Chapter Twenty-One
Maya
My head was spinning so much after my session with Ryan that I had to cancel the rest of my day.
I hate rescheduling, but it’s necessary.
It’s not fair having my patients pay to speak to me when I can’t be present for them.
I’ve already instructed Charlotte to adjust my schedule going forward so Ryan is the last appointment of the day.
I can’t let this happen again and affect my other patients.
What I can’t understand is why it’s happening in the first place.
Damn it. Why does that man still evoke such potent feelings in me?
And what the hell was he talking about? It’s like he knows.
But he can’t. There’s no way. I’m so careful not to show my strength.
I never let anyone see how quickly I heal.
With the exception of Friday night, I’ve kept it all under wraps for years. I haven’t…
No. There’s no way. None at all. He wasn’t being literal. I’m reading too much into everything.
After scrubbing my office of his scent—that now seems scarily similar to the masked man—I spend time practicing grounding exercises before giving up and deciding to head home for the day.
That voice pushes me to notice the scent, but I push it back down.
I can’t do this. I can’t let the voice win.
Can’t let it take over and put everyone at risk.
Breathe in for four seconds.
Hold for four seconds.
Out for four seconds.
Hold for four seconds.
I can do this. I am in control.
Unlocking my front door, I’m strangely not met by the barks and howls of my dogs.
My heart thunders in my chest as I race through my home only to find them surrounding him.
He lounges lazily on my couch, wearing dark dress pants, a fitted gray shirt and, of course, a mask.
It’s a different one today—black material that covers his mouth and obscures his eyes. My pussy is throbbing already.
If it weren’t for the mask, he would look right at home. Even with the mask, he looks at home. His arms are draped over the back of the couch, his legs spread with one foot resting on his other knee.
“You’re home early, Kitten.”
“Uh… yes. I um… yes,” I stammer, unsure what it is exactly that has me feeling so guilty or like I need to explain myself. He’s the one who somehow got into my house without a key or a conversation.
“Looks like you need me to take your mind off something. Take your clothes off,” he orders in that deliciously demanding tone of his.
It leaves my mind gloriously blank and has me complying instantly.
Unbuttoning my blouse, I allow the silky fabric to slide off my shoulders.
Next, I shimmy out of my pencil skirt and unhook my bra, letting that drop to the floor too.
I kick off my heels, and then finally, I peel my lace panties and stockings down my legs, leaving my body completely bare.
He pushes to a stand and walks over to me, pausing only to pick up my clothes and fold them. He keeps me standing on edge, waiting for his attention to return to me. My skin thrums with anticipation and desire.
“Upstairs,” he says, finally angling his face toward me again.
I feel his stare on my ass as I ascend and put a little extra sway in my hips.
His warm hands land on them as soon as we reach the top of the stairs, and tingles surge where his skin connects with mine.
God, I need this. I need him to stop my spiraling thoughts and that monstrous voice in my head from taking over.
I need to descend into the floaty high of subspace where I can switch off from everything else. He runs his nose up my neck before circling me and walking backward, planting himself on the edge of the bed.
“Crawl to me.”
My breath hitches, but I drop to my knees instinctively and then fold forward onto my hands.
Butterflies swarm in my stomach, and a slight tremor runs through my body.
Everything feels uncertain, and I need to know what’s going to happen in some ways, but in others, I find myself trusting him to know what I need.
My pussy throbs and clenches, and I’m sure I’m dripping with need. But my mind is gloriously blank of all thoughts beyond wondering what’s going to happen next. I crawl until I’m kneeling in front of him, gazing up through my lashes.
My eyes track the outline of his hard length stretching down his thigh, and my mouth waters. I want to taste him so badly. He strokes a hand down my face before cupping my jaw and angling my face up.
The power dynamic of him fully clothed and masked while I’m naked and exposed sends a thrill through me.
“Tell me what happened today,” he asks in a tone filled with care and affection. Far too much for someone I don’t really know. I’m not sure how to answer him. I’m not sure if I could even answer myself.
“I… I wasn’t feeling great, so I decided to finish early.”
