My stomach drops out. And I’ve been telling her how much I want to have a family. But the choice between the potential of pups and the real possibility of Maya is no choice at all. It would always be Maya.
“Then we won’t have kids.”
Her eyes snap back to me, and her body moves so sharply the water sloshes in the tub. “You don’t want to have children?”
“I want you,” I tell her, my voice firm and certain. “Nothing else matters as much as you do. Nothing could make me not want you. If you can’t have them, then we don’t have them. As long as I have you, I don’t need anything else.”
A solitary tear slips from Maya’s eye, and I squeeze her hand before bringing it to my lips.
“You’re more than enough. You’re all I need.”
“Just like that?” she asks while arching one of her eyebrows. “It’s hard to believe you when I don’t know anything about you.”
“You know more than you think. You’re just not ready for that conversation yet.”
Her face scrunches up for just a moment, her brows drawing together before her face relaxes again. She doesn’t ask any more questions. I’m not sure why. Maybe because she trusts me to tell her. Trusts me to control the situation. Or perhaps part of her knows but doesn’t want to admit it. Not even to herself. Because then she would need to admit to wanting her patient so badly. Goddess, I hope it’s because she knows.
I don’t want to lie to her.
But I’ll do whatever is necessary to make sure I have her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Maya
As soon as I walk into the restaurant to meet Pippa, the familiar scent hits me, and it’s definitely not my sister. This is something distinct, something… primal. It’s my masked man I smell. A wave of apprehension and a flicker of excitement washes over me. I scan the busy room, my eyes darting from table to table, searching for a familiar silhouette. Would I even recognize him?
The question of why he won’t let me see him is ever present. Does he have a huge scar or deformity? Is he afraid I wouldn’t be interested in him anymore if I saw him? Is his face just really unattractive despite how perfect the rest of him is? It doesn’t matter. It won’t change anything for me.
I just want to know. I want to look into his eyes. I want to see him the way he gets to see me. But as much as I want to know everything about him, I have to respect that he obviously isn’t ready to open up to me, and it’s probably the therapist in me, but I don’t want to push him.
I want him to be ready to share himself with me.
Even though it is driving me crazy.
I know what he sounds like when he comes. I know what he smells like, but he’s not the only man who wears that insanelyenticing cologne. I know that he is dominant through and through but he’s not controlling. He doesn’t need to assert his dominance with pain. He’s a generous lover, and he wants to make me happy. He reads me like a book, tapping into kinks I wasn’t fully aware I had.
And my dogs love him. That has to mean something, right?
But there’s so much I don’t know about the only man I’ve ever slept with. Like his name. Or what he does for a living. If he has a family or friends. Money doesn’t seem to be an issue for him, but he hasn’t mentioned work at all. Maybe he got a huge compensation payout for his facial disfigurement.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the insane thoughts rattling around. The restaurant is packed, and I’m not going to go up and sniff each man with a similar build to him while the waitress leads me to the table. I need to let it go.
As soon as she seats me, however, my mouth goes dry. Ryan is sitting at the next table over. Alone, reading a book while he eats. Shit, of course he's a reader. Is there anything sexier than someone who reads for enjoyment?
He doesn’t look up or notice me—he’s completely engrossed in his book—and I find myself craving his attention. Wanting him to see me. Wanting a reason to talk to him outside of his therapy sessions.
That voice I try so damn hard not to listen to awakens again. Pushing me toward him. Begging me toclaimhim. I force it down, reminding myself that it would never be possible. Maybe if I had met him under other circumstances, but I didn’t.
I can do this. I am a strong woman. I do not let the urges control me.The mantra does nothing for me anymore. My other compulsions are in check. But my want for Ryan? That seems never-ending.
The voice is quieter with my masked man. It still urges me to bite him at times, but it’s less insistent. Like it craves Ryan more. Or maybe it’s that I already have the masked man, physically at least. Even if he won’t give me the emotional connection I seek.
Ryan sips from his glass of water while his eyes remain glued to the pages of his book, allowing me to observe him. Allowing me to take in how his hair curls in a way that’s both unruly and polished. How perfectly flawless his skin is. How symmetrical his handsome features are. He looks like a Greek god, or at least a sculpture of one. Devastatingly handsome and intense in all the best ways.
Just as the waitress is setting down his plate, Pippa joins me, cutting off my view of him. I startle at the intrusion to my staring, and she smirks at me, not missing a thing.
“Enjoying the view? I can move if—”
