Chapter 14
Nic
Instead of asking Avery to leave—to preserve the last of my sanity—I dig a dusty strap-on out of a drawer somewhere. As soon as she clasps eyes on it, Avery shakes her head and declares it unusable. But now the idea of her fucking me with one is lodged in my head.
“Not a problem, Doc,” she says, all irresistible sexy bravado again. “I’m equally good with these.” All she has to do is wiggle her fingers about—ostentatiously, even bordering on lewd—and my clit starts throbbing again.
It’s unfair to say I’m under her spell. It’s more honest to admit that I’ve let myself fall under her spell. And mesmerizing, she most certainly is.
The confidence she displayed at the party floored me and, truth be told—despite how shallow it is—she looked ravishing.
Not just because of that tantalizingly low-cut vest, but because of those sculpted cheekbones, her rich, sleek mane of blond hair, and, most of all, her dark, intense gaze that, every single time it landed on me—which it did often—seemed to ask something of me.
It would be equally unfair to claim I didn’t stand a chance, because I’m a grown woman, with plenty of experience in life and love.
Someone very able to make an informed choice—yet the choice I made was anything but.
I could blame the booze, because I did have too much champagne, but that’s not nearly enough of a defense either.
The simple truth is that I have no defense for what I’ve done, but, also, that I would do it again in a heartbeat.
So, of course, I let her push me down again in my bed.
I let her kiss me and I enjoy every single second of it because it still feels like when I first spotted her at the party, all brazen self-assuredness, and I knew I was in deep trouble.
So I easily fight off any incoming sense of reality.
I extend my period of grace long into the night—long after I should have come to my senses.
Avery’s fingers inside me make me forget who I am.
Her dominating nature between the sheets makes me want her again and again.
Her kiss lights me up but, most of all, her focus on me, makes it so I’m utterly unable to get enough of her.
That she—Avery Hall—wants to be here—wants to do this with me.
That this makes it an ego thing for me is also crystal clear.
Maybe I can blame all of this on a midlife crisis I never saw coming.
I believed I’d neatly folded my middle-aged existential dread into my grief for Lois—for convenience’s sake.
Although I should be the first to know it really doesn’t work that way.
Grief is complex and haunting and long, but it’s yet another reason why I’ve let Avery take me home.
Because she made me sparkle again—dizzy with desire and a lust I shouldn’t feel, but, oh, I am.
There goes her tongue again, skating along my clit and all I can think is how was I ever supposed to not let myself feel this—to not give myself this exquisite gift?
This slow burn inside my flesh that quickly turns into a wildfire at Avery’s hands.
This delicious tension in my muscles. The ache for relief but also wanting this to last forever.
The unstoppable rhythm of lust pulsing through me.
And then, at last, the biggest pleasure splitting through me.
The gallop in my heart. The tremble in my limbs.
This aliveness that has come over me without warning, but that claims every last piece of me.
It’s as though, in one afternoon, Avery has made me remember so many things I’d forgotten.
Sex, for one. To have another woman’s hands all over me.
The unbridled joy of an orgasm—and another, and another.
The blissful, intoxicating coming-together with another person.
To simply lie in bed with her by my side.
To have another person’s arm wrapped around me.
The addictive warmth of another human being next to me.
So, of course I let her stay as long as she wants to. As long as the darkness of night can cover up what might be the biggest sin of my life.
But morning also comes—inevitably, with its stark light of reprimand and accusation. I was expecting a throbbing hangover, but all I get is guilt. It hurts just the same.
Look at her. Avery is still asleep. She looks equally gorgeous when asleep—without her endless swearing and how she holds herself in a manner that I simply can’t look away from.
My gaze lands on her perfect breasts and I’m swamped with lust but, this time, I don’t give in.
I can no longer give in. Dawn has erased every possible excuse I can come up with for the biggest transgression a therapist can make.
I slept with my client. It might have been earth-shattering, yet that will never make it okay. Nothing about this situation is okay.
I cast one final, longing glance at her, then push myself out of the bed.
I hurry into the shower, where I turn the water hotter and hotter as if I can scald my mistakes off me.
But I can’t. I lean my forehead against the marble wall and take a breath.
Although by no means easy, breaking off the client relationship with Avery is at least straightforward.
After that, I’m unclear on how to proceed.
Do I report myself? How will that affect my other clients? Can I even keep practicing?
“Morning.” The shower door opens and Avery walks in. “Can I join?”
“No.” I hate myself for sounding so harsh, but I need this to stop now. I need her to leave so I can get my head together and save whatever’s left of my skin. “I’m done.” I make sure not to touch her as I slip out of the shower.
I towel off and dress in jeans and a sweater that covers up most of my skin, as though a piece of clothing can protect me from making more mistakes. I head downstairs and make coffee. I take two cups from the cupboard because, at the very least, I owe Avery a conversation.
As the kitchen fills with the smell of coffee—something that usually gets me going but only has a nauseating effect this morning—I wait for her. In the same spot where I was unable to resist her yesterday. Where I took that one fateful step toward her, knowing full well what it would put in motion.
She enters the kitchen with her red shoes dangling from a hand and her panties poking out of the pocket of her suit pants.
For a moment, I want her so much it’s almost physically painful, but moments always pass. And so does this one.
“Coffee?” I ask.
“Yes, please.” Her demeanor is much more demure than last night—quite possibly because of my blunt rejection in the shower earlier.