Slowly, he unclips his belt buckle and slides it out of the loops before setting it on the bed beside him. He undoes the button on his pants and pulls his zipper down to free his thick cock. I lick my lips and lean in closer, the need to taste him unlike anything I’ve ever felt.
I’ve given blowjobs before. They felt safe, controlled, but there was no joy there. Nothing particularly excited me about them. But this is different; the idea of tasting his spend as he fills my mouth has me aching with need.
“Do you want to suck it?” he asks, and I nearly swallow my own tongue at how fast I nod my approval.
“Yes, please, Sir.”
“Then tell me the truth—all of it—why did you come home early today?”
My pulse thunders traitorously loud, and blood rushes in my ears. The idea of him withholding from me makes me want him all the more. He picks up the belt and runs it through two of his fingers. “Or face the consequences, which I can promise you won’t enjoy.”
“I’m a therapist,” I protest, shaking my head. “It’s something about a patient, so I can’t tell you. There are some things I’m not able to share with anyone, and I need you to respect that.”
“Don’t tell me about the patient,” he replies, one hand supporting his weight while the other runs up the length of his cock. “Tell me what happened to you. What made you feel like you had to leave work so early and come home with your thoughts spiraling? Do it without breaking confidentiality.”
Shit, he’s good. How does he know exactly what to say? How to find the loopholes and get what he wants without pushing me too far? He slowly pumps his cock, and I watch longingly as droplets of pre-cum glisten on the head. I ache to taste him.
“It’s embarrassing,” I say, whimpering as my face heats and I look at the ground. “And you won’t like it if I tell you.”
“You won’t like it if you don’t,” he practically snarls at me, his harsh tone brooking no argument.
I squeeze my legs together where I remain kneeling before him. My mind is being pulled in two different directions. I want to tell him. I want to be honest, but there’s so much I can’t tell him. And so much he won’t tell me.
Seconds tick by as fear grips me, insisting that he’ll be angry or even worse, disappointed in me. But in the end, my need to please wins out. My need to submit to him overrules all else.
“I have a patient who… gets in my head,” I admit, refusing to look directly at his masked face.
“He’s attractive. Very attractive. And he has made advances toward me.
He has something called erotic transference.
His attraction to me isn’t real. It’s part of his process.
But I find myself drawn in by it. I know I shouldn’t.
I know how wrong it is. But some part of me is drawn to him in the same way I am to you. I’m sorry, Sir.”
I hang my head low, my cheeks burning with humiliation, and I'm afraid to look at him.
“You want him?” he asks, and my shame intensifies.
My eyes well with unshed tears as I realize what I’ve been afraid to admit is becoming undeniable.
I want Ryan Rivera. Not just in the sexual way I crave my masked man.
I want the future Ryan talks about. The community and the belonging.
What the man in front of me could never give me while he keeps me at arm’s length.
But Ryan can’t give it to me either. Even if he wants to. He’s my patient. I could never go there.
“Yes,” I finally whisper after the silence has stretched to an unbearable level. But I’m unable to say more. Unable to admit more.
He says nothing, just sits before me languidly stroking his cock and remaining stoically silent. When I can no longer handle the warring emotions swirling inside me, I raise my gaze upward and let him see me.
He smiles.
Even under the mask, I see the glint of his teeth. It’s not a happy smile. It’s one that speaks of a predator with his cornered prey. A smile that speaks of ferocity and promises retribution.
And I want it all.
“I’m going to fuck your face now,” he promises, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
A whimper escapes me at the gesture, both the physical contact and the way he tells me what’s going to happen. Exactly as I need him to do. He’s not sacrificing his dominance; he’s asserting it while still meeting my needs.
“I’m going to paint your pretty little throat with my cum.
Then you’re going to swallow every last drop.
After that, I’m going to fuck your tight cunt, and you’ll think about how much you want that patient of yours every second that I’m inside you.
You’ll imagine that it’s him you're begging to fuck you harder. You’ll want his face behind my mask.
And the next time you see him, you’ll remember that you’re a dirty little slut who wants his cock. ”