“Take your time,” he told her, and he meant it. With her as his last client of the day, he didn’t have to usher her out of the office by a deadline. Hell, he could take all night over the consult if he wanted to. And fuck, did a part of him actually like the idea of that. “Try starting at the beginning,” he suggested.
She nodded, even if the action did seem an unsure one. “My wedding is in less than four months.” She slowly lifted her head. “And I don’t …” She glanced away again. “I don’t want to be a failure on my wedding night.”
He let the statement sink in before asking, “You’re a virgin?” He tried to hide the surprise in his voice, even as his gaze dropped straight to her crotch. A crotch covered in smooth stretchy fabric, and he couldn’t help but wonder, just for a moment, what kind of underwear a virgin wore. Because he’d never fucked a virgin. Had never fooled around with a virgin—at least, no one that’d admitted to being one.
He’d definitely never had a virgin step through the doors of his clinic and ask for help.
Catching her nod, he ordered his eyes to lift, but couldn’t help studying her for a few seconds more before asking, “Does your fiancé know you’re a virgin?”
“Yes,” she said, her attention returning to him. The flush in her cheeks had heightened to cherry red.
“I’m not being judgemental here …” Fucking liar. He was being as judge-fucking-mental as a high court wig-wearer looming over a chavvy delinquent. “But I fail to see why your fiancé would have a problem with that.” No man would have a problem with a woman they were going to sleep with—were going to marry—being a virgin. Not unless they were a fucking idiot.
“Oh, no …” She shook her head slightly. “It’s not like that. It’s just …”
“It’s just, what?” he prompted, when she didn’t continue.
“It’s just that … from what others have said … about him—I heard he has some experience—”
Chase just bet he had—especially if Abi had heard it from others and not from him. Bastard probably fucked about all over town, while he expected Abi to stay pure for his own gratification. “Did you consider asking him about what you heard?”
“We talked about it, but he just said I shouldn’t listen to gossip.”
Which probably meant there was sure to be some truth in the tales Abi had been told. Chase needed to change tact before he could tell his new client that he already didn’t like the wanker of a bloke he hadn’t even met and send her running off in tears.
He also needed to change tact before he could assess why he was suddenly hating on a guy he’d never met before and who probably behaved no different than any of the guys he’d grown up with.
“Okay, let’s focus on you. Why does it mean so much to please”—this arsehole—“your new husband?” So much for changing tact.
So much for losing his damned attitude.
“Isn’t that what every new wife wants?” she asked.
Answering the question with a question. Chase got the impression she wasn’t used to focusing on herself.
“Maybe,” he said, and seriously needing to focus on what she’d come to him seeking, rather than what he’d decided sounded like a shitty set-up in her private life, he asked, “What skills do you have so far?”
Her brow creased. “I don’t understand the question.”
“What sexual experience have you had?”
“None!” she said her eyes widening. “My mother said sex outside of marriage is a sin!”
Only if you’re born female, by the sounds of it, he thought.
“Sexual experience doesn’t have to include anybody but yourself,” he explained. “Have you ever touched yourself, Abi?”
Her head was already shaking.
“Pleasured yourself?” he added, actually enjoying the purpling of her cheeks as she blushed even more.
“My mother said a lady touching … down there …” She whispered the last two words. “… is a sin, too.”
Chased smiled as he ducked his head forward until she met his eyes. “Before we go any further, I just want to clear something up, okay?” Waiting for her nod, he continued, “The only time consensual sex is a sin is if you don’t enjoy it.”
She squinted her eyes slightly, like she was searching for the lie in his words. “But, my mother …” She trailed off as Chase shook his head.
“With all due respect to your mother … she’s wrong. In this, she’s wrong. Our bodies can provide immense physical—and emotional—pleasure, Abi. Why would we be given such bodies, if we weren’t meant to experience that pleasure?”
She dipped her gaze. “I don’t—I don’t know. I’ve never …”
“I’m going to teach you.” Reaching out, he tucked a finger beneath her chin, lifting until he could see her eyes again. Fuck, he could look into those eyes for hours and never feel turmoil again. Another thought he had to shake off. “Before you try to understand the male body and what might work for them, you need to first understand your own and what works for you. Because there is nothing more beautiful to a man than watching a woman enjoying physical pleasure.”
“Really?” She almost whispered the word, and he nodded.
“Really.” He withdrew his hand, let it hang casually back over his lap like he hadn’t just overstepped a boundary. Like he didn’t want to touch a whole lot more of her than just her face. “So,” he said, clearing his throat a little, “the plan we’ll draw up for you will revolve around you. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said, though it sounded more like a question.
“We’re going to figure out what you need.” And not what your fucking knobhead of a fiancé needs. “We’re going to help you cross the barriers that are preventing you from discovering that for yourself.”
“Are you going to make me touch myself?” she asked.
He gave a half shrug, with an equally half shake of his head. “Not make. We don’t make the clients do anything here. We merely guide them, and whether or not they accept that guidance is up to them.”
“And if I choose not to … not to touch myself?”
“The clients here are always in control of their sessions. Always …”
“But?” she asked, like she’d sensed he had more to say.
