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“Everyone plays checkers while Merrick Llwyd plays chess,” she remarked. “So did you get sexual release during this threesome?”
I shook my head. “We both went down on his wife. That was it.”
“So it’s been over three years since anyone focused on your pleasure?”
“That’s correct.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to bring strangers into the house with Clara living there. She deserves security and safety.”
“I see.”
I sat back down with my espresso and Gretchen made a lot of notes. Her manicured hand flew over the yellow pad. I shifted, uncomfortable with the silence.
“What does that tell you?” I asked quietly.
She flipped her pad closed. Her eyes locked on mine.
“That you care very, very deeply for Clara.”
I swallowed, my throat tight. “I know.”
She stood, smoothing her dress down, and crossed the room to the table. I watched her idly as she filled a glass with water and took a sip.
“I told her she could only drink on weekends,” I said.
Gretchen lifted that lethal brow again. “How often does she drink?”
“About four times a week. To excess.”
“You’re being a little hard on her.”
“Considering that Edwin was a recovered alcoholic, I think not.”
Gretchen zeroed in on me, eyes narrowed. “If you don’t want her to see you as similar to Edwin Prothero, don’t act like you are,” she said flatly. “I have a sneaking suspicion that daddy issues aside, she’s not interested in being around a man who reminds her of her emotionally neglectful father.”
I swallowed my pride and bit back my words.
“Getting drunk and clubbing four times a week isn’t something to tie yourself in knots over,” Gretchen said. “She’s not an addict. She’s just a young woman without direction.”
“You’re right,” I said with difficulty. “I’ll apologize to her.”
“Good boy.”
I couldn’t keep back my smirk. “Oh no, I’m not one of your other clients. Don’t good boy me, Gretchen.”
She jerked her head at the door. “Then go on, get out. I have a client who appreciates it coming in ten minutes. And it’s probably one of your rich and powerful peers, so better hurry.”
It was probably better that Gretchen didn’t officially practice anymore. Being a therapist by day and a dominatrix for Washington’s elite by night wouldn’t have gone over well with the board of psychiatry.
“Can I ask you a question? Just a question, I don’t need judgement or advice,” I said. “I only want your opinion.”
She nodded, sobering at my serious tone.
“What if I were to give into her and be the first man to touch her?” I asked softly. “Would that be so bad? It would ensure she had a good first experience.”
Gretchen’s mouth thinned and she took a deep breath and released it.
