Page 12 of Done with You

How peculiar.

She’d had sex with strangers before. Hooked up with people, had one-night stands—who hadn’t?—but more often than not she came away slightly disappointed. She usually had to intervene with her own hand to get off, and no man had ever been that enthusiastic and thorough going down on her. Caden seemed to genuinely love it. While he was waiting for his balls to reload (his words, not hers), he’d slide down onto his belly and push his face between her legs just because “I like it here,” he said more than once.

Where did Caden come from? Heaven? Because it sure as heck seemed that way.

They did have some actual conversations, too. Chatted about their hobbies—both were into fitness; he liked to run and lift weights—favorite restaurants in the city; places they’d traveled, places they wanted to travel, and of course, how she got into pole and burlesque.

She remained vague about that bit, merely telling him that she’d been in an abusive relationship and that doing pole and burlesque helped with her trauma and regaining her power and sense of self. She’d been asked this question more than once, so she had a canned, but honest response. Most people dropped it after that, since her tone usually left little room for continued questioning.

Caden, like everyone else, said how sorry he was that she experienced that and that he was glad she found something that helped her. Only, unlike other people, there was a tendril of anger woven through his words. Not at her, she knew that. But at the fact that she’d had to experience anything like her abuse at all. A protective anger she appreciated, even if it was a little odd coming from a complete stranger.

He was an easy person to talk to. Didn’t seem to be overly critical or narcissistic. He asked her questions about herself and seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say. He was a little more evasive when she asked him about his life, but no red flags started to wave with his answers.

She just hoped he wasn’t in a relationship, or out on parole for spousal abuse or something. That would really suck.

It was well below freezing when she reached her car in the parking lot at five-fifteen. The pavement was slippery and the sky was still dark. Her breath cast a thick fog in front of her face as she fumbled with her key fob to open her black Toyota Corolla, and she shivered when she finally got it open and slid in behind the wheel.

It took another twenty minutes for the car to heat up enough that she could drive it. She also had to scrape the windows and defrost them from the inside.

Ugh. Winter was the worst.

By the time she got home, it was twenty after six, since she took it slow, navigating icy patches all over the city.

Quickly changing into her workout gear, she cut her rowing and elliptical exercises a little short and only did twelve minutes of strength and weight training rather than twenty. Her shower afterward was glorious and she smiled when she saw the whisker burn on her inner thighs and breasts.

Her smoothie was extra-delicious, not that she added anything extra to it, and the sun seemed to be shining brighter than ever when she headed back out to her car from her third-floor condo, to head to work.

Was this because of all the great orgasms? Her smoothie was tastier, her shower was better, and the sun was brighter? What next? The best, most understanding, and easy to work with client of her life?

Maybe.

She got into work at the same time she always did, finishing her smoothie as she unlocked the door to her office.

Then she brewed herself her double-bergamot Earl Grey Stash tea, visited the bathroom that all the offices on the second floor shared, and returned to her office to start her day.

And she already knew, it was going to be a great day, she could just feel it.

He took the stairs up two at a time to the office of his new therapist.

She was located on the second floor of a professional building dedicated to multiple different businesses. By the looks of the nameplates in the lobby, the second floor was almost entirely allocated to therapists and psychologists of some nature, while the bottom floor was a chiropractor, massage, and physio office, and the third floor (also the top floor) was a dermatologist’s office.

Aiden heaved on the door to enter the second floor hallway, and was greeted by an endless corridor of closed doors.

Slowly, with his gut spinning and the dread that had formed invasive roots in his feet and ominous twisting branches that spread into his arms and shoulders, weighing them down and making them ache, he walked the hallway reading each nameplate on the doors until he reached the one he was meant to stop at.

Dr. Oona Young.

She came highly recommended and had a waitlist that was months long.

Didn’t stop him from getting itchy and twitchy at the thought of having to share his innermost thoughts, anger, and details of his life with a total stranger.

You just ate the pussy of a total stranger for hours last night; seems like you’re okay getting personal.

That was entirely different. And by the end of the night, Luna didn’t feel like a stranger at all.

Probably because he knew every inch of her body intimately, but also because she was one of the easiest people he’d ever talked to, or ever been around. She was sweet and funny. Smart, sexy and hell, the woman knew how to suck cock like nobody he’d ever been with before.

He was a little heartbroken to wake up earlier that morning and find her gone.

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