Shit. I don’t know what the right answer is, so I let my instincts take over. “I’m telling you. Make me fucking come. Now.”
He wraps his arms around my thighs and fucks me into oblivion. When I fall over the edge, I can hear all the colors in the room. I clench the sheets beneath me into my fists as I scream his name.
He kisses my ankles as I come down from the high, shifting so that my legs lie in his lap after they start to shake.
“You okay?” he asks, leaning forward for a quick kiss while massaging my thighs and calves.
“I’m amazing.” I let out a deep exhale. “So, ‘telling’ was the right answer, then?”
“Oh, the right answer was whatever you said. I just wanted to see which one you’d choose.”
“Ass,” I hiss halfheartedly.
He hums contentedly as his hands make their way to my sides to knead the skin there. “Roll your neck for me,” he instructs, demonstrating the stretch he wants me to do.
I follow his directions, coming back into my body little by little.
Once I fully come down, he disposes of the condom in my bathroom, then grabs me some water and my bag of TruFru.
This has been the last couple of weeks for us. Nights of passion that bleed into the morning.
Silently, he holds his hand out for me, knowing I’ll take it because we’ve done this so many times before. He knows where my shower cap is, the exact setting I like my shower, the temperature I like my towelwarmer, and the playlist I like to project through the bathroom speakers. He knows because this is our routine. He fucks me like I’m his greatest enemy and then cares for me like a priceless piece of art.
He turns me so my back is to him and then grabs my African exfoliating net and starts scrubbing my body.
“How are you feeling about today?”
I’d been so engrossed in my pleasure, I forgot the reason the torture started this morning was to ease my nerves about my first therapy session today.
I’m definitely calmer than I was when I woke up, but I’m still scared. I’m scared of who I’ll be without these walls to keep me safe, but I’m even more afraid that if I don’t get help, these memories and emotions of everything I’ve suppressed over the years will crush me beneath their weight. Something has to change.
“I feel fine.”
His hands stop, hovering just above my shoulders. “Actually fine? Or the ‘fine’ you tell people when you don’t wanna talk about it?”
I hate when he clocks my tea. “The fine I tell people,” I sigh.
He turns me around, running the net across my chest, staring straight into my soul. “Okay. At least you can admit that. It’s going to work out, and if it doesn’t, that’s okay too.”
I breathe in his words, letting them wash over me like cool rain as I watch him wash his own body.
He does his best to ignore the water streaming down my naked form, resolved to do nothing more than take care of me, but his hardened dick pressed against my stomach reminds us how well our bodies communicate. One more distraction wouldn’t hurt, right?
“Storm …” he starts when I run the tip of my nail down his length.
“Yesss?” I sing.
Instead of answering, he reaches behind his back to switch the water off. He steps out first, grabbing my body oil spray from under the sink to coat my body in it. He kisses my wrists as he rubs the oil up my arms, mychest as he massages it over my breasts, and my stomach when he sinks to his knees to give my legs the same treatment.
When he stands to drape my towel over me, he gives me one final kiss on my forehead. “Let’s get you ready.”
I’ve never felt more turned on by a rejection in my life.
I get to Dr. Aria Goode’s office fifteen minutes early, but I don’t go inside until two minutes before my appointment.
The first thing that comes to mind when I step into her office is that it’s bright. The walls are colored a bright and soft blue, the lights are blinding, and the furniture is a mixture of pastels and wooden accents.
I hate it.
