The Therapist (6) (Chase Walker)

  THE THERAPIST

  EPISODE SIX

  J.A. BELFIELD

  The Therapist: Episode 6

  Published by J.A. Belfield

  www.jabelfield.com

  Copyright © 2017 Julie Anne Belfield

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events, locations, or any other element is entirely coincidental.

  First Published: 2017

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  EPISODE SIX

  Chase must’ve blanked out for a second. Or three. Or twenty. He blamed the couple sitting opposite him, who’d yet to quit sending digs at one another like it was anyone’s fault but their own for the two of them ending up in his office.

  All he’d done was ask what they thought CW Consult could do for them.

  Sighing, he held up a hand, and when neither of them seemed to notice the gesture, he added a verbal, “Please. Stop.”

  The two stalled mid-sentence, their slow head turns toward him full of drama and indignance, like he had no right to be interrupting their blasted bickering.

  “Thank you,” he said, ignoring the duet of scowls he received. “I think we should start this session again. Okay?”

  Despite the curling of lips, they both nodded, and Chase tried on a small smile he didn’t really feel like offering out. The couple had already given him a headache, and he’d only met them a total of seven minutes before.

  “Mr Maxwell …” He turned to the man on the left of the chaise, the calmer of the two by the barest of fractions. “Maybe you could tell me which of you broached the subject of attending the type of therapy we offer here at CW Consult?”

  Mr Maxwell brushed his hands over his pressed trousers before poking a thumb toward his equally well-pressed partner. “He did.”

  Beside him, Mr Ricci sniffed hard and gave a flip of his dark hair, but Chase kept his focus on Mr Maxwell.

  “Why do you think he suggested the type of therapy we offer here?”

  The sulking expression moved over for a new one that appeared almost vindictive, in the harsh glint of his eyes and the sharpening arch of his brows. “Because he likes to fuck anything with a dick, and, according to him, that’s my fault for not being interesting enough a lover.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Matty.” Mr Ricci tossed his hands up before letting them drop back to his knees. “How. Many. Times are you going to bring that up? This—” He poked his hands toward ‘Matty’. “This is the problem. Because you do nothing but whine about everything. All. The damn. Time.”

  “About you screwing everyone else? Well, obviously.”

  “But you do it when I’m trying to make love to you.”

  “Make love. Oh, purlease.” Mr Maxwell twisted in his seat until facing Mr Ricci. “So, do you make love to all the guys you pay to have sex with? Because that’s how you make me feel …. Like a two-bit hooker!” He almost screamed the last few words at his partner, and Chase had to pinch the bridge of his nose in an effort to stem the spreading ache there.

  “Please,” he said, holding up his hand again.

  “A two-bit hooker?” Mr Ricci said over the top of him. “I’ve never treated you like a two-bit hooker since the day I met you.”

  “Hellooo. Money to buy myself something nice,” he said, doing air quotes. “Gifts to shut me the hell up—guilt gifts.”

  “You take gifts for the boys you buy, Matty? Nobody buys gifts for the boys. Why the hell would we be paying them, if we’re treating them like our fucking boyfriends?”

  “So, you have been buying boys!”

  “Now you’re putting words in my mouth!” Mr Ricci pushed to his feet, hands on his hips as he scowled down at his partner. “I never even said that!”

  “That’s exactly what you just said!”

  Turning away from them, Chase slid discreetly from his chair and quietly rounded his desk. Doing his damnedest to switch off the back-and-forthing creating havoc to what he’d hoped would be a good day, he opened his bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle of water. Across from him, the two continued in a you did it, no, it was you kind of pattern, and he turned his back on them and strode across to his window.

  Below him, the usual water traffic chugged gently along the Thames. Off in the distance, the vast array of buildings created an intriguing stepped skyline that he rarely grew tired of studying. Taking a long swig of his water, he let his gaze skim from the old to the new, all of them great architectural designs in their own way, though he couldn’t help but linger for longer on the old. For Chase, they held a mysterious kind of beauty—that man could build something so solid and magnificent in frame during a time that lacked in modern machinery or technology.

  Behind him, the bitching heightened, and he took another long gulp of his drink. In all of his time doing what he did, he’d never had to step away from a client—or clients. He suspected every one of his other clients would’ve bloody well noticed he’d stepped away, if it’d come to that, too. Whereas Mr Maxwell and Mr Ricci didn’t seem to have realised, at all. He couldn’t tell how much of it was down to the heat of their moment, or how much of it was a simple case of immense self-obsession.

  Wishing like crazy he had something stronger in his bottle, he downed another mouthful, screwed on the cap, and turned back around. “Okay, that’s enough!”

  His barked order seemed to sever the air of the room, taking all other sound with it. Mouths caught open and eyebrows raised high, the two men stood staring at him like he’d grown a couple of extra heads with a few dozen horns to top them off.

  “Sit down,” he snapped, before they could think about retaliating.

  The slight pause to their compliance told him they thought about doing exactly that, but with heaved sighs that spoke of wounded pride and sulkiness way more than resignation, the two of them twisted their butts around to the chaise longue and plonked themselves back down. Though, Chase noted the gap they kept between themselves as they did so—a gap that hadn’t been there when they’d first arrived and taken a seat—and the cold shoulder each gave his partner in an obvious display of refusing to look at one another.

  Moving closer to them again, Chase set his water down on his desk. “Mr Ricci, how long ago did you begin dating Mr Maxwell?”

