"No. It's—" I stop, then a bit of anger comes out. "My personal life isn't your business."
She grips my shirt where it opens, her nail grazing my chest and torturing the restraint I'm working so hard to keep. Her breath hits my neck, and her tone turns coy. "I keep thinking about our session."
I swallow hard. My voice comes out rough. "What about it?"
"I...I keep running my hand over my thigh. I press the bruise, feeling the ache," she states, her breath turning shallow.
The air thickens between us, charged in a way that rakes down my spine. Blue's nails graze my chest again, slow and intentional. She rises onto her toes, her breath sliding across my jaw, and whispers, "I shouldn't have worn those panties in your office. I kept thinking if you told me to spread my legs, I?—"
"Stop," my voice scrapes out, raw enough to cut. "Blue, enough."
Her lips tremble, but the glint in her eyes says she's nowhere near stopping. She continues, "You didn't answer me earlier. Do you know how to touch a woman until she?—"
"Jesus Christ." My hand hits the wall beside her head. "I said stop."
She breathes, "I can't. Not when you're?—"
"Red?" Seraphina's voice whips through the corridor like a blade.
Blue goes still beneath my hand. Her eyes widen, not with guilt but with the glittering thrill of being caught in a trap she laid for both of us.
I turn.
Seraphina stands several feet away, framed by candlelight from the dining room. Her expression reeks of betrayal sharpened to a lethal edge. Her gaze drops to where my arm cages Blue against the wall, then shifts to Blue's fingers clutching my shirt. She glares at me. "Client, my ass."
Blue shifts.
Seraphina's head jerks backward. "My God. You're enjoying this."
"Seraphina, go back to the table," I order, pushing away from Blue. "This isn't what you think."
She sarcastically laughs. "I think it's exactly what I'm seeing." She turns on her heel.
"Seraphina!" I call after her.
She pushes through the crowd with lightning speed and steps outside.
I catch her halfway down the block. I grab her arm. "Seraphina, wait!"
She spins, livid. "That wasn't a therapist and his patient. Don't act like I'm stupid, Red!"
"You're wrong," I claim, but it sounds weak.
She shakes out of my grip, and announces, "We're done, Red." She walks away, never once looking back.
I stand there, pulse hammering, breath uneven, trying to pull myself back into the body that seems determined to work against every rule I've ever followed.
My cell vibrates. I pull it out of my pocket.
Unknown number: It's Blue. I didn't mean to ruin your date.
I glance back toward the restaurant. Through the window, she stares at me with a mix of satisfaction and longing.
My anger mixes with desire I can't contain. Everything becomes clear.
I'm not just losing control.
I've already lost it.
