Page 22 of Misery and Ecstasy

It’s one of the first things Draven ever said to me. The command lit something inside of me the first night we met. It was dull but unusual. Exciting yet dangerous.

And despite fighting to keep it buried in the deepest pit of my mind ever since, it’s what played over and over in my head last night as I pictured him pressing me up against my car, culminating in one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever given myself.

I lean my forehead on the cabinet as I watch the slow stream of coffee drip into the pot beneath it.

I can’t believe I allowed it to happen. I absolutely have no control over my dreams—which we’re heavily populated by him last night—but I do have control over my conscious thoughts. When I was awoken by pleasure, I should have pushed thoughts of him from my mind, taken a cold shower, and gone back to sleep.

But I did none of those things.

Instead, with the dream still fresh in my mind, I slipped my hand between my legs and lost myself to the memory of our first meeting.

It was so incredibly over the line and out of character. But fuck, it was hot as shit.

I didn’t want to come downstairs this morning. I could barely look at myself in the mirror, let alone face Draven after what I did.

While he was asleep in my house.

But it turns out I worried for nothing.

He left sometime during the night.

I’m not sure if it was before or after I shamelessly gratified myself. But regardless of whether he was or he wasn’t here, it still doesn’t make my indecent thoughts toward a patient okay.

Nothing about yesterday or last night was okay. I should have woken his ass up and sent him on his way. But … I didn’t.

After I left him sleeping in my office, I went about my day. I thought he would have awoken after a short nap, but he was out like a light, not even moving to roll over or to get into a more comfortable position.

Yesterday evening, I called Royce and Delilah to give them an update. I should have asked them to come get him, but—again—I didn’t.

Why? What the hell is wrong with me?

Andwashe at my window, watching me? Or did I imagine the whole thing? I clench my thighs tightly, thinking about it. My head may not like the idea, but my body has a different opinion on the matter.

Stop it,now, McK.

Surely, I would have heard him walking over the creaking floorboards? I had my white noise machine on—which does an incredible job of blocking sound—but I can’t imagine it would fully mask the aching cry from the old wood.

At leastIstayed silent… Mostly. If hewashere, I pray to God he didn’t hearmyneedy moans.

I’m dying to know when he left. I’ll feel better about it if I know he wasn’t here at the time.

Liar.

When I woke up this morning, my house looked as if he’d never been here at all. He was gone almost without a trace. The blanket I covered him with was folded nicely and draped over the back of the sofa. His boots were no longer sitting next to my shoes by the front door. My cell phone was unplugged from its charger, though, which was the only thing out of place.

Speaking of phones, I need to get a hold of Draven so we can come up with a schedule that works for both of us. I’ll have to ask Delilah for his number because with him sleeping the entire rest of the day, I never did get a chance to have him fill out his intake forms.

Scoffing, I shake my head.

I swear, it’s like I lost my fucking mind the moment I picked him up from the police station. Disappointment in myself weighs heavier than it does when I’m disappointed by someone else. I have control over my own actions… Usually. I can’t help what others do.

Tugging my phone from the back pocket of my jeans, I start a new message to Delilah.

Me:

Good morning, Delilah. I forgot to get Draven’s phone number while he was here yesterday. Is there any way you can send it to me so I can schedule our next appointment?

Before I get a response from her, my doorbell rings.

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