Cards of Love: Temperance: A Forbidden Romance

by Cassia Leo

  I hug my knees to my chest and stare at the water as it swirls around the drain. “I can’t believe this.”

  “You can’t believe what?”

  “You’re finally resisting your addiction, and you’re doing it at my expense. I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended.”

  He laughs harder this time. “Oh, little bird, you should definitely be flattered. When I say I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want you right now, that is not an exaggeration in the slightest. Wanting you and being able to resist that temptation gives me strength, whereas wanting other women and giving in to that urge has made me feel out of control. You’re my strength, princess.”

  Despite the goosebumps all over my body from the cold air hitting my wet skin, I can feel my cheeks pool with hot blood. I quickly wrap myself in a bathrobe and towel-dry my hair with another one, before I grab the laptop and take Samuel with me to bed. I let the robe drop to the floor, then I turn down my covers and placed the laptop on top of the mattress. Sliding between the sheets, I smile when Samuel tsks.

  “No, no, little bird. If you’re cold, turn up the temperature on your thermostat. You’ll be on top of the covers today, so I can see every inch of you at all times.”

  I smile as I kick the covers off my bed and lie back with my head propped up slightly on a couple of pillows. “The temperature in here is fine, thank you.”

  “Actually, you might want to grab that vibrator now. Go ahead I’ll wait.”

  I hurry to the writing desk in the corner and grab the vibrator, then I hurry back to bed.

  “Okay, sweetheart. So, where was I? Oh, yes, I was talking about the first time we meet in public… I take a seat across from you and we talk for a long time, about work and how many kids we want and places we’ve always wanted to travel to. I tell you I’m a hospitality investor and I studied philosophy in college, which you find hilarious.”

  I chuckle. “You studied philosophy? Somehow, I find that very unsurprising.”

  “It’s hard to understand the world unless you understand philosophy. Matters of global politics and matters of the heart both depend on a solid understanding of philosophical ideas.” He is silent for a moment and I can’t help but notice the vulnerability in his eyes as he waits for me to either respond or judge him, which I do neither. “I tell you I studied philosophy and I want to have three children.”

  “Three children?” I sputter.

  He laughs. “That certainly got your attention.”

  My heart races as a clutch my pink vibrator to my chest. “Continue.”

  He smiles as he watches me for a moment. “Okay, you’re going to spread your legs and move the laptop between your feet so the WebCam is pointed straight at your pussy. Then, you’re going to turn on the vibrator and slide it inside you, but don’t let those little bunny ears touch your clit. Okay, sweetheart?”

  I move the laptop between my legs, then I close my eyes and bite my lip as I spread my legs and slide the buzzing vibrator about an inch inside of me, so the rabbit ears are still out of reach of my swollen nub. “Oh... Oh, yes.”

  “This view is priceless,” he remarks. “Okay, little bird, make sure you’re not touching that clit. That’s not yours. That’s mine. Okay?”

  I let out a deep moan as the vibration against my G-spot makes my pussy clench around the vibrator. “Okay.”

  “As I was saying, I tell you I want three kids and the one place I haven’t visited, that I want to visit with you, is the sacred Valley in the Peruvian Andes. One day, I’ll take you there. But for now, I take you out of the café and we go to your apartment. As soon as we step through your door, you drop your purse on the floor as I grab you from behind. I slide my hand down the front of your skirt and cup your pussy in my hand, massaging you through the wet crotch of your panties. Why are you so fucking wet?”

  My body begins to tremble with the beginnings of an orgasm and, without being prompted to do so, I remove the vibrator from inside me. “I’m wet because everything you say turns me on. Not just what you say, but the way you say it. It drives me crazy.”

  His eyes meet mine as I glance down at the laptop between my legs, and a devilish smile forms on his gorgeous mouth. “Okay, little bird. You’ve earned the right to touch your clit. But don’t forget who it belongs to. Go ahead, turn the vibrator back on and slide it all the way inside you so the bunny ears are licking that glistening pearl.”

  I close my eyes as I slide the vibrator inside me again, letting out a loud gasp as the rabbit ears touch my aching clit. “Oh, God. I’m going to come.”

  “It’s okay, honey. You could come now. You’re going to come more than once tonight. But you have to look me in the eye as you do so.”

  I lift my head slightly and open my eyes to look at the laptop between my legs, my eyes locking on his as the orgasm begins to roll through me. It begins like a nine on the Richter scale followed by a series of blissful fives and fours. He watches me intently, and I can only imagine how much he must want to touch himself. If it’s even a drop as much as I want to touch him, he must have the most self-control of any man I ever known. And just this thought sends another orgasm cascading through me as my chest fills with warm pride.

  He smiles as I slide the vibrator out of my pussy and switch it off. “I believe that second one took you by surprise,” he muses. “You need to get your sleep, Leah. I’m going to tell you a story, something I’ve never told anyone, but I want you to feel free to fall asleep at any time while I’m speaking. Now, do me a favor and get your phone. And put on the song ‘You’ by Nils Frahm. Then, I want you to turn off the lights and get back in bed before you pull the covers over yourself.”

