Chapter 10
Chapter ten
MD. meets LPC.
Beyond ready to go home, I finish typing on my computer and take my glasses off for the day, abhorring my next meeting.
Closing my patient’s chart, I leave the computer on, knowing that I'll have to start it back up anyway when little Ms. I’m-going-to-tell-the-Ethics-board-on-you gets into my office.
In all my years of practice, no one has been able to get under my skin the way this woman has. And lately, my family has had me strung so tight that I question my sanity for agreeing to this impromptu meeting.
Needing a moment of peace, I sit for a second and rub my hand roughly down my face before pushing my keyboard in.
When I'm ready, I briskly brush down the lapels of my suit as I stand up.
I give myself a quick once-over in the mirror by my desk, arching a brow at my intense irises that are unfortunately more striking than they are calming and the permanent five o'clock shadow across my jaw.
Wait, why the hell am I worried about what this old woman thinks when she sees me?
Checking myself, I smile, convincing myself that Ms. Johnson can’t bother me. I'll get through this little appointment, then go stop for ice cream with Aurora to congratulate myself on yet another successful work week completed.
Taking long strides, I round the corner to the lobby and stop rather abruptly, seeing nothing but hair, a long, blue skirt with matching heels, and white-tipped toes sticking out underneath.
Huh. I tilt my head curiously.
Glancing around and not seeing any older ladies in any of the other chairs, I clear my throat, tamping down irritation that the therapist is late.
I turn back to the woman sitting there quietly with her face turned away from me, seemingly so lost in thought that she hadn’t even turned her head when I walked into the lobby.
Keeping quiet, I take a few steps further into the waiting area, stopping by the receptionist desk to find our intake packet. I never turn away anyone. Ever. Even if it is after hours, the least I can do is get her an intake information sheet and a business card.
“Excuse me, miss," I say loudly, "I apologize, but we’re closed for the day, and my receptionist is gone. You’ll have to wait until Monday if you would like to come and make an appointment for intake." I firm my voice. "Is this an emergency?”
"No," she says as I'm looking down, reaching into Cathy's drawer for the packet. I grab it and round the desk, flipping through and making sure everything's there. Assured that it is, I raise my head, and suddenly the woman turns her face to look up at me, and I freeze.
It’s like my brain stops working as she begins to speak. Holy fuck. I feel the blood drain from my head.
She's beautiful.
Her deep brown eyes, lined with a soft-brown kohl, pierce mine, and I stand there, mute.
Completely dumbstruck and suffering as my brain literally turns to mush inside of my skull.
I can't even tell you how I understand what she's saying to me because I think I'm losing all control of my mental faculties.
I'm not so far gone, though, that I don't see her eyes widen a little when she gets a look at my face. However, she doesn't awkwardly stare like every other woman seems to.
“Didn’t we have a six o'clock appointment?
" she says hesitantly in a voice smooth as butter, furrowing her brows together in clear displeasure.
I'm silent, my throat working around a swallow and I feel my face heat when her eyes lower, catching it.
"My," she scoffs a soft laugh, even as the corner of her mouth tips down a little, "maybe I was right to be worried? A little judgmental, wouldn’t you say? I’m not here for intake.”
Her eyes tear away too soon as she reaches to the floor to grab her tote bag, which was hidden behind the mass of her skirt.
My brain begins to thankfully click back on, I think, and I work to find words to speak to her.
I suck in a breath that does nothing to steady me, nor help me to speak.
My throat tightens when she turns back to me and arches a pretty eyebrow as she leans forward to stand.
Vocal cords frozen, I try again, but it's no use.
It ain't happening. The alphabet is gone.
She's taken it.
No—stolen it from me.
However, though I can't manage to form a coherent word, as she stands up, I am cognizant enough to notice a pained look cross her face before it's gone too soon. I fight to keep my expression neutral, because what's that about?
Her eyes flick towards the psychiatry hall. “Um…where’s your office?” she asks in a cool, professional tone, glancing at me expectantly. When I'm still silent, she gestures with a finger towards the hall. "There?"
I nod, like an idiot.
Shit. The blood drains from my face as that displeased look on her face becomes more pronounced. She's not happy, and now neither am I because I can't stand bad first impressions. Goddammit.
