Chapter 36 Impromptu Therapy Session
Impromptu Therapy Session
Eli's Search History: best places to buy wedding attire at short notice. Money no issue.
Emily
Carina: Don’t forget you need a dress for the wedding. You can’t wear pink. But black or white are perfect.
Carina’s message makes me freeze. I’ve completely forgotten about buying a dress—which of course she knew I would—and now I’m going to have a hard time finding something that fits.
There’s only a week to go, and with everything happening, it slipped my mind.
“I need to go shopping today,” I tell Eli.
He looks up at me, unblinking. “Okay. We’ll leave in an hour. What are we buying?”
I shouldn’t be surprised he’s assuming he’s coming.
“I need a dress for Carina’s wedding next weekend.”
Eli shrugs. “I better get a tux.”
“You’re not invited,” I counter.
“You’re not going without me,” is his argument.
Emily: Any chance I can bring a last-minute plus one?
Carina: Already added him. Make sure his suit is black.
“Carina says you have to wear black.”
Eli scoffs. “Oh no,” he deadpans. “But you know how much I love bright colours.”
I snort. “Shut up. I’m going to get ready.”
“Put makeup on.”
I freeze. “Excuse me?”
Eli doesn’t notice the anger threatening to rise. “You’ll want to see what the dresses look like with makeup, since I imagine you’ll wear it for the wedding?”
I exhale. Damn him for being right.
Upstairs, my phone rings.
I groan when I see the contact name: Mum.
Part of me wishes I hadn’t given her my new number when Eli bought me this phone. The other part of me feels guilty for even thinking that.
“Hi, Mum,” I greet, plastering a smile on my face even though she can’t see me.
“Hi, love. Just checking in.”
God, I’m a terrible daughter.
“How are you?” I ask, shimmying into a pair of jeans.
“Good. So is your father. But…”
“What is it?” I ask, nerves spiking when she doesn’t continue.
“It’s just that Graham hasn’t reappeared, and we’re getting a little worried.”
My head falls back. Thank God. I shouldn’t feel relieved that they’re freaking out about losing my cat, but honestly, that’s the most reassuring news I could hear.
Though… what the fuck do I say?
Oh, don’t worry about it. My stalker actually broke into your house and stole him for me so he could kidnap me. Oh, and now I willingly live with him. And I let him fuck me. Nothing to see here.
Think, Em. What would I say if I really had no idea where Graham was and he wasn’t currently licking his balls on my bed?
“You still can’t find him?” I ask, forcing a note of concern into my tone.
“I’m sorry, love. Maybe he found a better home?”
You’d think she’d be more freaked out. Maybe putting up flyers? Searching for him? Nope.
“Maybe. Keep an eye out, please,” I reply, slipping my blouse over my head.
“Of course. Now, have you been losing any weight?”
My mood sours, and I clench my jaw to keep from snapping at her.
“I don’t know.”
“You know you need to eat in a calorie deficit. Have you been using that tracking app I sent you? Honestly, it’s fantastic. You need to lose your butt fat, Em.”
I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose and taking a slow breath. She means well. She means well.
“No. I haven’t downloaded it.”
“Why not? How are you supposed to find—”
“I actually have found someone,” I blurt. “And they like me just the way I am.”.
Oh. Where did that come from?
Mum’s silence is deafening. “You have a new girlfriend?”
I wince. “Uhhh. No. I’ve just started seeing someone. A man.”
More silence. “I thought you’d sworn off men after the last one—”
“I’m actually really busy. Gotta go. Love you.”
“Oh. Love you too. Bye.”
I stare at my reflection after the call clicks off. I'm not sure where that bolt of confidence came from, but it felt really fucking good.
"Angel?" Eli calls from downstairs.
"Coming!" I shout back, grabbing my leather jacket—yes, the one with his name on—before hurrying down the steps.
I can't help the pang of disappointment that hits me when Eli tells me we're taking the car not the bike. I've enjoyed the feel of the wind in my hair as we ride. It doesn't hurt that it means I get to press up against his muscular back too.
London blurs outside the windows on our way to the shopping centre.
Eli eases the car into a space then hops out, running around to open my door.
“Where should we go first?” I ask as he takes my hand, leading me inside.
I’m thinking H the sleeves have a slight ruffle; a high slit runs up the leg.
I look in the mirror.
“No.”
One word. That’s all he gives me.
Tears threaten.
“You’re right. I look ugly.”
Eli stands and moves behind me, his eyes raking over me.
“You look too beautiful.”
I shake my head.
“It’s too revealing,” he says. “Try a different one.”
I spin, narrowing my eyes. “You don’t get to tell me what to wear.”
“I don’t want anyone seeing you like this.”
I shimmy the dress off with a huff. “I’m changing because I don’t like it. Not because you told me to.”
Each dress I try, Eli vetoes.
“Too much leg.”
“Too much shoulder.”
“Too low-cut.”
By the fifth one, I snap. “You’re not my boyfriend.”
