Page 3 of Hold Me for Now

Those words slam into me, a physical force. I stumble backward, shocked.

Married?

“My wife—or I’m not sure what to call her. We—we’re separated. Lawyers are involved. She’s the reason I’m here. She said she’s sick of my excuses about this problem. She said the only chance I have to get her back is to do this.”

Dr. D’s voice interrupts us. “I can confirm that T’s spouse is on board with today’s treatment. I’ve had extensive discussions with her myself, to make sure she understands what will happen here. She’s given her verbal and written consent to proceed. I don’t want to put more pressure on you than there already is, but she’s rather eager to move forward. I believe she seeks a resolution to her and T’s marital status.”

Jesus. No pressure indeed.

“You see why I have to fix myself? Like rightnow? I need to make her happy.” T’s voice rises, high and tight with frustration, drawing my attention back to him. “But it’s not easy. I’ve been everywhere. Tried everything. The result is always the same.”

“So you can’t,” I lower my voice, which is silly. We both know why we’re here. “You can’t orgasm either?”

T stiffens, his nostrils flaring slightly. “I can—just only by myself. Not with her.”

He runs a hand over his face, then down the back of his neck. Frustration, shame, something deeper war behind those brown eyes.

“How about other people?” I ask, confused by how he phrased his answer.

A small shake of his head. “Dunno. My wife and I are high-school sweethearts. I’ve never been with anyone else.”

That hits like a hammer. I squeak out, “Never?”

“Never,” he says emphatically.

Again, I have the urge to flee. It’s too much pressure. To be the second lover this man, this stranger, has ever had.

He’s watching me, gauging my reaction, like he’s waiting for me to call him a freak. To laugh at him. To make him feel even less than he already does. I calm my expression and hide the turmoil in my mind.

“How about you?” T asks.

It’s a fair question, but something about it makes my throat tighten. I duck my head, my fingers twisting in the hem of my skirt. “Same. I can get myself off but haven’t had any luck doing it with other people.”

Silence stretches between us, so heavy it’s almost unbearable. I force myself to look up.

“Have you tried a lot?” His voice is careful, but the words hit like a slap.

My spine stiffens. “Are you asking me how many people I’ve slept with?” Defensively, I spit out, “Because the answer is that it’s none of your business.”

His brows pull together, his lips parting like he hadn’t expected that reaction. “I—no, I wasn’t—” He exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You’re right. That was out of line. I wasn’t trying to judge you.”

His voice dips lower, something raw edging into it. “I just meant… I’ve wondered if maybe I had more experience, I wouldn’t have this problem.”

For a second, I don’t know how to respond. The despair in his voice, the barely concealed self-loathing, twists in my stomach.

I get it. Ireallyget it.

But I’m still pissed.

I cross my arms, my voice tight. “Well, maybe. Or maybe experience doesn’t mean shit when your body refuses to cooperate.”

His eyes darken, his jaw flexing like he wants to argue but doesn’t know how.

Good. Let him sit in that discomfort.

Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? Two broken people, thrown into a room together, expected to somehowfixeach other.

Like it’s that simple.

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