Grabbing onto the bag’s handle instead of slinging it across her shoulder, Sarah huffs a long suffering sigh before walking stiffly past me, headed the way I just came.
My head turns to follow her as she walks past, and when her back is completely to me, I bring a hand up to rub at the sudden painful ache in my chest that’s getting tighter by the second.
My eyes roam greedily, watching her long hair swish thickly behind her back and brushing the round globes of her ass.
My jaw clenches when I get a whiff of her scent, and my cock suddenly jerks to life, surprising me.
Thankfully, despite the lack of blood, my brain decides to stop betraying me and snaps back into action. I narrow my eyes before pivoting smoothly and following Sarah into the hall and through the door of my own office.
Because this is Sarah Johnson, right? Has to be. And boy, was I dead ass wrong about who I thought she was. This is nothing like I'd been envisioning. But it's poetic, though, because here she is proving me wrong again.
My mouth starts to water as my cock twitches and forms a heartbeat so chaotic, painful, and unfair that I bristle, now pissed.
I'm tired from a long day of helming a difficult client’s evaluation. My brain feels broken, and now my cock hurts. And I really want my ice cream sundae. However, I try to play it cool, feigning nonchalance.
“Ms. Sarah Johnson?” I enquire in a deep, clipped tone, walking smoothly to stand behind my office chair as she sits down across from me without waiting for me to offer her a seat.
“Yes, that’s me,” she says absentmindedly, reaching into her large tote bag without meeting my eyes.
“Sarah Johnson," she almost sings in a matter-of-fact tone.
"You were probably expecting the other Ms. Johnson? I get mixed up with her all the time.” She gets a tiny grin, as if she's amused, but it's gone a second later.
Placing my hands on the back of my chair, I wet my lips, taken aback once more by the lilt in her voice. I need her gone. Need a minute to figure out what's happening to me. Why my body is doing this.
“Ms. Johnson, I’m so sorry to tell you this, but I’m afraid today isn’t a good day for this meeting,” I say smoothly, injecting as much confidence as I can in my voice.
Pain erupts in my face as my jaw ticks hard.
My fingers sink rather uncomfortably into the back of my leather office chair as I attempt with everything in me to get a fucking grip when Sarah looks up sharply.
A shocked look flashes in her hazel eyes before settling into an infuriated stare, and her nostrils flare slightly in aggravation.
I watch silently as her creamy, medium-toned skin flushes a pretty, light-rose color, darkening her skin slightly more.
It's the most beautiful thing I've ever had the privilege to witness.
"What?" she half-whispers, and I love that. I love that she's not yelling.
I adore her tone of voice. And even though she looks angry at me, I still feel so safe in her presence, oddly enough.
Feeling myself break out into a sweat, I just stare back, completely enraptured. So overtaken I can't even begin to figure out how to function.
She's going to fucking report my ass. I know it.
Unfortunately, I can't bring myself to care.
Because the longer she stares into my eyes, the clearer it becomes that something is happening within me I can't explain.
My throat bobs uncomfortably, and my chest expands as I feel my erection suddenly lengthen and thicken to its fullest extent.
A muscle jerks in my thigh as my shaft tingles, and my balls draw up tight.
My entire being fills with heat, and I pray to everything holy that I don't ejaculate on myself in front of this woman, because I can feel a steady stream of precome flowing from me, informing me that this might be a very real possibility. I can't go down like this.
I need her gone.
My heart pounds so loud I'm sure she can hear it rom where she's sitting. We're both still silent, aside from my harsh breathing and elevated heartbeat roaring in my ears.
At the look in her eyes, I suddenly imagine myself laying her down on the floor, clawing her skirt up her body, and slamming inside of her like an animal. Erasing everything I literally just said to Johnathan about propriety around women.
I bite back a groan as my fingers tighten so hard on my chair the leather creaks, protesting under my harsh grip. Precome steadily drips from the tip of my cock, slicking down my length as I struggle to maintain control.
I'm not broken, I realize, staring into her beautiful eyes.
So soulful.
The realization sends a lightning-hot shiver up my spine. Because this has been a serious, almost crippling fear of mine. That something's obviously wrong with me because of how my body and mind react around women and sex.
"We need to reschedule, please." Do I imagine my voice is soft?
Or is this my broken brain now playing tricks on me, making my shame worse?