Page 10 of Taken Online

“No,” I say, still smiling. “Please continue.”

He notices I don’t offer the tea or water again. Starts fidgeting with his sweater.

“Well, I got caught doing something inappropriate in my car. Totally not on purpose. And unfortunately, a cop saw. Boom. Court-mandated.”

I remember that video. Fuck.

One of the old ones. Phone camera. Grainy quality. But that orgasm? Real. I played it every night for a month, I probably still have it somewhere buried in my gallery with the rest of my videos of him.

Though, I had video footage of a different angle from the event since I followed him in my car and filmed him from afar. He didn't even notice, which was concerning. I hated no self awareness.

He toys with his necklace. I watch his hands.

“Do you often masturbate in public?” I ask, gripping the notebook.

He flashes a smile—dirty as sin—then flips back to shy.

He can’t decide: does he play innocent and pull compassion out of me, or seduce and have me eating out of his hand?

Or maybe he really is shy.

I jot a note.

Clinical Note: Possibly shy or manipulative. Unlikely both.

“Yes, sir… I’m usually very horny.” He slides his hand from his necklace to his zipper. Lowers it slightly.

Seduction, then.

Interesting choice.Why?

Did he peg me as the type who fucks clients? What about me gave him the impression that being sexually appealing gets him in better graces with me than being shy and pitiful?

Tell me, Asher.

I wish I could tie him up, shake him a bit, reveal everything his mind is thinking of me. Want every single little nugget of information even if it's negative.

“Can you heal me?” he says, lips parted. “Make me stop being such a… slut? Please, Doctor?”

Jesus Christ.

He was going to be a handful.

And not in the way I’d fantasized.

Chapter Three

ASHER

Thetherapistwasgivingme a glare of neutrality. Absolutely nothing to work with. Did I misread the signs? I could’ve sworn I saw him check me out. I stopped my zipper midway, noticing his eyes hadn’t drifted below my collarbones. My cheeks flushed. He’s probably straight. This isn’t gonna work. I feel my stomach drop the longer he stares at me. No spark. Nothing.

I sit up straighter.Fuck me.

I hated being aroundnormalmen. Men who didn’t spend their nights jerking off to pretty boys online. Men with full-time jobs, normal schedules, and stable relationships. Men who wore ties and never drove above the speed limit. Men like him. Because around those men, I felt less powerful. Less... me.

“Do you do this often?” he asked, his voice firm but not unkind.

The fluttering started in my stomach. A familiar sign I was nervous, usually got this when I needed to bail on a date with someone who makes me uncomfortable. But he was my therapist, so couldn't exactly leave, could I?

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