I try to retreat back to the professional demeanor I attempt to maintain with him, but the throbbing in my lips tells a different story. Therapist or not, I am a woman first, and Dak Warner is more temptation than any woman could handle.
He’s like a Roman god clad in a pair of relaxed fit jeans and a designer graphic tee. Six-foot-five, all muscle, with a face that could stop traffic. An NFL player, an alpha male, yet there was a vulnerable boy in his eyes. The boy who has trusted me with his secrets, his fears, and his heart.
I can’t fail him.
“Dak,” I say, shaking off my thoughts and putting on my therapist voice again. “We need to talk about what just happened.”
He lets out a low chuckle, his lips curving into a smirk. “Always ready for a talk, aren’t you?”
“We’re in session three of our professional relationship,” I remind him.
“I think we tossed the ‘professional’ part out the window the moment our lips touched on that football field, Katrina,” he countered, his eyes smoldering with a desire that is hard to ignore.
I sigh, leaning back in my chair, creating some additional distance. “Look, you came to me for therapy, not... whatever this is.”
“So, what?” His brows furrow, his muscular arms crossing over his chest. “You’re saying we can’t be anything more than a therapist and patient?”
“I’m saying it’s a slippery slope. It’s ethically complicated.”
He raises a hand, running it through his dark locks in frustration. “Complicated, huh? I think we’re all adults here. We know what we want.”
His eyes playfully lower to between my legs then back to my face.
“Do we?” I counter. “Dak, this is about more than just us. It’s about trust. It’s about the power dynamics.”
“Power dynamics?” His face contorts. “Katrina, you’re no wilting flower. You’ve got as much power in this as I do.”
“I’m your therapist, Dak. That’s inherently imbalanced.”
“Or...” His face softens. “Maybe that’s why it works. Because we see through the BS of each other’s lives.”
“You don’t know anything about my life.”
“I’m trying to learn everything about you, if you’ll let me.”
“What you’re feeling can often happen in a therapist/client relationship. You’re confusing feelings of trust and admiration for romantic ones.”
“And are you confused too? Because I wasn’t kissing myself.”
“Dak–”
“You can’t tell me you don’t feel it,” he interrupts, leaning in, his deep voice a dangerous whisper. “This pull between us. It’s more than just some mistake. It’s more than a fleeting feeling.”
I swallow, finding his gaze hard to meet. “I’m afraid feelings aren’t enough.”
“Then what is?” he asks, a certain desperation seeping into his voice.
“Ethics. Boundaries. They are important in my profession.”
“They are.” He nods, meeting my eyes. “But don’t we owe it to ourselves to explore this? Whatever ‘this’ is?”
“I…” I stop, wrestling with my thoughts. He has a point, one my lonely vagina agrees with, but my mind knows better. We could never explore this attraction to each other. It would only end in disaster, and I’d no doubt end up on the worst end of it. I make bad decisions when it comes to men and I doubt I could live through another loss.
“I realize we’re in uncharted territory. But aren’t we supposed to, I don’t know, seize the moment or something? Life’s too short.”
“Dak...” I hesitate, biting my lower lip, torn between my professional ethics and the alluring promise in his eyes. “We need to think about this. It’s not just about us. We both have a lot to lose.”
“Right,” he sighs, leaning back, the playfulness replaced with a certain melancholy.
