Chapter 25 #2
The twice-baked potatoes only need to be heated, so I place them in the oven and turn the grill to high.
When it's ready, I sear the steaks to medium-rare and put everything on the plates.
I cover them with foil, set them on the table, light a candle, and pour myself a glass of Scotch with three ice cubes.
The glass is cool in my hand as I settle back, draping myself across the sofa cushions.
Time stretches, delicious and patient, until my skin buzzes with electricity. When the front door opens, my heart speeds further.
He pauses the moment he steps inside, then moves farther in, keys clinking softly, before he stops.
I don't look at him right away. I lift the glass to my lips and take a sip, breathing, "Good evening, Dr. Mercer."
Silence.
I finally lift my head and meet his eyes.
The look on his face is worth every second of planning.
It's pure, unfiltered shock. Then anger flashes sharp and bright, chased quickly by something darker he tries to bury. His gaze drops despite himself, catching on the red lace, the heels, and the way I'm stretched out like an invitation he never issued but needs to accept.
His voice strains. "What are you doing here?"
Another slow sip of the Scotch leaves a trail of fire down my throat to my belly. "I came home. You told me to rest."
"This isn't resting," he snaps.
I smile. "It is for me."
He steps closer, then stops, as if remembering something important. Distance. Rules. The system. Who knows.
"What's wrong, Dr. Mercer?" I innocently ask, dragging my hands up my thighs.
His jaw flexes. "You need to leave. Now."
I tilt my head. "You told me to go home."
"Yes. Not come here."
I set the glass down on the coffee table, cross and uncross my legs. "This is home."
His tone is sharp. "No. It isn't."
I rise slowly. My heels click against the wood. I slink toward him, but don't touch him. I don't need to. The sweat from his run mixes with his cologne, taunting me. I softly state, "You ended the session. You sent me away and told me to sleep."
"Yes. I told you to regulate, not break into my house."
I smile, drawing my fingertips down his sweaty arm. "You told me to eat. I made us dinner. Here, have a sip." I hold out the Scotch.
He stares at it.
"It won't bite you," I laugh, gently shaking it.
"This is inappropriate, Blue," he says, but the word sounds thin, worn down by repetition.
I step closer, stopping just short of him. I murmur, "You keep saying that, but we both know what we want. Blue wants Red. Dr. Mercer wants Blue. Red and Blue want each other."
He closes his eyes briefly, like he's bracing against something internal. His voice drops. "Blue, you're crossing a line."
I smile up at him, slow and sure. "You moved it."
His eyes snap open. "I did not."
"You ended the container," I say. "You told me to ride the urge instead of obeying it. This is me riding it."
He looks at me like he wants to argue, but the words won't come. Because somewhere deep down, he knows the truth.
He taught me how to do this.
"I'm not here to hurt myself. I'm here because you're the only place I actually rest."
Something in his expression breaks. It's just a fracture, quick and dangerous, but it still shows me his weakness.
His weakness is me.
I pout. "You don't want me to eat protein and relax?"
His chest rises slowly, then falls with just as much effort.
I lean into his ear. "Don't worry, Red. I didn't wear white." I let my tongue lick his lobe.
He sharply inhales.
I pin my wide-eyed gaze on him. "I'm hungry. Aren't you hungry?"
"Go sit down," he says, and takes the Scotch, adding, "You need water. Not alcohol."
I sway my hips, look back, and smile. "Whatever you want, Dr. Mercer." I return to the couch, folding myself into it, eyes locked on his. He doesn't move for a long moment, breathing hard, hands fisting at his sides.
I curl slightly on the cushions, heels still on, lace catching the light. "You always say sleep is important. I'll sleep here. With you."
He stares at me like he's looking at the edge of something he can't come back from. And I know, with absolute certainty, that he's already halfway over it.
The room goes very still. Red stands with the glass in his hand, the candlelight cutting sharp lines across his face, and for the first time tonight, he looks human instead of clinical. Devilish. Torn. The man beneath the rules, who's been dying to come out, finally gets to be visible.
I don't rush him. I've learned better than that. I stay curled on the couch, my body relaxed yet buzzing.
It has to be his choice.
Too much time passes. I blurt out, "Was I right?"
He arches his eyebrows. "About?"
My voice shakes. I don't want it to, but it does. "That you're too good for me?"
Finally, he sets the glass down. He steps toward the couch and kneels. His hands cradle my face, and he firmly states, "If anyone's not good enough, it's me for you."
"Not true."
"I'm your therapist."
"And a man," I remind him.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
"Are you scared my father will kill you?"
His eyes open. He hesitates, then asks, "Should I be?"
"Maybe," I say, not wanting to lie.
His jaw twitches.
I add, "I didn't wear white. But you can take my virginity anywhere else, tonight."
Darkness flickers in his irises. His Adam's apple twitches.
I caress the side of his head and whisper in his ear, "You could take me in the ass. I think you'll like it, right?"
"Blue," he says, my name lowered, grounded, stripped of its warning edge.
I circle my pointer finger around his ear. "You don't have to explain. I'll love it as much as you do."
Something in his shoulders gives like a long overdue release. It's the kind that comes after holding yourself together for too long.
"You want it," I insist.
His eyes search my face like he's memorizing it. He lifts a hand, hesitates, then cups my jaw with reverent care. "Stay still, Bluebird."
Adrenaline rushes in my veins. I inhale sharply.
He guides me back against the cushions, positioning me with quiet authority, like he's arranging something fragile. Every careful, grounded touch intensifies my already overactive sensation.
