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This approach failed me the first time. I showed her tenderness, bared my soul to her when she wasn’t ready. Leighton requires a different kind of touch. A sterner approach before we transition smoothly into the cuddling stage.
And she claims she hates the monster in me.
She needs him. Practically begging for me to let it out.
“You did well.” I move up her body, capture her throat in my palm. I slant my lips on hers and kiss her. She responds to me, letting me taste myself on her tongue. Tasting herself on mine. “So well.”
“Thank you.” There are so many questions in her eyes, yet she’s being cautious.
As she should.
“I hope you like this room.”
Leighton tenses beneath me. “Why?”
“Because you’re spending the night here. On my therapist’s couch.”
“What? Why? You said I did well.”
“Today.” I slap her tit. “Yesterday, not so much.”
“What do you expect of me? Just what?” She’s quick to snap, no longer sated. My Leighton is enraged. My assessment was on point. She needs a harsh approach. “You kidnapped me. You haven’t even told me if we’re ever going back home. What. Do. You. Expect?”
“See? You’re still clinging on to anger.” I pat her nose affectionately, acting like her words don’t trigger me.
Like I’m not seconds from tying her up and spanking her ass raw for throwing more accusations my way. For not really seeing me or the new tattoo on my arm.
“I’m not angry, Marcus.” The decibels of her voice rachet up. “I’m fucking terrified.”
“Staying here would be good for you, Leigh.” Ignore, ignore, ignore. “You’ll have this quiet, peaceful space to reflect. You’ll learn to embrace your new reality without outside distractions.”
As in me.
Gathering her in my arms, I walk her to the large couch in the corner of the room. I bought this comfortable piece of furniture for the hypnosis sessions I had in mind for Leighton. I didn’t know our time here would be so intense. That our sessions would be this extreme.
But she’s here. With me.
And now she’ll get to sleep on it.
“What happens if I can’t embrace this?” she asks as I lay her on the soft, beige cushions.
“Impossible.” I grab the heavy throw blanket from the end of the couch, spreading it over Leighton. “We’re the same, you and me. Your needs are my needs. My depravity is yours. Society has told you that a relationship like ours is wrong. That being taken—even if it’s by the person you love—is a felony. Society lied to you, little doll. I’m here to make this right.”
“Society?” Leighton leans on her elbows, defiant and gorgeous even when she’s infuriating. “I am not okay with this. With any of this.”
“Yes, you are.” I kneel beside her. Her lips are sweeter every time I kiss them, moreso when she doesn’t fight me. Her hitched breath intoxicates me. “You just need to see reason. By yourself. Call me if you need to use the bathroom.”
I get up to leave, halting at the sound of her voice. “When are you coming back?”
“I’m not leaving.” I look at her over my shoulder. At her silky pink hair. At the eyes that hold a myriad of emotions behind them.
I’ll make sense of the mess inside your head, beautiful.
“I’m always here,” I promise her. “I know that this isn’t how you wanted this to be. It’s what you need, though. Good night, little doll.”
“Marcus!” she yells.
Again and again.