  As if he has programmed me to be unable to resist him, I do everything he asks without question. “Okay, I’m ready,” I say as I pull the blanket and sheets over me and adjust the laptop on the nightstand so it’s still pointed at me. “The song is beautiful.”

  “Almost as beautiful as you, little bird,” he murmurs. “Okay, close your eyes. I’m going to tell you the story.”

  I close my eyes and turn onto my side, so my face is pointed at the WebCam.

  “The smell of Chanel No. 5 always reminds me of my mother. The last time I smelled it on her was as I approached her coffin, when I was eight years old. After the funeral, the chauffeur dropped us off under the cover of the porte cochérè and I immediately ran inside, up the stairs, and into the master bedroom. I raced into the en suite bathroom and straight to the vanity, where my mother would put on her makeup and jewelry every morning. The Chanel No. 5 was gone.

  “In a fit of rage, I swiped my arm across the vanity, sending bottles of perfume and jars of creams flying across the room until they shattered on the marble floor. My father grabbed me by the collar of my blazer and dragged me to my bedroom across the hall. He smacked me across the face and told me if he ever caught me in his room again, I would end up like my mother.”

  Tears slide down the bridge of my nose and my temple, dampening my pillow, but I dare not open my eyes. Instead, I hug the comforter against my breast and imagine it’s Samuel, now and back then at the age of eight.

  “I never entered my father’s bedroom again, but I heard him through the walls and doors. I heard the women he brought home less than a month after my mother passed. I heard things that no boy that age should have to hear. For many years, I hated my father. It wasn’t until last year, when my father died of colon cancer just twelve days after my thirty-seventh birthday, that I realized I had never held him accountable for my mother’s suicide. Because there was no doubt in my mind that the mental, emotional, and physical abuse he showered on her was the reason she ended her life.”

  I open my eyes to look at him, and he’s so beautiful when he’s this vulnerable. “That’s when the addiction began?”

  “Are you asking me as my therapist or as Leah?”

  I fashion a soft, reassuring smile. “I think you should know by now that I’ll be whatever you need me to b
e.”

  He closes his eyes as if he’s letting my words wash over him. “Yes, that’s when the addiction began.” He opens his eyes again. “But you’ve changed me, Leah. I’ve been to other therapists over this past year. Nine other therapists to be exact. No one has gotten through to me. No one but you.”

  I smile as I close my eyes and nuzzle my face into his neck. “Keep talking to me. I think I’m finally going to sleep tonight. But I want to fall asleep to your voice.”

  “Yes, little bird. As you wish.”

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 4

  I stare at the picture at the top of the Seattle Times article and shake my head. Samuel looks so alive and happy at the ribbon-cutting ceremony for his new restaurant on Mercer Island. I don’t want to do what I’m about to do to him, but I have no choice.

  It’s 7:30 a.m., ninety minutes earlier than I need to be here in my office. Last night was my first sleepless night in a week, since Samuel began telling me bedside stories in his soothing voice.

  I open up my email client and begin typing a new message.

  Dear Mr. Paxson,

  I very much regret I must write this email to you today. I have behaved rashly and inappropriately with you. I realize putting these words in writing presents a new level of risk for me, but I can no longer continue this interlude. We cannot continue this inappropriate contact, in person or over the Internet. There is no reasonable way we can continue on this path.

  Please do not attempt to contact me again. I have attached the same list of therapists I sent you last week, and I’ve uploaded a copy of your mental health record to your secure patient profile. Click this link to go directly to the login portal and you will be prompted to verify your identity before logging in.

  I’ve instructed our receptionist that you are no longer a patient of mine, and any attempt to visit me in my office will result in a firm request for you to leave, which will be followed up with a phone call to building security and the appropriate authorities if you do not comply.

  I’ve informed my colleagues of our inappropriate contact and they are currently reviewing my statement to determine if they should file a complaint with the medical commission. If my case is brought before the commission, my medical license will likely be suspended or, possibly, revoked.

  I hope this impresses upon you the gravity of my situation. I sincerely hope you will respect my wishes and refrain from further contact. But most of all, I hope you will continue to seek help for your addiction. You are a good man, Mr. Paxson. You should do well with continued treatment.

  Yours truly,

  Leah Grayson, PhD

  I hit send on the email, then I open up the patient file for Owen Grassley, the patient who will be coming in for an appointment later this morning. I click on a video of our last session, to carefully watch his body language and study his words and mood. As I watch the video, I write down questions and topics I can broach during our session. In the video, Owen, who has DID — dissociative identity disorder — appears agitated and extremely alert, a possible sign of stimulant use. This doesn’t mesh with Owen’s normal behavior.

  One of Owen’s alternate identities — or alters, as they are more commonly referred to – is an alcoholic. Owen was ordered to complete court-mandated therapy after being arrested for his second DUI this year. I watch closely as twenty-six-year-old Owen talks about his forty-one-year-old alcoholic alter Ralph. His body language and tone make it clear Ralph is an unwelcome presence in his life. In the video, I ask Owen if Ralph would like to speak with me today.

  “Ralph isn’t feeling well. He had a bit too much to drink last night. I think he’s trying to sleep it off.”

