Blue pops out from under the desk, hair disheveled, eyes too bright and blown wide. She flips the hourglass, puts it on the desk, then pulls her dress down. She props herself up on my desk next to the hourglass, crosses her legs, and narrows her eyes. "Interesting session, Dr. Mercer."
The hourglass sits between us, sand drifting, time pretending it hasn't just been bent out of shape.
Guilt wins. I say, "This ends now." It comes out steadier than I feel. Inside, everything is vibrating with shock, shame, anger, and desire braided tightly.
Blue smiles slowly. "That's funny. I think it ended a few minutes ago when I swallowed your cum." She bats her eyes.
I step closer, snapping, "You crossed a line. No. You didn't just cross it. You obliterated it."
Her eyes sharpen. "So did you."
Her words land clean and brutal. I shake my head. "No. Don't you dare?—"
"You let it happen. You told her to close her eyes. You had her count."
"That was containment. I was protecting a patient."
Blue scoffs, "You stayed right there. You could have gotten up, but you stayed seated with your dick in my face and allowed me to keep my hands on you."
I open my mouth, then shut it again. Denial won't survive this room. She's right, and I hate myself for it.
She softens her tone. "It's okay, Red."
My hands curl into fists. "It's not okay! You ambushed me. In my office. During another patient's session."
She throws her hands in the air. "And you still chose. You always do. Stop denying you want me."
The silence stretches, thick and suffocating.
She laughs. It's short and sharp. "You told her she isn't hideous."
There it is.
Jealousy, naked and unfiltered.
I stiffen. "So what? She's not hideous. Most people aren't."
Hurt flies through her expression so fast, it makes my heart drop. Her voice shakes. "You said it the same way you said it to me. Calm. Certain. Like it mattered."
I roar, "It did matter. She's a person hurting right now and shouldn't think poorly of herself."
Blue snaps, "I hurt, too. And you didn't hesitate to tell me the same damn thing."
I step closer before I realize I'm moving. I assert low and fierce, "I told you you're beautiful, too. There is a difference between telling someone they aren't hideous and telling someone they're beautiful. You know that."
She searches my face like she's cataloging every crack.
I add, "I've never told a patient they're beautiful, only you."
She blinks hard, her eyes welling.
I inhale sharply. "Don't."
Her gaze drops, then she recovers. She lifts her head, challenging, "Tell me I didn't just give you the hottest blowjob ever."
I stay silent.
"Tell me it isn't a fantasy therapists have," she adds.
