I nod, then tease, "Look at you figuring me out. You're going to ruin me for other men, Dr. Mercer."
He gives me a look I can't decipher. The corners of his mouth twitch like he is holding on to a thousand unsaid things. Then he exhales. "We need structure."
My spine straightens. I groan. "And we were having so much fun tonight."
His voice turns stern. "I want to help you, Blue. I think I can, but no more LinkedIn messages. No more manipulating my staff or harming yourself to shock me. If any of that continues, I will not be able to treat you. I will have to refer you to another therapist."
I stay quiet.
His eyes betray him. His gaze slips, just a fraction. It moves to my throat where my pulse jumps. Then it darts to my knees, and the place on my skirt that hid what I had already shown him once.
It might be the hottest thing I've ever seen.
His boundaries are foreplay.
"I like it when you tell me what to do," I say quietly.
His head jerks. "This is not a game."
"What if it's both? What if structure turns you on as much as it frightens me?"
"That is not what is happening," he insists.
I tilt my head. Heat rolls through my stomach. I soften my tone. "What did you feel when you touched my thigh?"
He pauses mid-breath.
I push, "Tell me."
"Do I need to get another therapist for you?" he threatens.
"That is an interesting way to dodge the question," I retort. Triumph and something dangerously close to tenderness flood me at the same time. I sit back a fraction, giving him space he didn't earn but so desperately needs.
Then I add, "I don't want another therapist. I want you."
His jaw twitches. He stays silent.
"So you'll help me?" I ask, afraid he might send me to someone else. I add, "I agree to your boundaries."
"You do?" he cautiously asks.
Of course not.
I nod, shooting him my most innocent expression. "Promise. I... I want to get better."
He releases a breath, rocks back onto his heels, then pushes to stand. "This session is over."
He doesn't go to the door, but instead, stands in front of the window. He stares at the street far below. His shoulders tighten, the line of his back is rigid beneath his dress shirt.
I watch him for a long moment, then rise slowly. My legs shake, but I move anyway. I cross the room, each step measured, stopping with a sliver of space between us.
I don't touch him. "You said earlier you want to keep me safe. You also said you want to keep yourself safe. Maybe we could admit neither of us knows how to do that around each other yet."
He closes his eyes briefly, then opens them, gaze still on the world outside. "You're not a puzzle I'm here to solve for my own curiosity. I'm not a character in your fantasy. This isn't a mutual experiment."
I offer, "Then let me say this without any game. I'm trying to understand what normal attraction looks like." The words scrape their way out from a strange, raw place. I continue, "I grew up surrounded by seduction and strategy. Nothing was simple. Every dress was chosen to send a message. Every smile carried five different meanings. Every man I met saw 'Ivanov' before he saw me. Brax is the only one I ever wanted who claimed to not want me, but that was a challenge I knew I'd win."
His eyes turn to slits. His words slap me in the face. "You aren't winning him. His wife won him."
