My dick pops past the slit of my boxers, and I finally allow myself to touch it, rubbing the pre-cum over the tip.
A chirp hits my ears.
Blue: I'm home and naked in bed. I told my parents they have to come to therapy today because you wanted me to.
All the thoughts I had earlier about therapy with Blue and her parents resurface. I slide my hand over my shaft and close my eyes, thinking about my Bluebird working through years of pent-up feelings she never learned how to handle.
Chirp.
Blue: I'm going to cancel it if you don't send me what I need.
My cock twitches, and panic hits. I'm past every ethical and moral boundary I ever put up. I'm the last therapist who should be having any sessions with Blue or her parents.
I can still help her.
This is wrong.
Blue: I thought you wanted to help me?
I rub my cock a few more times, smear more pre-cum over the cap, snap a photo of it, then send it to her.
A voice clip comes back. Her voice shakes with excitement. "Now send me a video of you cumming, Dr. Mercer. I need to see whatit'll be like with you pumping inside me, trying to split me wide open."
"You dirty little Bluebird," I mutter.
Before I know it, I switch my camera to video, position it on my cock, and stare at the photo she left me while giving her exactly what she wants.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Blue
Not a second went by that coerced me into sleep. The apartment is quiet in that dead, early morning way where the world hasn't decided to wake up yet, and I've been standing here long enough that the mirror has started to feel like an accomplice.
My phone is still in my hand. I don't remember picking it up this time. The video is paused. My thumb hovers over play, as if waiting for permission.
Red.
Dr. Mercer.
The line between those names keeps thinning until it barely exists at all. I press play, then stop it, then rewind ten seconds, like the act of control matters when my thoughts are already running feral.
I've watched it so many times that the edges have dulled, but the center of it still hits every time.
I've decided it's the sound that gets me the most. Something about the way his breath changes and the guttural noise that escapes him at the end doesn't get old.
Then there's the best truth of all.
Red recorded it for me. Even if he never meant to send it, and every rule in his world says he shouldn't have, he still did it. I needed it, and he didn't let me down.
My reflection shifts as I lower the phone, eyes dropping to my own body like it doesn't belong to me anymore. I turn sideways, then closer, my fingers grazing skin just to check that I'm real, and here. This is happening, not some elaborate spiral my mind built to survive boredom or loneliness or whatever polite word people use when they don't want to say “obsession”. It's happening because Dr. Mercer, my Red, loves me. He's obsessing over having me as much as I'm obsessing over him.
Another rush of adrenaline spikes. I close my eyes, smiling, and imagine his hands where mine are, and that's when things start to slip.
Time stretches, then collapses. The mirror fogs. I don't know how long I stand there, only that my thoughts keep circling the same point, tightening, faster and faster, until my entire world feels reduced to one man and one impossible gravity.
My phone rings, startling me. It slices through my fantasy, sharp and wrong, and I nearly drop it. My heart kicks hard enough that I have to grab the edge of the counter to steady myself. I blink, once, twice, trying to orient. The screen lights up with a name that doesn't belong in this moment.
Shirley.
