Luna chick - Part 6

She sat there pretending to hold herself together, but the cracks ran straight down the middle. Her hands shook. The next breath came in pieces, then broke wide open. She folded over and let the cry cut loose—ugly, raw, wet. Her blouse stuck to her skin where the tears hit. Jane watched, then slid forward on the couch and caught the therapist by the wrist. She drew her down gently until they lay tangled, bodies pressed chest to chest. Jane’s fingers skimmed the buttons of her blouse, slipped each one free. Warm skin beneath. Jane traced the line of her sternum, pressed her mouth over one breast and sucked until the nipple rose hard under her tongue. The therapist’s thighs parted without question. Jane slid her hand under the waistband of her trousers, fingers gliding through heat and slick, stroking slow, then firmer, feeling the pulse beat harder. The therapist arched, breathing in frantic pulls, every moan breaking open the silence. She grabbed Jane’s hip, grinding up to meet the pressure, chasing the thick, spreading ache. When her orgasm tore through, it came ragged—thighs shaking, nails biting into Jane’s back, mouth open on a sound that emptied her. She lay spent, face flushed, thighs still twitching. Outside, the room stayed quiet.