All too soon, our time is up, but I find myself wanting to keep him talking. Wanting to hear the deep timbre of his voice, to have it wrap around me and soothe my soul. I’m so caught up in the countertransference that I can barely think straight.
I stand with him and walk him to the door, my heart pounding against my rib cage so loud I can hear it. We both reach for the doorknob at the same time, and I gasp when electricity erupts where our skin connects. My breathing comes in short pants as I pull my hand back, clutching it to my chest.
His eyes bore into me, the brown somehow looking golden in this moment. And then he opens the door and strides out, leaving me a quivering mess in ruined panties.
Again.
I am so screwed.
Chapter Fourteen
Maya
Supervision couldn’t come fast enough. My head has been a spinning mess as I try to process what happened in my office two days ago. It was easier when Ryan was obviously coming on to me, because the version of him that took accountability and treated me with respect was even more arousing.
I’m his therapist; I know nothing can ever happen. But I have never been more drawn to someone in my life. I’ve never wanted someone the way I want him. I’ve never had to touch myself so much, even though it never feels enough to satisfy me. It’s never enough.
“Thank you so much for fitting me in, Steven,” I say as my supervisor shepherds me into his home office on arrival. We’ve been working together since my pre-licensure hours, and while I don’t technically need to continue with him, he helps me process anything that comes up for me when working with clients. And it’s a place where I can talk about my patients freely without breaching confidentiality.
“It’s no problem, Maya,” he replies, settling into one of the wingback chairs in his office. “It sounded urgent. Is everything okay?”
“Yes and no,” I say with a grimace when I throw myself down on my seat opposite his, dreading the admission I’m about to make but knowing I need to. God, this is so humiliating. “I’m not sure if it is projective identification or an erotic countertransference, but I’m in trouble with a new client.”
“Tell me about what’s going on,” Steven encourages me, so I do. I tell him about how I started seeing Ryan remotely, but the issue really started when he switched to in-person appointments.
“It’s such an intense feeling, it can’t be mine, can it?” I ask. Even as the question comes out, that voice in the back of my head practically laughs at me, so sure that my feelings for Ryan are very real.
Steven leans back in his chair as he contemplates my words. “I doubt it. The feelings you are experiencing are likely a response to the patient’s transference of their erotic feelings toward you. I would encourage you to stay the course and use it in the sessions.”
“You don’t think I should refer him to another therapist?” I ask, unable to keep the pleading tone and desperation for permission and validation out of my voice. I don’t need it professionally. As a licensed psychologist, I’m capable of making decisions like this myself. But I can’t help how much I want Steven to tell me I should stop working with Ryan. To take the choice and responsibility out of my hands.
“Maya,” he says gently, “you are an experienced therapist; you know transference and projective identification are an opportunity in our work. It gives us insight into the unconscious processes our patients are experiencing. You are aware of the countertransferenceat play, so keep that awareness central. Don’t lose track of the fact that your erotic feelings toward your patient are not real. It’s not as if you would ever act on those feelings.”
As soon as his words are out, the entire building seems to shake with a thunderous growling sound that has Steven jumping to his feet and striding to the window behind him.
“Good heavens,” he exclaims, running a hand through his gray hair. “There’s a huge wolf outside.”
I scramble to join him, and sure enough, a massive brown wolf is snarling up at the window, its lips curling back and muscles coiling beneath rich brown fur. His stance promises speed and strength, and it’s breathtaking. Terrifyingly beautiful. A raw, untamed strength etched into its powerful frame.
“I didn’t know wolves were so big,” I murmur aloud while marveling at the beautiful beast.
“They aren’t usually,” Steven replies, frowning.
We stand there, preternaturally still, taking in the majesty of the animal outside. Its eyes, sharp and intelligent, practically glow golden. They’re full of pain and rage as it stares through the window at us, and yet, there’s a familiarity to them. Like I’ve looked into them before. Like I know them. What would happen if it tried to lunge at us? Would it break through the glass?
For some reason, I don’t feel fear at that thought, though. There's a serenity in facing this wild animal. So far away from where it should be.
“I don’t think you can leave until we’re sure it’s gone,” Steven says, just as the wolf lets out one last snarl, turns, and races away,leaving us both standing by the window with our mouths agape. “Well, that was terrifying.”
“It was beautiful,” I say, wishing I could have gotten closer. Close enough to run my hand through his fur. Maybe it’s the dog mom in me, but the wolf didn’t feel dangerous. He seemed… lonely. Lost.
Chapter Fifteen
Ryan
Walking into Sanctum Obscura, I realize the place is unlike anywhere else I’ve ever been. The hallway from reception leads to an open bar-type area with dark velvet tapestries hanging over the walls and a high vaulted ceiling with ropes and harnesses hanging from the rafters. There’s a bar at one end and a stage at the other. Hallways lead off the main areas to where I know private rooms and performance areas are.
Masked people mill around in various stages of undress; the little clothing they wear is mostly latex, leather, or lace. My choice of a fitted black suit and black shirt probably wasn’t the best call for a sex club, but fuck it, this still works. A well fitted suit always looks good.