“But we really need to get you past this first hurdle before we can progress in your needs.” Getting her past the first hurdle had nothing to do with his own needs, he told himself. “We need to get you to a point where you don’t treat your body and what it can provide as something to be ashamed of.”
“And when would we start this … this plan?”
“If your wedding is in four months …”
“A little less than,” she said.
“If we have three months-ish,” he said, inclining his head, “we should probably set up a weekly schedule beginning next week.”
“Okay,” she said, though she didn’t sound exactly sure.
“Raelyn or Samantha will set that up for you.”
“Do I leave now?”
He smiled. “Yes, we’re done here for today. But I have some homework for you.”
“You do?” Her features darkened into an expression of dread.
Pushing to his feet, he motioned for her to join him, which she did. Placing her less than a foot away. Her eyes less than a foot away. Lips he really wanted to see popped open again into the perfect ‘O’ more than close enough to touch.
He took a step backward. “I want you to recite that sex is not a sin. Physical pleasure is not a sin. It’s okay to touch yourself. And it’s okay to enjoy it.”
“Sex is not a sin,” she repeated, then added, “Do I have to say this out loud?”
Chase gave a soft laugh. “In your head works well, too.”
She breathed out, finally smiling what looked like a genuine smile, and the way her chest quivered the fabric of her blouse, the way her eyes paled even further while glistening at the same time … hell, Chase suddenly had the urge to bring next week�
�s appointment all the way forward to right fucking then, just so he could keep her for longer. To see how far he could get her to go with just another hour to play with.
He really needed to get her out of there before she could fuck up his head any more.
And before the rapid swelling of his cock became obvious.
He stepped toward the door. “I’ll walk you out.”
Both Rae and Sam looked up as he opened the door to reception.
“Appointment needed?” Sam asked.
“Yes, can you book Abi in for next week.” Not stepping aside, he waved her forward and caught the subtle whiff of lilies on the girl’s hair as she slid past. “Sam will take care you of you,” he told her.
At the slightest of head movements, he glanced back toward the desk, where Rae stared right at him, a single eyebrow raised. With Abi’s back to him, he shrugged, mouthed What?, but she merely narrowed her eyes before planting her smile in place as the client reached the desk.
Usually, Chase closed the door at that point. Retreated back into his office. Worked the finished appointment out of the kinks in his muscles. Except, with a single tap of her toe against the floor, he found his gaze shooting back to the profile of Abi O’Shay. The way her blouse hung freely and her un-hunched body showed the true fullness of her breasts that she’d done a decent job of concealing.
Her toe tapped the floor again, before creating a pattern of tiny beats, and each movement jiggled her ass. An ass he’d missed assessing during her appointment. A fucking grade-ten ass on the scale of decent rears.
Taking a card from Sam, Abi swung around and headed toward the exit, and Chase was damned if he could drag his attention away from the way her hips swayed side to side. The girl could hypnotise a man with those alone—yet Chase got the impression she had no idea just how fucking sexy she was.
“You’re drooling,” Sam said, just as Abi pushed out through the doors.
“Fuck off, Sam,” he told her, ducking back into his office.
As soon as he’d rounded the door, he shuttered himself in, leaned back against it. Let his head drop back as he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the stirring semi poking its head against the inside of his boxers.
A semi he suspected Rae had very much seen, with the way she’d been staring at his fucking crotch.
“Shit,” he muttered, because a low throb had already begun in his balls.
Despite his effort to close down the part of him that wanted to clear out the offices so he could bring out his toys, Chase was far from sure he’d succeeded.
***
Chase’s semi had turned into a full-on erection, thanks to the paperwork he ordered himself to do. Paperwork that involved a plan to bring Abi O’Shay out of her closeted shell.
Although the plan was of the slow and gentle progress variety, his head seemed insistent on placing himself into every scenario, leading to a totally wet and wild girl by the end of her therapy. A totally wet and wild woman who couldn’t wait to practice her new found fuckdom on anyone willing.
And Chase was certainly willing—in his head, anyway.
Fuck. Either his imagination had to take a vacay, or his dick was going to explode from mental images alone.
He jumped at the sudden in-swing of the door, his head snapping up as Raelyn strode inside, carrying a paper bag and wafting spicy scents through the room.
She marched directly to his desk, plonked the bag down in front of him, and leaned over the desktop until less than two feet away. “Since when did you start calling the clients by their first names?”
He frowned. “Since never.”
“Since this evening,” she said, straightening. “This just came for you. Try eating at home once in a while, instead of buying this junk. I heard your mum’s ravioli is to die for.”
“I do eat at home.” Just as he’d be eating there once he’d finished at the office.
Once he’d worked off some steam.
She didn’t respond, just gave an abrupt nod and spun herself around. “You locking us out? We’re off for the night.” She asked him like she already knew he wouldn’t be leaving straight away.
Maybe his efforts to discreetly shut himself inside didn’t go as unnoticed as he’d assumed. He had no intention of getting up and proving her right, though. Hell, he couldn’t stand just then, anyway, unless he wanted her to spill an opinion on how fucking hard he was.
