Is he fucking serious? “A few times,” I said, hoping he would move on to something else.

“A few times?” Jonathan looked into my eyes. “That’s what you honestly think?”

Stop it...I knew he was reading my mind right now and could sense that I wanted him to stop, but he was clearly enjoying my embarrassment.

“Doctor, what classifies as a few times?” Jonathan kept his eyes locked on mine.

“Two or three times a week, Mr. Statham.”

“Hmmm...And a lot?”

“Well, I guess I would say eight to ten times a week.”

“Interesting.” He leaned forward and ran his fingers across my golden anchor necklace. “So Claire, having heard that, you think a few times is accurate for what we do?”

“Yes. I do.” I didn’t want the doctor in our sex life. At all. When I’d made this appointment, I’d been assured that the focus would be on us discussing our expectations for the long term—our goals and our dreams. There was no mention of dissecting what we did in the bedroom and I was damn sure I never said anything about “intimacy problems.”

“I am so hurt by these claims, Doctor.” Jonathan put his hand over his chest. “I mean, to have the love of my life tell me that she feels like we only have sex a few times a week is just...Is this the part where I’m allowed to cry?”

“Yes, Mr. Statham. Let out all of your pain.”

He smirked. “Is our sex not memorable to you, Claire? It must not be if you think we only have sex two to three times a week. I want an honest marriage as well, so if you think we have intimacy problems and that our sex is that terrible—”

“We have sex every day.” I nearly lost it. “Every. Day. Sometimes more than once. Sometimes more than twice. And every time is fucking memorable. Happy?” I narrowed my eyes at him and he kissed my cheek.

“Um...” The doctor adjusted the sleeves of his tunic. “Well...I....Very good for both of you. Let’s move away from intimacy then, shall we?”

“Thank you.” We both said in unison.

Once the counseling session finally came to an end, we both shook Dr. Choate’s hand and said we’d be “in touch” about scheduling part two. As soon as the elevator doors opened, I rushed inside and pressed the “door close” button over and over—anxious to get far away from white sand and invasive notecards.

“What’s the rush, future wife?” Jonathan stepped directly in front of me and pressed my back against the wall. “Do you have another meeting to go to right now? Somewhere else where you plan on discussing our intimacy problems?”

“I never said we had intimacy problems...That was a mistake and you know it.”

“Hmmm.” He brushed his fingers against my necklace.

“I can’t believe you pushed me into telling him about our sex life.”

“He asked.”

“You didn’t have to tell him the truth.”

“I thought you wanted me to be honest.” He ran his fingers through my hair. “I’ve told you a million times that I don’t lie.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell him what I wrote down on that card?”

He slipped his hand underneath my skirt. “If you would like, we can go back up and I’ll happily tell him that my future wife wishes that my head was between her legs right now.”

I blushed and shook my head.

“Are you sure?” He tugged at my panties. “I’m not opposed to telling him that.”

“That’s okay...”

He lowered his mouth to my neck, taking his time to press gentle kisses onto my skin as he wrapped his arms around my waist.

I looked up at the floor numbers that were flashing above the doors as we passed them by—Eight, Seven, Six, and pushed him away from me.

“We’re almost back in the lobby,” I murmured as I stepped to the other side.

“No. We’re not.” He hit the stop button and walked over to me, pressing me against the wall again. “I actually think we do have one huge intimacy problem, Claire.”

“What?”

“Why is it that you can only be open with me about sex in text messages and notecards?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He cut me off with a kiss and slowly hiked my dress up to my stomach. “I always have to try and read your mind, or read between your little smart-ass comments when it comes to what you want...Why is that, Claire?”

“I...” I couldn’t focus when he looked at me like this, when he locked his eyes on mine and demanded answers that I didn’t have.

“If you like when I fuck you with my mouth, why don’t you ever say that when we’re at home?”

I bit my lip as he slipped a finger inside of me, as he held me steady with his other arm.

“Hmmm, Claire? I’m standing right here...Tell me what you want...”

“Jonathan...” I moaned; he was pressing his thumb against my clit, punishing it with slow, sensuous circles.

“You can’t tell me right now because you’d rather wait until you get to work and tell me in a text message?”

“No...”

“Then tell me what you like...”

“Everything...”

He closed the little space that was left between us, keeping his thumb busy, bringing his mouth close to my ear. “Tell me you love it when I fuck you with my mouth.”

“I do.”

“Say. It.”

I swallowed. “I love when you go down on me...”

He sighed and slowly pulled away from me, and I thought he was going to step over and hit the start button, but he spun me around so that I was facing the corner and gripped my waist. “You were right...We do need better communication.”

“Jonathan, there are federal offices in here. The fire department is going to—” I stopped once I felt him sliding into me, forcing himself deeper and deeper.

“If you think that I’m going to be happy in a marriage where my own wife can’t tell me what she wants, you’re sadly mistaken, Claire...” He held me completely still once he was entirely inside. Kissing the back of my neck, he whispered once again, “Tell. Me. What. You. Like.”

I couldn’t think. I was too pre-occupied with thoughts of the fire department calling the elevator to check on us, thoughts about how my standing in a corner with Jonathan buried deep inside of me would look.

Before I could snap back into reality and answer him, he pulled out and quickly thrust himself back in—over and over, making me scream louder than ever.

“I asked you a question, Claire.” He gripped my breasts and squeezed them, slamming into me with each moan I let escape from my mouth.

“I...I like...” I stuttered. “I like when you...”

“Yes?” He moved one of his hands down to my clit and started rubbing it in a rhythm he knew all too well.

“When you...”

“Fuck me with your mouth...” He was speeding up his thrusts now, making it harder and harder for me to talk straight. “Finish. The .Sentence.”

“Wait...I...I like when...when you—”

BEEP! BEEP!

“Elevator car number 510 at Waldo and Emerson Associates, This is responding unit 861.” A voice came over the speakers. “Speaking to you right now is fire chief Brennan Marshall. We’ve noticed the current cart has stalled for over six minutes. Are there any persons inside?”

BEEP! BEEP!

“You know I don’t care if they see us like this...” Jonathan reached down for my hands, pulling them up over my head and pressing them against the wall. “And I won’t stop when they open the doors if you haven’t answered me.”

“Are there any persons inside?” The fire chief repeated. “Hmmm. Might be an empty cart gentlemen,” he said in a lowered voice.

“There are persons inside.” Jonathan answered calmly, but his thrusts inside of me were the exact opposite. I was doing my best to hold my breath and bite down on my lip to prevent myself from screaming again.