

  Normally, her painful shyness wouldn't be a turn on for me. I didn't, in my personal life, seek out the wallflowers. It wasn't that I didn't understand the male ego's urge to raise to the challenge, to make the reserved girl want me. I got it. I understood that. Once in a while, I felt that myself. But I also knew that when what I was looking for was just a fuck, I wasn't going to drag a girl like that through that kind of interaction. It would only reinforce her idea of her own worthlessness while at the same time bolstering her idea that men are pigs.

  I didn't exactly have a type.

  But whatever it was I went for... shy was not it.

  Somehow, though, Ava's shyness was more than intriguing professionally. It was fucking adorable. Sweet. It made a unfamiliar surge of protectiveness swell up inside. There was a strong inner voice telling me to wrap her up and shelter her from the world.

  Which was ridiculous.

  Firstly because it was the absolute last thing she needed. What she needed was someone to take her by the hand and show her the world wasn't such a scary place.

  But also, secondly, because that went against everything I believed about women. It went against everything I learned from the women I had dated: strong, independent, sexually confident women. Ava should have been embracing those attributes, not letting men protect her from them.

  I sat through two more sessions that day- one housewife who was trying to overcome her husband's infidelity. It wasn't going well. While, professionally, I knew it was possible to come back from that kind of betrayal, I also knew that for many (if not most) it would never happen. There were some wounds that never healed. Or even if they did, they healed jagged, always reminding you of the imperfection. The next client was someone I had been seeing for years, a middle aged man who suffered with a crippling case of OCD. He, unlike the wife, was making slow but steady strides.

  That was the job. The constant up and down. The wanting to do more, but knowing there was only so much you could do for them in one hour one day a week. They had to put in the work. They had to want and try to get better.

  Knowing that didn't make it easier.

  I rolled my shoulders as I made my way to the car, trying to shake off the work day, trying to clear it from my brain. I tried not to bring that shit home with me, to let it become something I obsessed about.

  It was too easy to let that happen.

  I made my way back to my apartment building, taking the elevator up to my floor and letting myself in.

  My apartment was a testament to how far I had come in my life. From the tiny roach-infested apartment I had shared with my struggling mother, to the over-crowded foster homes I had been shuffled in and out of- dirty, loud, and uncomfortable as they had all been.

  It was why I worked so hard: to make a life for myself that I could be proud of and comfortable in.

  That was what my apartment meant to me. It was a nice place in a nice neighborhood with more space than I actually needed and professionally decorated. It was all dark wood floors and a deep cappuccino brown walls in the open floor plan living/dining/kitchen area. I walked over toward the windows, flipping open my stereo system and clicking through my play lists. I found one called “smoky blues” and heard Muddy Waters' voice fill the room. I walked over to the bar, pouring myself scotch neat and considering it for a moment before throwing it back.

  Yeah. So I should have recused myself.

  But I wasn't going to.

  Partly because of selfish reasons.

  But also because I could genuinely help her. I knew I could.

  She deserved that. She deserved to have a normal life, a healthy sex life.

  I squashed the tiny twinge of jealousy I felt at the idea of another man touching her. Because it was ridiculous. Absolutely insane. That was the point of surrogacy, to get her comfortable with herself and her desires so she could go on and use that in her daily life. She could go on and enjoy sex. With other men.

  I sighed, walking toward the bathroom and turning the water on cold.

  Tuesday.

  I had until then to get my fucking head in the game.

  A part of me was pretty sure that would be nowhere near enough time.

  First Session

  The office was cleared for surrogate clients. First, because they generally took place later at night. Mostly, though, it was because it removed the strong sense of discomfort the client got at knowing that other people knew why they were there, what was going on beyond the office doors.

  I was standing behind the desk looking over the next day's schedule when the door opened, bringing with it a wave of cold air. I felt my lips turning upward at the sight of her. She was dressed in black jeans, a black tank top, heels, and a wine colored sweater left open in the front. It was casual, but it was put together. Almost flirtatious. I had a distinct feeling it wasn't an outfit she had picked out herself.

  “Ava,” I breathed out her name.

  “Dr. Hudson,” she shot back, moving away from the door though she looked like she was ready to bolt.

  “Chase,” I corrected, walking out from behind the desk and making my way past her, toward the door. She stiffened when I got close, but didn't flinch away. I turned the lock on the door and moved to face her and said what was on my mind. “You look nice.”

  She almost immediately shook her head. “Oh, um... thanks,” she fumbled, not holding my gaze.

