Page 23 of Under Fyre

Charlotte nods, her eyes never leaving my lab. “She’s a big dog.”

“You’ve never had pets?”

“A goldfish.” She peeks at me through her lashes. “What made you want to become a therapist?”

“The human mind fascinates me.”

She nods, glances around the room. “Have you always lived here?”

“Only the last few years. I moved here from New York.”

She tips the box of cereal over her bowl, spilling some on the table. “Whoops.” She scoops up the spilled loops with her hands and dumps them back inside.

My skin crawls at the thought of her eating that contaminated cereal. Before she can pour milk into her bowl, I snatch it away and throw its contents in the trash can.

“Why are you—” She closes her mouth over the inane question.

I guess because it’s obvious why I did it.

Charlotte is definitely a work in progress. I was absolutely shocked at the state of her apartment the first time I visited her. If she hadn’t been asleep at the time, I’d have cleaned it up that first night. Food left in the open, a dirty bathroom, no clean hand towels in sight.

Back then, I could blame it on her depression. But now I’m wondering if it’s just who she is.

Either way, it’s an easy enough fix.

“We don’t eat food off anything but crockery, understand?”

The twitch of her mouth implies she doesn’t like my tone, but she nods and takes the bowl from me when I hand it to her.

“Why did you leave New York?”

“It was too crowded.” The lie comes easy, as well it should. I’ve been practicing it for years. I pour her tea and bring it to the table, then I sit opposite her and pour milk over my cereal. She watches me for a moment, and then does the same. “So are you divorced, or did you never marry?”

Setting my spoon down, I hold eye contact with her as I take a sip of coffee. “My career takes up most of my time.”

She nods, starts looking around the room like she bought my second lie. “It’s nice. Comfy.”

“How are you feeling this morning?”

Charlotte shrugs, takes a bite of food. Crunches her way through it and then swallows it down with some tea. “Okay, I guess.”

“Any dreams?”

She frowns. “Why do you keep asking me that?”

“You slept well?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Good. Then we’ll start our next session as soon as you’ve finished breakfast.” I give her a faint smile, and her eyes lock onto my mouth for a second before she looks away.

I feel that glance like a ghostly touch.

Immediately, my cock stirs in my lap.

I keep my attention fixed on my bowl, but it doesn’t help. I can smell her sweet scent. Hear her breathing. When she’s outside her room, her presence is too intense.

Somehow, I fight my way through breakfast, but by the time her bowl and cup are empty, I’m seconds away from bending her over the table and playing a round of Five Finger Fun with her.

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