Eli steps in close, jaw tight. “No? But I’m the one who’ll lose my mind at the thought of anyone touching you.”
“No one is going to touch me.”
“They’ll want to. They’ll picture it. Imagine you naked.”
I wrinkle my nose. “They won’t.” He opens his mouth. “But even if they did,” I continue, “it shouldn’t matter.”
His fists clench.
I sigh. “It doesn’t matter if people look. They’re not the ones I want touching me. It’s not their bed I’m going home to.”
That earns a slow smile. “That’s right. You’ll be in our bed.” He bites his lip. “Okay. Try another. I won’t be so judgey.”
The last dress is an elegant black midi with pleated, flared sleeves and a side split. Modest, but sexy. Flattering without showing too much.
“That one,” Eli murmurs from his seat. He’s completely still, like he’s restraining himself.
“Why?”
“Because it’s the first one you’ve looked comfortable in all day.”
And fuck him for being right again.
Every time he said no, I’d been secretly relieved. Too much skin. Too much fat. Too much me.
But this one feels… right.
Looking in the mirror, I smile.
As I start to undress, Eli’s hands cover mine on the zip, lowering it for me. My breath catches as he slowly peels the fabric from my body.
He stands behind me, the heat of him scorching my newly exposed skin.
Our eyes lock in the mirror. His fingers brush over my bra, a shudder racing through me, before trailing lower and slipping beneath the elastic of my underwear.
“Eli,” I whisper—I don’t know if I want him to stop or keep going.
“Shh, Angel. You don’t want them to hear, do you?” His breath is hot against my ear.
My hips jolt as he presses against my clit. A squeak escapes me and his hand slaps over my mouth.
He dips two fingers into my already dripping pussy, his thumb staying on my clit, driving me mindless with pleasure.
My head tips back, resting against his firm shoulder, his hand still covering the whimpers and moans I can’t control.
“Let go, Angel,” Eli murmurs, his voice rough in my ear.
My hips buck wildly as my orgasm crashes over me, blinding pressure rippling across my skin and through my core.
Eli muffles the sounds tearing from my throat until I collapse against him, spent, satiated. My eyelids droop.
He pulls his fingers free, then wraps his lips around them, sucking away the remnants of my release.
The sound he makes has my clit throbbing all over again.
But then he’s helping me back into my clothes, calling the assistant in as if nothing happened. He hands her the dress we chose and asks her to find matching accessories and recommend the best tux to complement me.
By the time she’s back with the perfect combinations, my head is spinning.
Eli hands everything to the girl at the register.
“Paying separately?” she asks, eyeing me.
I can practically hear her thoughts.
Surely a man like him wouldn’t be with a woman like her.
I open my mouth to say yes—because obviously I’m paying for my dress—but Eli kisses my temple.
“No. Put it all on my card.”
Her brows lift, but she rings up the total.
“That will be three-thousand-four-hundred, please.”
Good lord. I ended up with a new dress, heels, handbag, necklace, and earrings. And Eli bought a suit and shoes.
Eli swipes his card without a care in the world.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell him as we walk back out the shop. It’s been almost three hours and my stomach rumbles.
Eli doesn’t acknowledge my comment, just picks up my hand with his one that’s not carrying the bags, and leads me over to a little cafe selling artisan drinks and pastries.
I order a croissant filled with cheese and ham, and Eli does the same, and then we both get an iced coffee to go alongside. I’m ready to swipe my card—as a little gesture of thanks given the insane amount Eli has spent on me today—but he beats me to it.
“You shouldn’t spend so much money on me,” I say as we take a seat while waiting for our food to be heated.
Eli takes my hands in his, kissing my fingertips. “I like spending money on you. And I can afford it, so why wouldn’t I?”
“But you’re just a tattoo artist? Surely you don’t make that much?”
He laughs loudly. “It’s more lucrative than you’d think.” His jaw tightens. “But no, you’re right. I have money from my father’s inheritance.” Then his eyes glaze over a little at the mention of his dad.
I squeeze his hand. “You don’t have to talk about him.”
Eli’s head shakes. “No, it’s okay. He left me a load of money when he died—the idiot never thought to take me off his life insurance, or out of his will. I’m his only kid and my mum was gone…” He shrugs.
“Where was your mum, through everything?” It’s a question I’ve wondered ever since he opened up about his father’s abuse.
Our food is set down in front of us. Only then does Eli answer.
“She was there to start with. But you know—it’s not just me he was beating. She took the brunt of it for a long time. Then one day she just up and left.”
“She left you with him?”
Eli takes a bite of his croissant, as if he needs a moment before he speaks. “Yeah. One day she was there. The next? Well, then I was his only target.”
My heart aches for the young boy that faced his father’s abuse all alone. The one who turned to cutting as a way of blocking out the pain. Then became fixated on someone who seemed as broken as him in order to stop that.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” I tell him, meaning every word.
Eli swallows. “Feel like I should be paying you for an impromptu therapy session.”
I shake my head, grinning despite myself. “Let’s call it a freebie.”