Chapter 11 #2
It's for him to imagine.
It's to drive him crazy until he eventually begs to take it off me.
I stitch fast, but the seams come out flawless, as if the needle understands exactly what this moment demands.
The panties are barely there, the kind that would slide under the sundress without leaving a trace.
The bra is almost laughably thin, with two soft triangles of lace that will show every response my body has toward him.
When it's done, I hold it all up. My breath catches. It's the first thing I've ever made that feels like a confession and is perfect without revisions.
Before I can overthink it, I fold the lingerie into a tiny bundle and shove it into my oversized purse. My pulse thrums under my skin, growing hotter with every indulgent thought I create.
For the rest of the afternoon, I work on the projects my mom wants me to get done. When five hits, I don't say goodbye to anyone and hightail it out of the office.
The entire way to Red's office, energy vibrates off me. I walk too fast. My thoughts race loudly, but the closer I get to his building, the lighter I feel. By the time I reach his floor, I'm floating.
Shirley has her coat on and her purse slung over her shoulder. "Hi, honey. You're a bit early. Dr. Mercer went to get some fresh air before your appointment."
"It's okay. I couldn't wait." My smile stretches too wide, but I can't stop it.
Her eyebrows pinch slightly. She pauses, then nods. "Have a great evening."
"You too!"
She disappears through the elevator.
I pace the waiting room, unable to sit. I move the few items on her desk around, then put them back in order so no one will ever know. After ten minutes, I can't handle it.
I push Red's door open, pass the doorway, and freeze.
I had forgotten about it.
When did that happen?
The hourglass I sent him on Monday sits on his shelf, front and center, lit by the late-afternoon sun, glowing as if it were born to be there.
A bright, sharp sound bursts from my chest in a half laugh, half gasp. I step closer, running my hand over the clear bulb, then flip it, watching the blue sand fall gracefully.
He kept it.
He put it somewhere he could see it whenever he looked away from a patient. Everyone can marvel at how beautiful it is and how the blue and red go perfectly together.
Just like us.
My entire body lights up.
I flip it again, staring at the sand, wondering how many times Red's watched it fall since Monday.
He clears his throat behind me. "Blue. You're early."
"I know." I bounce once on my toes, barely containing the happiness bursting out of me. "You kept it."
He glances behind me at the hourglass, his jaw tightening. "We should talk about it."
"Why?"
"It's not appropriate to send me gifts."
I laugh. "Don't be silly. Besides, I broke yours, remember?"
He doesn't say anything or move. Concern fills his gaze.
My face falls, and my heart drops. "You don't like it?"
"I didn't say that."
I tilt my head. "Then what's the problem?"
"Patients shouldn't get their therapists' gifts. It's a boundary—"
I laugh, cutting him off.
His eyes flare with irritation.
"Wow," I breathlessly gush, grabbing the desk, then sitting in his chair.
That was hot.
Maybe he'll take me with that look in his eyes.
Yes. I'll irritate him before he slides inside me for the first time.
"Blue. Are you okay?" he questions, rushing to my side.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My pulse beats too wildly to speak.
"Blue?" he frets, sitting on the desk.
I slowly meet his eyes with so much energy coursing through me, I can barely breathe.
He tilts his head and puts his hand on my shoulder.
Tingles zip down my spine, racing to my core. I tremble.
"Blue, have you been sleeping?" he asks.
I grip his desk, inhale deeply, and turn toward him slowly, smiling. "I've been working."
"That's not what I asked."
"I wanted to make something perfect for you," I explain.
Confusion fills his expression. "What do you mean?"
"I did." I point to my bag. "I didn't even have to draw it on paper. You're going to lose your mind."
He presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose. "Blue, we need to talk about your sleep. And your focus. And the intensity of—"
"Do you want to see what I'm so proud of?" I interrupt, breath hitching higher in excitement.
He studies me further.
I reach for my purse and pull out the delicate, rose lingerie. "I made this for you."
His eyes widen, full of sharp shock, immediate alarm, and a flush he tries to fight. "Blue, put that away."
In a deadly serious voice, I ask, "Why? I made it for when I lose my virginity."
He holds his breath.
I add, "And not just lose it. Give it. On purpose. To someone I choose."
His voice drops an octave, torn between authority and panic. "This is not appropriate. You cannot bring sexual items into our sessions."
I breathe. "But don't you see? This is clarity. This is me admitting I was wrong about Brax. He doesn't get my virginity. I thought I was saving it for him, but I wasn't. I saved it for you. All of it. And I wanted you to see it first."
His jaw twitches. "No. I'm your therapist. I shouldn't see that, nor will I do what you just said."
"But it's what I'm going to wear," I whisper, leaning one inch closer, "when it finally happens."
He shakes his head once, but I can tell he's desperate to stay composed. "Blue, I need you to hear me. This is a boundary. A hard one. You cannot sexualize yourself toward me. You cannot bring lingerie into my office and tell me that I'm going to take your virginity."
"Why? You are," I insist.
He closes his eyes, shaking his head. He mutters, "Blue..."
I put my hand on his thigh. "I wanted you to know, because you're the only person I trust with it. You're the one I'll let burn my life down as long as you keep touching me."
He shuts his eyes, swallows hard, and his breath shudders. He asserts, "This tells me you're not safe right now. You're not sleeping. You're working compulsively. You're idealizing me to a dangerous degree. We need to refocus immediately on stabilization."
I smile and move my hand an inch higher on his inner thigh.
He glances down at it, then at me.
I graze my thumb against his leg, stating, "I didn't put it on today because I knew we had work to do. But look at it. I did good, right?" I pick it up and hold it in front of him.
The muscles in his cheek twitch.
My voice drops. "Tell me you can see my talent. I wasn't lying when I said I didn't even draw this out." My heart races faster.
Does he not like it?
My lips quiver as well as my hand.
He wraps his large hand around mine, gripping me and the lace. His voice comes out rough. "You're definitely talented."
"I need you to look at it," I whisper, then tear up and beg, "Please."
He lowers his gaze to the lingerie.
I murmur, "Can you see me in it?"
"Yes," he admits, but it's barely audible.
Heat explodes between us.
He doesn't look away from the lace.
Relief hits me. I smile and restate, "I made it for you."
Fire explodes in his eyes, hungry, desperate, and just as chaotic as I've felt all week.
Euphoria hits me harder. For the first time since Sunday, I know I've stepped somewhere he can't ignore.
He'll never unsee me in this, whether I'm wearing it or not.
I reach over and flip the hourglass on his shelf, watching the sand drop grain by grain, toward the moment he finally realizes that he isn't in control.
I am.