I finally lift my head and meet his eyes.
The look on his face is worth every second of planning.
It's pure, unfiltered shock. Then anger flashes sharp and bright, chased quickly by something darker he tries to bury. His gaze drops despite himself, catching on the red lace, the heels, and the way I'm stretched out like an invitation he never issued but needs to accept.
His voice strains. "What are you doing here?"
Another slow sip of the Scotch leaves a trail of fire down my throat to my belly. "I came home. You told me to rest."
"This isn't resting," he snaps.
I smile. "It is for me."
He steps closer, then stops, as if remembering something important. Distance. Rules. The system. Who knows.
"What's wrong, Dr. Mercer?" I innocently ask, dragging my hands up my thighs.
His jaw flexes. "You need to leave. Now."
I tilt my head. "You told me to go home."
"Yes. Not come here."
I set the glass down on the coffee table, cross and uncross my legs. "This is home."
His tone is sharp. "No. It isn't."
I rise slowly. My heels click against the wood. I slink toward him, but don't touch him. I don't need to. The sweat from his run mixes with his cologne, taunting me. I softly state, "You ended the session. You sent me away and told me to sleep."
"Yes. I told you to regulate, not break into my house."
I smile, drawing my fingertips down his sweaty arm. "You told me to eat. I made us dinner. Here, have a sip." I hold out the Scotch.
He stares at it.
"It won't bite you," I laugh, gently shaking it.
"This is inappropriate, Blue," he says, but the word sounds thin, worn down by repetition.
I step closer, stopping just short of him. I murmur, "You keep saying that, but we both know what we want. Blue wants Red. Dr. Mercer wants Blue. Red and Blue want each other."
He closes his eyes briefly, like he's bracing against something internal. His voice drops. "Blue, you're crossing a line."
I smile up at him, slow and sure. "You moved it."
His eyes snap open. "I did not."
"You ended the container," I say. "You told me to ride the urge instead of obeying it. This is me riding it."
He looks at me like he wants to argue, but the words won't come. Because somewhere deep down, he knows the truth.
He taught me how to do this.
"I'm not here to hurt myself. I'm here because you're the only place I actually rest."
Something in his expression breaks. It's just a fracture, quick and dangerous, but it still shows me his weakness.
His weakness is me.