"This isn't about want. It's about need."
My chest tightens, emotion blooming sharp and hot behind my eyes. "I know."
He presses his forehead to mine for a moment, breathing me in, anchoring us both. Then he lowers himself over me, in a purposeful, devotional, controlled way that finally lets me exhale.
His tongue brushes mine before his lips touch me. He only gives me one long kiss before he takes my hands, pins them over my head, and his face descends over my body.
Time loses its edges. Chaos turns to sensations and focus. A strange, overwhelming relief of being held exactly where I need to be, settles. He keeps his hands steady, voice low, and me present.
His tongue swipes my belly button, and he releases my wrists. I reach for his cock, and he pushes me down. Darkness swirls fast in his gaze. "Relax, Bluebird. Just let it happen."
So I do. I lie on the couch, letting him feast on my body, quivering while he strips the red lace from my breasts. His tongue seizes my nipple, stroking, then sucking, while his fingers taunt the other one.
Whimpers fly out of me. Tremors turn into shivers that ripple through my body. He lightly bites on my breast, and I arch into him. "Red!"
"I love how fast you unravel," he murmurs, then moves to my other breast.
He does love me!
He sucks so hard, my voice breaks, "R-Red!"
He growls, "Say my name like that again. I want to hear what I do to you." He sucks harder, not letting up.
My body explodes into a charged frenzy, making me dizzy.
"You feel how hard your body answers me? That's not an accident, Bluebird." He pushes my panties to the side and pumps a finger inside me.
"Oh God!" I cry out, arching into him.
He cocks his head, an inch from my face, curling his finger, then thrusting it slowly. "That's it. Give it to me. I want every reaction."
Sweat breaks out on my skin. A drop rolls down my cheek. My breath turns ragged.
He lowers his lips to mine. I greedily kiss him, but he pulls back. I swipe my tongue, and it hits his lips. He peers closer and presses a thumb on my clit, gliding across it.
"Do it—just do it," I gasp.
He chuckles. "Do what, Bluebird?" He lowers his mouth to the curve of my neck, continuing to work my pussy.
"Take all of me. Please!" I beg.
His gaze sharpens, shadows carving his features until the warmth drains away, leaving something intent and predatory in its place. The corners of his mouth still, jaw sets as if he's made a decision that can't be taken back. "You want my big cock in your tight, little pussy, my Bluebird?"
"Yes! Please."
"Please, who?"
"Red!"
"Who?" His expression turns challenging.
A wave of endorphins slams into me. I cry out, "Dr. Mercer! Please, Dr. Mercer!"
"You want me right here?" he asks, and thrusts his fingers deeper.
"Right there. Dr. Mercer— Oh my God. I feel you everywhere," I breathe, as fireworks burst through my cells.
"No," he says, pulling his fingers out. "You can't handle my cock right now."
"P-please! I can handle it. I'll be good and do whatever you say!" I beg, desperate like never before.
His mouth twists. He firmly repeats, "No."
"Tell me how to be good for you, Dr. Mercer! I won't fight you going in me. Please, don't stop."
He reaches over, picks up the Scotch, dips his fingers that were in me in the tumbler, and swirls them. He takes a large swig, then shoves his fingers in my mouth. "You want to be good?"
"Mmmm," I muffle, sucking my arousal and the Scotch off his fingers.
He leans into my ear, murmuring, "Then trust I know what to give you." He kisses below my lobe and adds, "Give in to me. Prove I own you."
I suck harder, my heart beating wildly, thighs dripping, sweat sliding down my cheek.
"Good, beautiful, Bluebird," he praises, and takes his fingers out of my mouth. He dips them a few times in my pussy, then holds them in front of my mouth, ordering, "Lick."
My tongue catches the bottom of his fingers, and I slowly drag it up, tease the tip, then slide it back down.
He groans, never taking his eyes off my tongue, and presses his erection into my thigh. His voice catches in his throat. "You don't get to decide tonight. I'm in charge."
"Mmm," flies out of me.
He pushes my thighs apart, tugs the side of my panties until they rip, then demands, "Stay open for me and take what I give you." He lowers his face to my pussy, puts his fingers back in my mouth, and flicks his tongue against my clit.
I gasp then suck hard, my body arching up.
"Exactly like this. Don't pull away," he directs, and pulls his fingers out of my mouth.
I take a few shaky breaths, then reach for his head, gripping his hair.
He slides his tongue inside me, circling it, then returns to my clit, flicks faster, and pumps his fingers inside me.
Violent convulsions attack me. I cry out, "I'm shaking! Don't make me stop!"
He latches onto my clit, sucking hard, and my world implodes. White light hits me, then black, then white again. It goes on and on until I think I'm going to explode out of my skin.
My voice trembles. "D-d-dr. Mercer! R-r-red! D-d-dr. Mercer!"
"I got you. Don't fight it. Just let it move through you," he coaxes, against my pussy, then flicks his tongue fast.
Tears stream down my cheeks. Another round of adrenaline pumps through me, and I hit a high, then cry out, "I can't take any more!"
"You sure?" he asks, and sucks me hard.
"Y..no...yes!" I shriek as more endorphins flood my veins.
He chuckles, slides his face up my torso, and murmurs next to my lips, "You're safe, Bluebird. You're delicious, and sexy, and mine."
Giddiness hits me as hard as my orgasm. I grip the back of his head and slide my tongue against his until the adrenaline begins to fade and he comes back into focus.
He retreats, drags his knuckles over my cheek, and mumbles, "You need to eat. Let me bring you your plate."