Chapter 6 Embrace It #2
My heart palpates as I consider whether he could be behind Tom’s disappearance. It doesn’t track with what I know about him so far…
Eli follows me back into my office, taking a seat on the couch as I settle into the opposite armchair. I like to keep this room neutral and casual—not clinical like a doctor’s office.
“Doctor Morgan,” he greets, nodding his head at me, his hands resting on his thighs, clad in dark denim.
“Eli,” I reply, welcoming him, though I feel a little more on edge than usual.
“What are we discussing this week?” he asks, and I laugh, the sound a little forced.
“I think that’s supposed to be my question,” I reply.
His pearly white teeth bite down on his bottom lip in a bashful grin. “Apologies.”
I take the opening to steer the session. “If you’re open to suggestions, perhaps we could discuss the other women you stalk?”
His gaze narrows. “What about them?”
“Well, we’ve discussed Jenny. Why the others? What intrigued you about them?”
He shifts, crossing one ankle over his knee, leaning back on the sofa with one arm casually thrown over the backrest behind him.
There’s a gleam in his eyes—something I can’t quite understand. Like he’s in on something I’m not.
“They all looked like her,” he says, his eyes scanning my face for a reaction. “Blonde, skinny, a little broken.”
Why am I disappointed that I’m not his type?
I’m so far off blonde and skinny it’s not even funny. Though, I suppose I might qualify as broken.
“You never deviate from this pattern?” I clarify.
He hesitates for a fraction of a second before answering. “No. Always the same.”
“And you never make your presence known? That’s what you said, right?”
I’m pushing too hard. Bordering on unprofessional. But I can’t seem to stop myself.
He tilts his head slightly. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”
My heart pounds in my ears. “Yes, of course. I’m just trying to get a clearer picture of your actions so I can help you more effectively.”
I force a smile.
“I just watch them,” he says.
For a moment I want to ask him more questions. He’s the one person who could possibly shed some light onto my own stalker situation.
Clearly, I’m not his type, so he’s not the one leaving my fingers as presents.
But I chicken out before the words can leave my lips.
When his session ends, I’m disappointed. Something about him intrigues me, makes me want to spend more time with him than just one measly therapy session a week.
I need to be careful. He’s supposed to be a case study, but my body reacts to him like a woman. I’m a doctor of the mind, and I can’t even regulate my own pulse when he’s around.
He clears his throat as we enter the reception area. “Doctor Morgan?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think we could do multiple sessions a week?”
Was he listening to my thoughts?
“Why do you feel like you need extra? It seems like you’re doing well at the moment.”
As much as I want to jump on the opportunity and say yes, I don’t see the need for more sessions. Other than to curb my growing addiction to his enigmatic presence.
He shifts, almost sheepish. “I just feel like we’re making progress… and I don’t usually talk to people like this. I don’t want to lose momentum.”
His eyes meet mine, steady. “I think I could benefit from a little more time.”
Damn him.
“Okay,” I reply. “Speak to Kayla about booking another session. I should have some availability.”
His smile is blinding, lighting up those pale silver irises. “Thanks, Doctor Morgan. I really appreciate this.”
He turns and heads to the front desk, where Kayla greets him with a smile.
My next client is Tess—Carina’s friend. I did have to disclose to the ethics review board that we have a mutual friend, but I don’t see Tess outside of these sessions, and with my assurance I could remain professional, they agreed to it.
“Hey, Tess. How are you and the baby?” I ask as we step into my office.
Tess rests a hand on her swollen belly, a softness in her eyes that wasn’t there when she first started seeing me a few months ago.
“We’re good. He’s been kicking me like crazy today. Honestly, I think he might secretly be mad at me. Like—hello, I am your mother. Don’t test me, young man.”
I raise a brow, smiling. “He?”
“We don’t actually know,” she admits with a small laugh. “I just have this gut feeling it’s a boy. Like a little premonition or something. But Kai wants to be surprised.”
Lately, our sessions have become more of a casual catch-up than actual therapy. We rarely talk about the reason Tess first came to see me.
Processing and healing from trauma aren’t the same for everyone.
For some, it requires years of therapy—others never fully recover.
But then there’s those like Tess. She has a resilience about her that has sped up some of that healing.
Is she perfect? No. But she doesn’t seem to need me in the same way anymore. At least, not for right now.
As we wrap up, I pause. “Tess?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you think you still need my help?”
She blinks, caught off guard by the question.
“I guess… not as much. Ever since finding out Kai is the father, it’s like I’ve finally been able to put Nikolai’s ghost to rest.”
I nod, pleased. “That’s good to hear. Maybe it’s time to scale back. What if we move to monthly sessions instead of weekly, and see how that goes?”
“I’d like that,” she says, smiling warmly. “Thank you.”
By the time I get home, I’m exhausted. I toe off my heels by the front door, immediately stripping out of my clothes and pulling on my Oodie. I’ve never understood people who wear outdoor clothes inside. Why would I want to be uncomfortable in my own home?
No, I’ll wear my fuzzy socks and blanket hoodie with pride. Well… pride might be a bit strong, considering I can’t even look at myself in the mirror most days.
I collapse onto the couch, ready to begin my usual evening routine of reading psychology books and eating my weight in crisps—when something on the coffee table catches my eye.
Another present.
This one is rectangular, wrapped in brown paper with a bow on top. I hesitate for half a second, then curiosity gets the better of me. I snatch it up and tear the paper away to reveal a book.
But not one of my usual kind. I prefer self-help or educational reads. This… is a romance.
As I slide the rest of the paper off, a small note flutters out:
I’m sorry I made you cry with my last gift. I hope this one brings you more joy. I noticed you like to read—perhaps you’ll find this more interesting than your usual tastes. Always yours x
My eyes dart around the room, searching for… something. Am I being watched right now?
Why doesn’t that terrify me the way it should?
I set the book down on the sofa beside me, ignoring it as I pick up my current read: The Myth of Normal.
Most people would probably find it dull, but I enjoy it. I'm a trauma specialist—I focus on talk therapy, helping patients work through the lasting effects of traumatic experiences.
Not every client comes to me for trauma, of course. Eli, for example. But I’d be willing to bet he didn’t just wake up one day and decide to become a stalker. Something triggered it. Something buried. Trauma.
Still, tonight I can't seem to get in the right headspace. My gaze keeps drifting to the other book, like it’s taunting me—begging me to give it a chance.
Screw it.
And just like that, I spend the next two hours completely absorbed, devouring the story, barely daring to breathe for fear I’ll miss something.
My stomach growls.
I freeze.
It’s been a long time since I felt actual hunger pangs. I usually graze—snacks throughout the day, followed by one oversized meal at dinner. The fact that hunger crept in without me noticing? That’s... new.
Carefully, I set the book down to save my place and pad into the kitchen, pulling out the ingredients for beans on toast. I can’t be bothered to make anything fancier—I just want to get back to the story.
I keep reading on the sofa for a while after dinner, then slip into bed, eager to continue beneath the covers.
The chemistry between the characters has me squirming, thighs clenching with need.
The wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of my pussy—
Oh god.
Arousal slicks my thighs as I turn the page.
"You’re a filthy little slut, aren’t you? Come for me."
I drop the book, my heart pounding.
My eyes flick toward the bedside table… to the drawer I haven’t opened in a very long time.
Embrace it, I whisper to myself.
I slide it open, fingers curling around the object I’m craving: my vibrating clit sucker—thankfully battery-operated, so I can pop in fresh ones without waiting for a charge.
The low hum fills the air as I switch it on, trailing it down the length of my body.
The moment it grazes my clit, my hips jolt off the bed.