2. Chapter 2
Chapter two
T he man has spotted me, not a hard feat since I’m the only living thing in the room. His steps falter before he forces himself forward. He approaches with his hand out to shake mine. “Hi. I’m—”
“No real names,” Dr. Desire interrupts, his voice sharp as a scalpel.
The man stops like he just ran into a brick wall. The hand that was reaching for me falls, and his cheeks stain an even brighter shade of red. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Oh…er…I feel like we need to call each other something…?” He trails off uncertainly.
“Let’s use initials,” I suggest, taking one step toward him. Sympathy stirs in me. He’s just as lost in this situation as I am. “My name—initial—is K.” It takes my full concentration to leave it at that. The habit of saying my full name is so strong.
“I’m T,” he says stiffly, snapping his mouth shut after that single letter, as if he can trap the rest of his name in his mouth.
“Nice to meet you,” I say pleasantly and shake his hand.
“You too.”
Now that we’re closer, I look him over some more. Tan skin like he works outdoors. Large hands. Clean cut, but there’s a tiny scab at the base of his throat like he nicked himself shaving. Hair cropped short, allowing slightly pointed ears to peek out.
I breathe out a sigh, relieved. I can work with those ears. I read a lot of smutty fantasy—fairy porn, as my friend Veronica calls it. The heroes in those books are always ridiculously hot fae warriors who steal human women away to their glittering courts.
Maybe if I imagine T as a fairy prince, one cursed, perhaps, then I can get through the next few hours and walk out of here a new woman.
“You may begin,” says Dr. D—I’ve decided to call him that. If the rest of us are going by our first initial, he might as well too.
“Umm,” hedges T, giving me enough time to wonder if it’s Ted, Tim, Tom ?
T directs his question to the mirror. “What exactly are we supposed to do? A little instruction would be helpful, please.”
There’s a hint of impatience when Dr. D answers, “As I stated in the email, you two will engage in sexual intercourse. I will watch and provide direction when needed.”
T’s brown eyes find my green ones as his brow puckers in confusion.
“How exactly are we supposed to have—” he stumbles over the word, his eyes shifting from mine, “—intercourse?”
“However you like. The details will be left to you and Ms. K to work out. Each couple is different. I find that you two coming together organically works better than me laying out each step for you. My role is purely supportive. When I see areas that could use assistance, I’ll chime in.” That’s the most we’ve heard Dr. D speak so far.
T rubs the back of his neck with one hand, staring at the floor as if it might provide answers.
A thought occurs to me, one that could explain his awkwardness. “Have you…have you never done it before?”
That makes his head snap up. “Yes,” he says, his voice too loud, too indignant. “Lots of times.”
I hold up my hands. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to assume. I just thought, well, I wondered…”
I’ve pissed T off. He crosses his arms over his chest defensively and declares, “I’m married, so I have sex all the time.”
Those words slam into me, a physical force. I stumble backward, shocked.
Married?
“My wife—or I’m not sure what to call her. We—we’re separated. Lawyers are involved. She’s the reason I’m here. She said she’s sick of my excuses about this problem. She said the only chance I have to get her back is to do this.”
Dr. D’s voice interrupts us. “I can confirm that T’s spouse is on board with today’s treatment. I’ve had extensive discussions with her myself, to make sure she understands what will happen here. She’s given her verbal and written consent to proceed. I don’t want to put more pressure on you than there already is, but she’s rather eager to move forward. I believe she seeks a resolution to her and T’s marital status.”
Jesus. No pressure indeed.
“You see why I have to fix myself? Like right now ? I need to make her happy.” T’s voice rises, high and tight with frustration, drawing my attention back to him. “But it’s not easy. I’ve been everywhere. Tried everything. The result is always the same.”
“So you can’t,” I lower my voice, which is silly. We both know why we’re here. “You can’t orgasm either?”
T stiffens, his nostrils flaring slightly. “I can—just only by myself. Not with her.”
He runs a hand over his face, then down the back of his neck. Frustration, shame, something deeper war behind those brown eyes.
“How about other people?” I ask, confused by how he phrased his answer.
A small shake of his head. “Dunno. My wife and I are high-school sweethearts. I’ve never been with anyone else.”
That hits like a hammer. I squeak out, “Never?”
“ Never, ” he says emphatically.
Again, I have the urge to flee. It’s too much pressure. To be the second lover this man, this stranger, has ever had.
He’s watching me, gauging my reaction, like he’s waiting for me to call him a freak. To laugh at him. To make him feel even less than he already does. I calm my expression and hide the turmoil in my mind.
“How about you?” T asks.
It’s a fair question, but something about it makes my throat tighten. I duck my head, my fingers twisting in the hem of my skirt. “Same. I can get myself off but haven’t had any luck doing it with other people.”
Silence stretches between us, so heavy it’s almost unbearable. I force myself to look up.
“Have you tried a lot?” His voice is careful, but the words hit like a slap.
My spine stiffens. “Are you asking me how many people I’ve slept with?” Defensively, I spit out, “Because the answer is that it’s none of your business.”
His brows pull together, his lips parting like he hadn’t expected that reaction. “I—no, I wasn’t—” He exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You’re right. That was out of line. I wasn’t trying to judge you.”
His voice dips lower, something raw edging into it. “I just meant… I’ve wondered if maybe I had more experience, I wouldn’t have this problem.”
For a second, I don’t know how to respond. The despair in his voice, the barely concealed self-loathing, twists in my stomach.
I get it. I really get it.
But I’m still pissed.
I cross my arms, my voice tight. “Well, maybe. Or maybe experience doesn’t mean shit when your body refuses to cooperate.”
His eyes darken, his jaw flexing like he wants to argue but doesn’t know how.
Good. Let him sit in that discomfort.
Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? Two broken people, thrown into a room together, expected to somehow fix each other.
Like it’s that simple.