  My hand rose, pressing into h
er lower back. It was partly to steer her into my office, but it was also because I wanted to see how she reacted to the contact. She stiffened, but she didn't even attempt to move away. That was good. “You're welcome. How was your weekend?”

  A look flashed over her face as she recalled the events, letting me know it wasn't exactly a great weekend for her. “Uneventful,” she settled on, moving toward the alcove we had sat in during the introductory session.

  “Ava,” I said, holding an arm out, making it clear I wanted her to move toward me. “This way.” She paused, but she walked toward me. I reached into the bookshelf, pulled a lever, and the hidden door clicked open. I kept my head turned toward her, watching for her reaction. I wasn't disappointed.

  “Seriously?” she asked, her eyes wide, her brows raised. She looked dangerously close to laughing and I found myself wanting to know what that sounded like.

  “Yup,” I smiled, pressing into her lower back until she stepped through. I watched as her eyes skimmed the room. She took in the seating area to the side, the stereo, the decanters of liquor, the bed. They widened a bit when they landed there. “Why don't you find some music to put on?” I suggested, waving toward the stereo, trying to get her attention away from the bed.

  I offered her a drink and she accepted red wine, putting on a coffeehouse playlist. It was the least likely to be confused with something sexual on the list of choices.

  “How about we go sit down?” I suggested, waving a hand toward the sectional in the corner. I turned my back on her, giving her a minute to settle in as I turned on the fireplace.

  I turned to find she had seated herself as far away from where I had set my wineglass down as possible. I drank my wine, giving her a second, then sat down near her, my feet touching hers but my hips pivoted away. My arm was thrown across the back cushions, but not touching her. “Nervous?” I asked, my free hand moving to land on her knee.

  Her head bobbed slightly. “Yes.”

  “What exactly are you nervous about? Me touching you?” She nodded, looking down at my hand. “I'm touching you right now. Do you want me to stop?” I asked, hoping she wasn't already at the point of retreat as I squeezed her knee softly.

  She paused, mulling it over, before deciding, “No.”

  “Good. Because I don't want to stop.”

  Hell, I didn't want to stop until I was buried deep inside her, my teeth nipping into her lower lip as I swallowed her moans.

  “Wh...” she started, then changed her mind. “Okay.”

  My hand moved down from her knee, stroking down the font of her leg, then moving back up. It was chaste, but I could tell by the jolt through her body that she wasn't seeing it that way.

  Her wineglass was empty and I took it, getting rid of it, before moving back to her, placing my hand on the knee further from me, caging her in.

  That was when she started freaking out.

  Her eyes went wide, her breath got caught in her chest, her body went ramrod straight.

  “Ava,” I broke in and her head snapped in my direction. “Breathe,” I reminded her. She sucked in a breath and exhaled it slowly. “Good. Now, tell me why you're anxious.”

  “I feel trapped.”

  “Okay.” I looked to where my arm was blocking her in then squeezed her knee. “Are you really trapped?” I asked, knowing that it didn't matter if she actually was or wasn't. That wasn't how anxiety worked. It couldn't be reasoned with.

  “No.”

  “Can you leave at any time?”

  “Yes.”

  I went for the jugular. “Do you think I would be mad or disappointed if you needed to get up and walk away?” There was the flash of panic, the proof of my guess.

  Her eyes went up to mine for a second, considering me. “No.”

  “Okay so why don't we stop thinking about that?” I suggested, my hand going down the front of her leg, moving around the calf, then settling back onto her knee. “Do you like this?” I asked, my fingers brushing up her thigh.

  Her eyes fell from mine but not before I saw the spark there. It was just a fizzle really, but it was there. Desire.

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  “Good. I like that. I like touching you,” I admitted, letting the arm that was draped across the back of the couch slip downward, settling behind her back but not wrapping around her, not wanting to actually trap her. She straightened slightly and I scooted my hips closer so we were side by side. “And I'm not just saying that because it's my job.”

  But I fucking should have been. Not even halfway into our first session and I was blurring lines. Not good. I needed to rein it in.

  Then, “Really?” she asked, sounding almost... hopeful as a bright red blush crept up into her cheeks.

  Shit.

  My hand moved from her leg to start stroking across her jaw then gently grabbing her chin, forcing her to look at me. “Babe if I saw you in a bar, I'd have taken you home in a heartbeat.” It was the truth. I saw her, looking all gorgeous and uncertain sitting in some bar, I'd have made a beeline for her. It was as simple as that.