  “Well, would Jesse like to come out and speak with me today? I have a few questions for him if he’s up to chatting.”

  Jesse is Owens six-year-old alter, and the only identity who will discuss the sexual abuse Owen endured at the hands of his father. Owen is about to answer my question when a Skype notification comes through, automatically pausing my video and making my heart race.

  It’s Samuel.

  I close my eyes to try to ignore the notification, confident in my knowledge I turned off the auto-answer feature in my Skype settings before I sent the email to Samuel. But as I move my pointer over the red button to reject the call, I’m startled by the sound of the coffee machine in my office beeping loudly. I accidentally hit the green video button.

  I pull my shoulders back and straighten up in my desk chair. “Mr. Paxson. I believe I already told you we cannot communicate anymore. That involves any type of communication, be it written, telephonic, radio, or video.”

  He leans back and rests one arm on the back of his midnight-blue sofa, opening up that rock hard chest for my viewing pleasure. “I understand your need for discretion. And I respect your need for boundaries, as you have respected mine. But I figured we can do our final session in person. And you can give me some more insight into the therapists you recommended, so I can make a more informed decision.”

  I take a deep breath and try to listen to the voice in my head that’s telling me he only wants to meet in person so he can influence me with his sexy voice and spellbinding touch, but it’s as if my brain shuts down around this man. “Would you like me to print a copy of your file for you to take with you?”

  He smiles. “No need for that, Dr. Grayson.”

  He ends the call and no more than ten minutes later, there’s a knock at my open office door. “You should really lock the front door when you’re here alone in the office, Leah” he says, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve as he enters my office.

  Just the sight of him, the broad shoulders, that perfectly symmetrical face, the devious curve in his lips, the piercing blue eyes… Blood rushes to my pussy, my swollen lips throbbing as I watch him approach my desk.

  “Please have a seat, Mr. Paxson,” I mutter as I stand from my chair and smooth the fabric of my pencil skirt.

  He smiles as he takes his seat on the end of the gray tweed sofa closest to my desk. I grab my cell phone, my fingers trembling as I open up my voice recorder at and hit the red record button. I set the phone down on the coffee table in front of the couch, before I take a seat at the opposite and of the sofa.

  Samuel shakes his head. “No recording devices. Please.”

  I nod as I reach toward the phone and touch the red button to stop the recording feature. “Okay, what do you want to talk about? I believe you said you wanted more information on the therapists I recommended. Is there any particular therapist on the list you’d like to know about? I am pretty familiar with all of them, though a few I mostly know through conferences and associations.”

  He tilts his head as he watches me clasp my hands together on my lap, probably aware I’m doing this to hide the way I’m trembling with need. “Leah, you know as well as I do I’m not here to discuss the qualifications of therapists I will never see.”

  I let out a frustrated sigh. “I know it seems like no one else will be able to get through to you,” I begin. “I know how that feels, trust me. I’ve been there. But you have to believe me when I say that this is what is best for you. There is a reason why a patient-doctor relationship must remain limited to what is needed to help the patient.”

  He cocks an eyebrow. “You are assuming you know what is good for me. You are telling me what you think I need, rather than asking me what I need. What I need is you…like I need the air I breathe.” He stares at me for a while, possibly waiting for me to respond, before he raises his hand and beckons me with his finger. “And you know as well as I do that you need me.”

  I swallow hard and bolt up from the couch, heading toward the door, but he stands up immediately and says five words that stop me in my tracks.

  “I love you, little bird.”

  I stand just to the right of the open door, facing the wall as I breathe heavily, trying desperately to think of a response. But with each breath I take, I can sense him somewhere behind me, getting clos
er by the second, and all I can think of is how much I don’t want to stop this. I want his hands on me. I want his mouth on me. I want his cock inside me.

  Suddenly, I can feel the heat of his body next to me. I open my eyes and place my hand on the wall to steady myself. He looks even better up close. He pushes the office door closed, then he turns the lock as he positions himself behind me, his chin touching the back of my head as I face the wall.

  As soon as his hands land on my hips, satisfying my need to be touched, the trembling in my hands and chest subsides.

  “I mean it, Leah,” he murmurs in my ear. “I’m falling in love with you. And not because I can’t have you.” He kisses my neck and my breathing quickens. “We both know I can have you anytime I want. You don’t just want me, Leah. You need me.” His right hand cups my breast and I inhale a sharp breath. “You need my hands on your body.” He slides both hands down to my waist and spins me around so my back is to the wall. “You need my tongue on your wet pussy.”

  His eyes are locked on mine as he pulls up the hem of my skirt until it’s bunched up around my waist, then he kneels before me and slowly slides down my panties, slipping my feet out of my heels as he removes my underwear and tosses them behind him. His gaze is still holding mine as he holds my skirt up so he can plant a soft kiss on my hipbone. I grab onto the door handle to steady myself as he trails the tips of his fingers up the inside of my leg until he reaches my pussy.

  “Oh, my God,” I breathe as he slides two fingers inside me.

  He lays a trail of soft kisses from one hip bone to the other as his right hand fucks me and his other hand and untucks my blouse. “Take off your shirt, little bird. I want to see those beautiful tits.”