Page 63 of Rather: The Therapist

“I’m listening.”

He straightened his posture and leaned in.

“You have until the night before our wedding to wrap it up. In the meantime, while you’re sliding your dick in others you will not be sliding it in me. If you’re not ready, then neither is my pussy. It’s a sacred place. No man who is planting seeds in other gardens can enter mine. It’s not happening.”

“Damn, I can’t even sample the pussy before we walk down the aisle?”

“The walk down the aisle is happening whether we like it or not. So, deal with that on your own time. You’ve had two years to come to terms with it and so have I.”

“True. True.”

He nodded.

“When I call, answer.”

“Doable.”

“Don’t make me feel alone. Don’t make me feel like a burden. Don’t make me feel like I’m begging for your attention, because I won’t. Not now and not ever.”

“Noted.”

“Dates. Dinners. Outings. We will still indulge. You will actively court me, no matter what happens when you bring me home. That’s not my business. Not until we commit.”

“Understood.”

“Maintain your health. Wrap it up, Kofi. No babies and no diseases or infections.”

“Of course.”

I sipped my coffee.

“Anything else?” He smiled, making my center throb.

“Keep your hands to yourself, because if ever you fall into my garden your escape won’t be as easy as you assume.”

“Hands to myself,” he promised, holding both hands in the air.

“Good, then.”

He leaned over and took the glass from my fingers. I observed as he tipped the glass up against his lips and finished the warm beverage. Satisfied with my suitor, my lips curved up into a smile.

Does that sound like a Prince to you, baby? Chemistry’s words rang out in my head.

Maneuvering to suppress the yearning his beauty had begun to bribe, I thought, Yes. Yes, it does.

Eighty-seven days getting to know a man who was still interested in his freedom while I rejoined society and explored my own sounded like a plan. Though his selfishness was ingrained in the deal, it would produce so many rewards for me.

My protection.

My freedom.

My peace.

And, the lack of overwhelm was only a few.

“Pack your shit up, love. I’m not feeling this spot. I have somewhere better in mind.”

Suddenly, my story became more interesting than Kema and Dillan’s. I’d revisit them if I landed in Genre again. For the moment, I was more interested in Mr. Valentine and what he had in mind.

---