“Goodnight, Rae,” he said instead, ducking his head back to his note-taking like he had far more important things to get on with than feeding her curiosity.
Which he did. He just needed the two of them to vanish before he could get on.
Leaving his door open—a usual occurrence so late in the day—she headed back out into the reception. With his head ducked low, Chase pretended to be working while he watched them beneath his brows, as they gathered their bags and switched out their shoes. A few minutes later, they headed for the door with their hands linked and their bags swinging, and the swoosh of the exit doors told him exactly the moment he was alone.
Shuffling the papers into a neat pile, he slipped them into the top drawer of his desk and retrieved the office keys from the next drawer down. It took barely any time at all to head out there, secure the place, dim all the lighting so anyone peering in would assume the place to be deserted.
Back at his desk, he unlocked the bottom left drawer and withdrew a ribbon-bound key he’d been thinking about for most of the day. After grabbing up the takeaway food and slipping the key around his neck, he took himself off to the staff quarters.
Once in there, he stripped off, shoved his work clothes into the laundry chute and took a rapid shower, stroking a hand over his solid cock as he soaped himself up.
Yeah, he was ready. More than fucking ready.
Stepping from the shower, he didn’t even bother to towel himself dry before he rounded the corner to the locked door with nothing but the cooling food in his hand.
Using the key from around his neck, he let himself inside, pausing just long enough to turn and re-lock the door behind himself.
The space he occupied would never speak of much to anyone who made it past the first door. Nothing but a six-by-two-foot space with dark grey walls and claret carpet, a small filing cabinet at the far end, and a second door directly ahead. Using the same key, he unlocked the second door, and as soon as it swung inward, revealing what was inside, he smiled.
“Good evening,” he said, stepping to the room.
“Good evening, Sir.”
He took a moment to secure the second door before lapping his neck with the key’s ribbon, and drawing in a deep breath, he turned to face what he termed his Toy Box.
In contrast to the small space he’d just passed through, dark grey carpeted the floor, and a deep, wine-red coated the walls. Chains strung from one of the walls. Hooks clung to another, whips and paddles all hanging from them in a long row of choice. On a third wall, beside the only other door, Chase had mounted shelves, which he’d gone on to fill with anything that’d caught his eye over the years since he’d created his private space.
Beneath those shelves, he’d set a chair that was as deep and padded as the one in the client office that Mr Miller had chosen earlier. Beside it, a hard, wooden stool to suit his less self-indulgent moods.
Both of them faced his self-designed contraption. A deep, wooden structure that took up centre stage, one solidly constructed of railway sleepers. Resembling a roughly-hewn, empty picture frame tall enough to accommodate even himself, it stood bolted tightly to the floor, secured to the ceiling via steel cables, and offered up enough adjustable leather cuffs to hold as many as three bodies in place.
Chase had never found a need for more than one.
As soon as he’d reassured himself of the order of everything else in the room, that was right where his gaze went next. The current toy. Exactly as he’d left her, exactly as he’d viewed her earlier, on the small cot in the darkest corner of the room, she lay hogtied and
ready. Ready for him.
“Thirsty?” he asked, his cock ready to leave him behind if it wasn’t offered relief soon.
“Yes, Sir.”
Not far from the exit, a small fridge had been set into the wall, and from there, he withdrew a bottle of water.
Then he approached the speaker.
Naked from head to toe, laying on her side, she strained against her bindings to lift her face toward him. Chestnut strands of hair that had passed its wash-by date feathered out from her head, and a red, double-layered silk mask hid eyes that Chase knew to be pale brown.
As he got within a few feet, her lips parted, as if she sensed his nearness. “I’ve brought you some Singapore chicken,” he told her.
“Thank you, Sir.”
Setting the bag and the water down, he leaned over her body, pleased to see the wetness already present at the juncture of her legs as he worked the ropes around her ankles. Once he’d freed them, he stretched out each of the limbs, giving a gentle massage to her thighs and her calves until the taut muscles had loosened, before he swung her legs around to the edge of the cot, leaving her arms tethered behind her.
“Do you need to use the bathroom?”
“Yes, please, Sir.”
“Can you walk?”
“I think so, Sir.”
She whimpered a little when he pushed her torso upward until she sat, but quickly stifled it by pressing her lips together, and wrapping an arm around her back, Chase helped the woman to her feet. Her movements were slow and stiff as he walked her toward the far wall. Pushing the second doorway into its room beyond exposed a small bathroom, and Chase guided her inside and to the toilet. Once he’d sat her down, he stepped outside long enough for her to relieve her bladder, before heading back in and cleansing her with a washcloth and water from the small hand basin.
“Come,” he ordered, and led her out from the bathroom and back to the cot.
He massaged her shoulders as he sank her butt back down, working for a moment at the knotted kinks at the base of her neck. Stepping closer, he gripped his cock and swept its tip over her lips, and they immediately parted even further, her chest rising and falling with the sudden hastening of her breaths.
Sex Therapy: Episode 1 (Sex Therapy #1) Page 4
