“Did you tell anyone what happened?” I ask, my heart breaking at the thought of him dealing with this alone.
“Fuck no. I reinvented myself. Changed my appearance, signed up for karate. I became the person no one wanted to fuck with. I refused to ever be that weak again.”
“You weren’t weak, Asher. You were manipulated and forced. There is a difference. The loss of virginity is an important milestone in human development, signifying a transition to adulthood. This traumatic experience altered your emotional development and may very well be the reason you’re not able to associate sex with feelings.”
“There is no lack offeelingwhen I have sex.”
“You know what I mean.”
He grins mischievously and heat flushes my cheeks. That familiar tingle simmering beneath my skin.
What the hell was I saying?
Oh right, his virginity.
“So now that you know my deepest, darkest secret, Doc, when do I get to know yours?”
My nerves kick up at the thought of him knowing mine. “We’re here to talk about you not me.”
His watchful eyes make me uncomfortable so I clear my throat and quickly move on. “I think what you experienced as an adolescent has hindered you sexually as an adult.”
He grunts. “Trust me, I’m not hindered at all. I will gladly prove it to you.” I shoot him an annoyed look. “I had every intention of proving it to you Saturday night until you ran away from me.”
And there it is. The conversation I’d hoped to avoid. I don’t want to talk about what happened Saturday night and that’s not like me at all. Typically, I would be the first to address things and would not hesitate to discuss my feelings. But I can’t with him. It’s too risky. Too dangerous and scary as hell.
Even when I’m not analyzing his mind, I’m overthinking every look and move he makes. I’m hyperaware of his commanding presence. When he speaks every hair on my body stands at attention. My nipples tighten beneath my shirt and I have to squeeze my thighs together. When his eyes hold mine, I feel like I’m the one being exposed, not him, and it’s frustrating as hell.
I redirect the conversation, keeping it focused on him.
“How do you feel after you have sex?”
“Unsatisfied. Empty.”
“And why do you think that is?”
“Fuck if I know, Doc, that’s why I’m here, to figure it out.”
“You’re detached, and until you find someone you can trust to open up to emotionally, someone you trust to have positive sexual experiences with, you will continue to struggle with these urges.”
“I’m opening up to you. That counts, right?” he asks, a sinful smirk tugging his lips.
“It’s a start.”
The buzzer on my desk signals our hour is up.
“Sorry, but we’re out of time for today.”
Disappointment flashes in his eyes.
“Same time tomorrow?” I ask.
He nods then stands to leave, and I follow, laying my notepad on the chair. But before he opens the door, he spins to face me again, his expression masked with something I can’t quite put my finger on. “Thank you for listening, Doc.”
“You’re welcome,” I whisper, trying desperately not to get drawn into his warm gaze but it’s impossible. I practically melt right there on the spot.
“See you tomorrow.”
Once he finally leaves, I lean against the door as I try to calm my racing heart.
