Page 70 of Rather: The Therapist

Her climax.

Her warmth.

Her lava.

Her in that fucking red.

Her boldness.

Her face just before our departure.

Her sadness.

It stuck with me. It haunted me. It worried me. Encountering her two years later and understanding her absence wasn’t intentional validated my concerns. Involuntarily, she’d kept me waiting. I didn’t want to wait anymore.

“Rose.”

Those long legs stiffened instantly. Without seeing that pretty face of hers, I envisioned its distortion. The same horrifying thoughts going through her head, I understood because they’d gone through mine over the last week. Since coming to the realization I’d handed the woman I’d been waiting for to my brother on a silver fucking platter, I’d been suffering from the same torment.

Slowly, she twirled on the tips of her shoes until our eyes met. Enlightenment scrunched her beauty, but it was still viable. Still alive. And, still recognizable.

There was a shift, one I felt the second her dark eyes found me. She suddenly shrunk in size. Her ego didn’t seem as massive. Her pride had been minimized. The ferocious being I knew as The Therapist, as Rather, quickly retreated.

The walls of my family’s home transformed. Darkness surrounded us. We were no longer standing in the hallway. Mentally, we’d teleported.

Those thoughts she once owned were no longer hers. Words no longer belonged to her. Movement was no longer determined by her. She yielded to my presence, immediately conforming to the structure we’d built in a single night’s time two years prior.

Good girl.

Her cheeks were flushed. Heat radiated from her body. I could smell her arousal as it began to seep from her deepest fold.

Her gaze was pinned against me. She was still processing. She was still trying to consider the odds. She was still gathering herself.

Unable to maintain the distance, I depleted it with two long, urgent steps. Instantly, I was surrounded by her greatness. Engulfed in her aura. Bathing in her vulnerability. Encouraging her softness. Rebirthing her femininity. Praising her presence.

With me, she didn’t have to be the person everyone wanted her to be or knew her to be. She could be nothing while simultaneously being everything. Because, at the moment, that’s exactly what she was to me.

The fact she didn’t belong to me or my inhibitions didn’t resonate. Neither did it matter. She was whatever the fuck I said she was. She was whoever the fuck I said she was.

“I waited.”

I rounded her, admiring the subtle weight gain. She was being fed well, but I had a better meal plan in mind for her. For me. For us.

Nervously, she shifted her weight from one side to the other. She was ready to free words from her mouth. I stepped back, allowing her room to breathe. Room to release the tension she was feeling, tension I wanted to resolve.

“Speak, Rose.”

“We can’t. We can’t do th–”

“You kept me waiting.”

“I would– I would’ve come back every night if I could’ve bu–”

“There you are,” my father exclaimed as his hands fell by his side. “Thought you got lost.”

Rose remained silent. She was waiting for instruction. Frozen in place, she kept her eyes trained on me despite my father’s presence.

Good girl.

---