Page 30 of The Dark Before Light

Sorry in advance, Leo.

“No.”

I blink. “No?”

“I’m not seeing another therapist. It’s you or no one.”

Worry unfolds under my breastbone. “It would be a mistake to end therapy.”

His gaze meanders leisurely down my body before he scoffs. “Come on, Doc. I guarantee I’m not the first to think about you. Besides, we both know I don’t actually want you. I prefer bedmates about a foot shorter and without claws.”

“Enjoy your stay, Birdie. And maybe lay off the whiskey until your claws grow in.”

The memory punches me and I flinch—a reflex I can’t control or mask. My only choice is to ignore it right along with Kieran’s suddenly acute focus.

I yank the shreds of my control to me.

“That’s a worthwhile observation.” My voice is too weak; clearing my throat lightly, I continue, “Given the nature of your fantasy—that of you exerting power over me—I’m willing to consider it was a subconscious defense against the threat I pose.”

A muscle in his jaw jumps. More control flows sweetly into my hands. I don’t bother waiting for him to reply.

“I’ve clearly touched some core wounds, and your emotional defenses identified me as an enemy. Combined with your recent stretch of celibacy and hetero-normative traits…” I shrug. “Makes sense.”

Kieran shakes his head slowly; eventually, his lips twitch. “You’re a trip.”

“Does that mean you agree?” I ask levelly.

He stares a few moments, then sighs and scrubs his hands down his face. “Fuck, I don’t know. I guess.” Head down, he mumbles something under his breath.

“What was that?”

Blue eyes flash up. Open. Raw. Tortured.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you told me to get out and never come back.”

I tilt my head, bemused by the sudden shift. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I…” He can barely get the words out, his head bowing as if under mighty weight. “I told you I thought about forcing myself on you. I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”

My heart softens as years of experience in the kink community and as a sex therapist roll through me in a tender wave. He doesn’t deserve to feel guilt over a harmless fantasy. Using it as a weapon against me? That was a dick move. But I can’t let him beat himself up over the fantasy itself.

Knowing the root of his shame is in the idea of my lack of consent, I ask, “Was I enjoying it?”

His head whips up, eyes wide. “What?”

“In your fantasy, did you see my face?”

Ruddiness stains his cheekbones. Long fingers clench on his knees as his gaze veers to my throat. I’m powerless over a reflexive swallow. He sucks in a breath, blackness spreading through blue as his pupils dilate.

I stiffen against an answering rush of heat and yank the mantel of the Professor around my shoulders. I don’t even care if I pay for it later.

“Focus, Mr. Hayes.”

He twitches, gaze dropping. “Yeah, Doc. I saw your face.”

“Was I giving cues of a struggle?”

His shifts restlessly, a foot coming up to the opposite knee. I keep my gaze firmly on his face.

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