  Her gaze fell from mine immediately, looking like she was struggling with whether to put her faith to rest in my words or not. The silence hung, my fingers still holding her chin, waiting for her gaze to rise again. When her brown eyes found mine, I asked, “Do you believe me?”

  “Yes,” she decided, her voice sure.

  I felt myself nod, my hand still holding her face, leaning in slightly. “I would have walked over to you, gotten close, whispered in your ear, told you how fucking gorgeous you are...” Her eyes widened, but I plowed on, digging myself in further. “And then I would bring you back to my apartment and as soon as you stepped inside, I would push you up hard against the door and crush my lips to yours.” My thumb moved out, stroking across the lips in question, my eyes watching the motion. Her lips parted slightly. Her body shifted as she pressed her thighs closer together. Fuck me. “Does that sound good?” I asked, my thumb making another swipe, slipping into the crease slightly.

  “Y... yes,” she admitted, swallowing hard.

  “Are you turned on, Ava?” I asked, knowing my answer, but needing to hear her say it.

  There was barely even a pause before, “Yes.”

  I felt the growl in the back of my throat, more turned on than I thought I would be. I was more turned on than I ever been in a professional setting. I had barely fucking touched her. “I like that,” I admitted, my hand sliding from her chin, across her jaw, then down her neck. She shivered. Fucking shivered. I felt myself chuckle slightly. “You're so sensitive.”

  “Not usually,” she said, forcing the words out like they cost her to admit.

  Fuck me. Not usually. That meant it was something special with me. My head tilted toward hers, my nose grazing her jaw. “Just for me then?” I asked and her head fell slightly backward, unconsciously giving me more access.

  “I guess,” she whispered.

  They shouldn't have, but those words felt good. Way too good.

  “Do you want me to kiss you here?” I asked, my nose brushing under her ear.

  Another barely-there pause. “Yes.”

  “Tell me,” I demanded, needing to hear her say it. Not as her doctor or surrogate. Just as a man. I needed to hear it.

  There was another body shiver. “Tell you what?” she hedged, knowing damn well what I wanted.

  “Tell me you want me to kiss your neck,” I clarified.

  And that's when she tensed up. Her body went rigid. Her breathing got too fast. She was anxious. “Ava,” I started, tilting my head up to look at her. She swallowed hard as she looked down at me and shook her head. “No you don't want me to? Or no you can't ask?” I pressed, trying to force back the desire and be there for what she needed. But, fuck, I was praying it wasn't the former.

  “I can't ask,” she said, her voice a croaking sound.

  I fought back the surge of pleasure at that admission and
shrugged. “Okay. We can work on the verbal stuff,” I told her neck, turning my attention back to it. “But first... this...”

  I let my lips press in softly, feeling her body jolt, seeing her hand slam down on her leg. Surprised? Sure. But more so, excited. She was responding. My lips pressed in harder, a hint of teeth against her skin, before my tongue moved outward and traced down her neck. My hand on the side of her neck curled in slightly as her head tilted, giving me more access. I let my mouth move down toward her collarbone before I forced myself to stop. To pull back. It was too much, too fast. If I pushed, she would dart. And she wouldn't come back.

  I lifted my head and let my hands float back into her soft hair. “Open your eyes.” She struggled in a breath, forcing her eyes open, and slowly lifted her gaze to mine. “Good girl,” I murmured, inwardly wincing. She wasn't a random chick at a bar. I couldn't fucking talk to her like that. God damn it. “Did you enjoy that?” I asked, forcing my tone to be normal. Or as close to normal as possible when all I wanted to do was run my lips and tongue over every inch of her until she was moaning my name.

  “Yes,” she said softly, shaking me out of my fantasy.

  “What do you want now?” I asked, trying to veer us back into the session, trying to get her more comfortable with talking to me.

  Her eyes went huge, looking panicked.

  “Let's try this again,” I said, smiling a little. “Do you want me to keep kissing your neck?” I asked, leaning down and placing a feather-light kiss to her neck. As light a touch as it was, it sent a jolt through her body. “Or do you want to try something else for a while?”

  “Something else,” she said, her words barely audible.

  And fuck, that was what I wanted to hear.

  “Okay. How about you turn around?” I suggested.

  “Why?” she asked immediately, her body going stiff.

  Interesting.

  She was calmer, less anxious when I was closer to her, when I was touching her. Free of that, her anxiety settled right back in.