I offer her a cup, sliding it toward her over the kitchen island counter so I’m sure our hands don’t touch.
“Avery,” I start. “I’m so—”
“No, please,” Avery says. “Please, do not say you’re sorry.”
“But I am.” I have to be. “What happened last night should not have happened.”
“Fuck that.” She looks me dead in the eye. “I’m so glad it did happen. I mean that. Nothing you say can make me feel otherwise about it because it was fucking spectacular.” She pauses. “Don’t you think?”
“That’s not the point.” Unfortunately, our spectacular night together has done nothing to quench my desire for her.
“I get it. You’re my shrink and you’re not allowed to sleep with me. Those are the rules, but, you know, life just doesn’t always follow the rules.”
“Avery… you can’t tell anyone about this. Please.” I shake my head. “I don’t know yet how I’m going to deal with this, but please, I beg you, keep this to yourself.”
“No problem.” She peers at me over the rim of her cup.
“I can’t see you as a client anymore. That has become impossible.”
“That makes me sad, but I understand.” She puts her cup down and grins at me. “The way I see it, I got something far better than therapy.”
“I will make arrangements for you to see a colleague. I’m not leaving you in the lurch.” What a mess. I have someone in mind, but I will have to come clean to them. I will have to tell them why I can no longer counsel Avery myself.
“Fine,” Avery says. She has averted her gaze and is staring into her coffee cup.
“I’m really sorry.” I have to say it.
“Don’t be sorry.” When she looks up, her eyes are a bit misty.
“Not for that.” She narrows her eyes. “For the record, I know that you probably think that what happened is all your responsibility, but I don’t see it that way.
I fully consented, so don’t give me any bullshit about me not being able to consent, because I won’t accept that.
I wanted you so much, and I enjoyed the fucking hell out of our night together. ”
“Thank you for saying that,” I hear myself say but it’s as though my voice doesn’t belong to me. But this is the only way for me to do this, with the most emotional distance between us I can muster—because I enjoyed the fucking hell out of last night as well.
“Can I see you? As a… friend?” Avery’s voice is brittle, as though she already knows the answer to that question.
“No,” I say on a sigh. “That’s not possible.”
“What does this mean for you?” Her tone is different—soft and caring. “Professionally, I mean?”
I take a deep breath. “Sleeping with a client is automatically considered as inherently exploitative, no matter your consent. It’s a very serious ethics violation. If I report myself, I will most likely lose my license. Or, worst-case, I could go to jail.”
“Nic, you’re not going to jail for sleeping with me.” Avery extends her hand.
I look at it, but I can’t take it.
“Please, take my hand. One last time,” Avery whispers.
“I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“What can I do to make this less of a problem for you? Do I make a statement? Talk to someone?”
“Avery, this is not your problem. This is my problem. One I created all by myself because I should have known better.”
“It is my problem if I want to see you again.” She slides off the chair she’s been sitting on. “I haven’t felt like this with anyone… If I have, I don’t remember, and I figure that I would if it had been as special as last night.”
“The rules are that I can’t see you socially for two years,” I mutter, instead of what I really want to say, which is ‘very much likewise’.
“What?” Avery shakes her head in disbelief. “No. That’s not going to happen.”
“It’s exactly what’s going to happen.” If I have any professional pride left, I won’t let it happen.
“Is it an option not to report yourself?” Avery asks.
“Not one I could live with.”
“Is it legally required?”
“It’s ethically required.”
“What if I want to fight for you?” Avery takes a step toward me but doesn’t bridge all of the distance between us.
“There’s nothing to fight for.” Instinctively, I take a step back. “And I would ask you not to do that. Out of respect for me.”
“Fuck.” Her shoulders sag. “So you’re asking me to forget about last night?”
“I guess so.” To forget would be impossible, but repeating it is absolutely out of the question. The best way to ensure that is to never see Avery again.
“So you’re going to lose your license and we don’t get to see each other anymore?” Her voice reflects the slump in her posture. “What a fucking lose-lose situation.”
“Avery.” I might have been weak before, but I must be strong now—for her.
“You are an amazing woman. Yesterday, at the party, I saw you with the world at your feet. I realize not every part of that is easy, but you have so much going for you. You’re smart, and funny, and so talented.
Hollywood’s already falling for you. Just forget about me.
Move on. It was just one night. Just a tiny blip in whatever magnificence the future has in store for you.
” Oh, Jesus. Crying would be the worst thing I could do right now.
So I don’t. I can at least do myself that favor.
“Forget about you?” Her eyebrows arch all the way up, as though I’ve just asked her to forget the most precious thing in her life. “I’m not sure I can do that.”
“What if I ask you to? For my sake?”
She shakes her head. “It’s not as if I’m in love with you or anything, but… last night was something.”
I nod so she at least knows I agree with that. I can’t invalidate what we felt.
“Looks like I have no choice.” She straightens her shoulders.
Then she does bridge the distance between us.
“Let me know if, for some reason, you can or want to change your mind.” She brings her lips to my ear like she did last night, when she said she was going to make me come hard, and says, “Please, don’t forget what an amazing woman you are, Nic.
” She kisses me gently on the cheek. “Goodbye, then.”
She exits the kitchen and as soon as I hear the front door click shut, I let myself fall apart. For the callous mistake I made but, even more so, for the woman I, for one night only, allowed myself to be. The Nic I was before Lois died.