Page 128 of Rather: The Therapist

“Then, we should see about getting that worked out.”

“I’m not her, Priest.”

Blankly, emotionlessly she stared at me. Unmoving. Unconvinced. Unable to be anything other than her true self.

“This isn’t the suite. And, my name isn’t Rose. It’s Rather. Rather Childers. The Therapist. And, unless you’re not afraid to sit in my chair and serve as my client, then I suggest you pack your son up and head out of the door you came in.”

I almost forgot to breathe. I almost forgot to blink. I almost forgot to respond. Dazed, I stilled and watched as the woman before me honed her power and stripped mine simultaneously.

She rounded me.

Once.

Twice.

And a third time before stopping in front of me.

“Mr. Valentine.”

I was so far removed from our reality that I didn’t know my chin had dipped and my head was hanging. I straightened my posture and matched Rather’s stare.

“What will it be?”

I palmed my mouth, considering my options. I’d heard the stories. I knew just how brutal she was. I knew how well she did her job. I knew how bad things could get. Yet and still, I was intrigued by the thought.

Not many who sat in her chair survived to tell the story. Those who did likely couldn’t tell their story because their injuries wouldn’t allow. Those injuries weren’t always physical. They possessed mental scars as well.

“Mr. Valentine.”

“I’ve never been a hoe, Dr. Childers. How shall we proceed?”

Her hands gathered near her chest.

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

Slowly and quietly, she gathered her hands.

“Well, then–”

She brushed the invisible wrinkles from her skirt. The sternness of her stance and words made me wonder if I’d made a mistake. However, I refused to recant.

“This way, shall we?”

ELEVEN

“Rath– Fuck.”

His bulge had reached the tip of his dick. His end was near, but I wouldn’t allow him the pleasure of releasing. He didn’t deserve it. Not yet. I removed my hands and watched his eyes close as his head fell backward.

Priest’s hands were battling the restraints. His efforts were pointless. I’d bet every dollar in my bank account that he wouldn’t free himself, just like I wouldn’t free his semen until I was ready.

“What the fuck are you doi–”

“Shhhhhh.”

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