Page 1 of Hold Me for Now

Chapter one

Myheartpoundswithnervous anticipation, a dull, heavy drumbeat. I take in a shuddering breath and survey the room. It’s sterile, white, devoid of anything except one single piece of furniture.

A bed.

Set in the very center of the room. It’s not on a raised dais or under a spotlight, but still I have the impression that it’s a stage. A place where actors perform. Except, I guess in this twisted little dramaI’mthe star of the show.

My stomach clenches at the thought, and my fingers curl into fists at my sides. Every instinct screams at me to leave, to rip open the door and run until the cool outside air chokes my lungs.

A voice crackles from the speaker, cutting through the silence.

“It’ll be just a few more minutes, Kristi. The other patient is almost here.”

I jump, pulse hammering, startled by the disembodied voice. It comes from a speaker high on the wall, right above the only other feature. A one-way mirror. Opaque to me, but transparent to him. That’s how he’ll watch us.

Dr. Desire.

That’s what he calls himself. I’ll never know his real name. He’d been clear about that in our email communications. Not only will I never see his face, but I’m pretty sure he’s using a voice changer, so I won’t even know what he sounds like.

That’s okay, as long as he fixes me.

With a sinking heart, I realize that’s how desperate I’ve become.

My problem is so unusual, so embarrassing. When I posted about it anonymously, I’d never expected anyone to answer me. I still don’t know how Dr. Desire had plucked me out of the sex chat forum or how he’d discovered my real name and email address. His response had reeled me in with one simple, damning promise.

His subject line had read, “I can get you to orgasm, 100% guaranteed.”

Of course, at first I’d laughed, thinking it was just another pervert, trying to come on to me over the Internet.

“Yeah, right,” I’d responded sarcastically. “Let me guess, with your huge cock.”

To which he’d written back, “No, I’m not going to have sex with you. I have another patient with the same problem. If you meet the criteria, I’ll guide both of you through intercourse until you’re cured. I’ve used this technique many times with great success.”

He’d attached a detailed questionnaire as well as testimonials from what he claimed were hundreds of satisfied clients.

I’d downloaded the survey on a whim and filled it out. The questions were thorough.

Disturbingly so.

There were the usual ones.How many sexual partners have you had? When did you first experience an orgasm?

Then more specific ones.Do you have a preference in the size/shape of your partner’s penis? Which breast is more sensitive?

I’d paused at that, thinking how ridiculous it was. Then I squeezed my left breast, followed by my right. Turns out that my left, the slightly bigger one, is more easily stimulated.

Who knew?

When I emailed the answers back, I pretended like I didn’t care, didn’t even think this was anything more than some deranged weirdo getting his jollies from reading about my sex life. But time passed, and I found myself obsessively checking my email, wondering if Dr. Desire would accept me into his “specialty clinic.”

On the seventh day, I’d received his answer.

An address that led to this nondescript building in an industrial part of the city.

A code that opened the door to this strange room.

Now, I wait. Dreading. Hoping.

A glance at my watch. I’ve been here five minutes already. I tell myself to be patient, not a particular virtue of mine, and resume nervously wringing my hands. My gaze darts to the one-way mirror, wondering who could be on the other side.

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