Page 20 of Taken Online

Instant shift. Whatever smile he was wearing evaporated. He gestured for me to follow him into the office, like I was some misbehaving pet.

I only followed him because it was court mandated.

He shut the door behind me and took his seat across the room.

“You were late, Asher,” he said, tone clipped.

I scoffed. The audacity.

“I guess that’s something we have in common,Blake,” I said flatly.

His jaw tightened. He put his tablet down and crossed his arms.

“Did you complete your task?”

Task.

“You mean where I’m not allowed to come?” I asked, glaring.

He inhaled slowly, visibly re-centering himself. “Asher, that was a controlled parameter we established to isolate specific—”

“I don’t care how you dress it up. You didn’t want me to touch myself. Got it.” I rolled my eyes. He was already starting to piss me off.

Sure, he was hot. Tall. Stoic. Built like he probably didn’t even need a gym membership. He had the kind of presence that made people shut up when he entered a room. But that didn’t give him the right to play with my head.

“Let me ask you something, Blake. Do you have control issues? I was a little flirty in the first session, so you, what? Assign me orgasm denial like some kind of punishment? You sure you’re qualified to be a therapist?”

He didn’t answer right away. His rich hazel eyes just studied me. Observing, calm, almost clinical.

Like I was the mystery.

Then he stood. And, holy shit, he was tall. Taller than I remembered. As he moved, a few strands of hair fell across his forehead and he pushed them back. It took everything in me not to stare.

He removed his jacket and crossed to the kitchenette area like I wasn’t even there. Muscles shifted under the thin fabric of his shirt. I could see the stretch of his back, the line of his shoulders. Even the buttons looked like they were working overtime.

No wonder that woman had basically done the classy version of throwing herself at him.

He returned after a moment and set a bottle of water and a granola bar in front of me.

“Drink,” he said calmly. “Being hungry is a side effect of skipping breakfast. Probably because you woke up late. Probably because you went to sleep at 4 a.m. due to overstimulation and poor impulse control. Which, in turn...”

He flipped his notepad around. One word was written in bold capital letters.

LATE

I opened my mouth to argue, to defend myself, but he raised a single finger to his lips.

Shut it.

“If you’re late again, Asher, I’ll drop you as a client.”

What the actual hell?

I stood up, defensive. “That’s not fair. You—”

“Sit down,” he said.

No yelling. Just a shift in tone. Authority. Cold. Final.

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