  “Four years, three months, and twenty-three days ago,” he said with a sniff. Since he’d arrived, his thick, styled hair had flopped over his brow, making him appear a lot younger than the thirty-nine years his paperwork stated.

  “And when do you feel the two of you began to develop issues in the relationship?”

  His brow creased, like he struggled to work it out, or like he hadn’t been keeping track. Beside him, Mr Maxwell shifted in his seat and tugged on each of his shirt cuffs before stepping in with, “Seven months and two days ago.”

  Retaking his seat in front of them, Chase pressed his fingertips together, smiling briefly at the preciseness of both of their answers. “Whatever the issues are in the relationship, you evidently want to sort them out, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Is that correct?”

  “Yes!” Mr Ricci said, to Mr Maxwell’s, “Of course that’s why we’re here.”

  Giving a slow nod, Chase tapped the tips of h
is forefingers together, studying the men from one to the other. “Okay.” He paused for a moment, before continuing, “I’m going to help you.”

  Their two sighs of relief sagged their shoulders by an inch.

  “But on one condition,” Chase added.

  And their guardedness once more rose into place. Neither of them said a word in protest, though—or questioned what that condition might be. Score one for the clients.

  “In order for you to be seen here at CW Consults, you must both agree to attend sessions with a relationship counsellor.”

  Mr Maxwell looked about to argue, but Mr Ricci beat him with, “But—”

  Chase held up a hand before he could go any further. “Mr Ricci, the issues I’ve witnessed here today seem to go a little deeper than what goes on in the bedroom. And if I’m right, then trying to find a sexual medium between the two of you would be a pointless endeavour, because if there’s tension outside of the bedroom, that tension is only going to leak into the bedroom, and eventually, sex will just be borne of and filled with bitter resentment. Is that what you both want?”

  A couple of muttered ‘No’s and headshakes answered him.

  “So, do you both agree to attend relationship counselling?”

  “How long do we have to go for?” Mr Maxwell asked, his voice low and full of sulk.

  “Before I’ll see you here? Two months.” Chase spread his hands, gave a small shrug. “And for as long as it takes after that, if the therapist considers it necessary.”

  The couple turned from Chase toward each other. In profile, Chase could see the full pout of Mr Maxwell’s lip and the doleful way he peered up at his partner, as Mr Ricci seemed to study every inch of his face. “We could give it a try,” Mr Ricci said after a few beats.

  In answer, Mr Maxwell gave a jerk of his shoulder and a handful of tiny nods. When he turned back to Chase, he lowered his gaze like a submissive being reprimanded. “Okay, we’ll give it a go.”

  “Excellent.” Chase pushed straight to his feet and swept a hand toward the door. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll have one of my staff arrange the appointment with the therapist for you.”

  “You’re arranging the appointment?” Mr Ricci asked, climbing to his feet and taking the first step toward what Chase hoped would be peace and quiet for himself.

  “Any referrals I make are only to professionals I personally know and trust to help my clients, Mr Ricci.” Waiting for Mr Maxwell to stand, he led them both toward the exit. “Doctor Mandini is very good at what she does. Trust me. You’ll like her.”

  Pulling open the door revealed Raelyn and Samantha sitting behind the curved Reception desk. Whatever expression Chase wore on his face must’ve told a story of the clients he’d just seen, because both women dipped their faces like they needed to hide smiles they couldn’t quite supress. Either that, or they’d well and truly heard the entire episode, which wouldn’t have been hard, considering the volumes the two men had reached.

  “Sam, can you find Lena’s number out and ask if she can accept Mr Maxwell and Mr Ricci onto her schedule?”

  With a nod, she turned to her screen, already tapping away at the keys.

  “Thank you so much for seeing us today, Mr Walker.”

  Chase took the hand offered by Mr Ricci. “You’re welcome. Hopefully, we’ll see you back here soon.” Somehow, Chase smiled through the lie—a lie he hoped could be killed once Lena Mandini had worked her magic with them.

  After a repeated gesture with Mr Maxwell, the two men wandered across to the desk, where Sam spoke quietly on the phone, and Chase couldn’t help but feel relieved at seeing their backs. At knowing it signified them walking out of his offices.

  Heated arguments sometimes came with the territory, especially considering the hidden passion of some of his clients, but petty squabbles of blame and shame? Nope, that had been a first.

  Hopefully, it would be his last.

  ***

  Chase managed a whole ten minutes of sitting with his head propped in his hands and his eyes closed, before the door to his office swung inwards and heels clopped against the floor.

  “Rough session?” Rae asked to the top of his head.

  Giving a hard rub to his face, he opened his eyes and nodded. “’Could say that. You hear them out there?”

  “Some—and that was bad enough.” Her pencil skirt hugged her thighs, but did little to hinder her swaying walk to his desk, where she propped a butt cheek on the ledge. “You busy now?”

  “How long do I have until my next client?”

  “Thanks to those two being kicked out early, almost thirty minutes.”

  He sank back against his seat. “No, then.”

  “Good.” She pushed to her feet again. “Follow me.”

  She didn’t wait to see if he complied, just strode straight for the door leading to the session room corridor. Sighing, Chase pushed away from his desk and followed behind the swing of her raven-toned ponytail. On the other side of the door, the corridor stood empty, as it should have, and Rae ignored all the rooms prepped for client practical sessions and pushed down on the handle of the door leading to the observation room.

  Frowning, Chase watched as she marched inside and flipped on one of the overhead lights.

  “In,” she ordered without turning, and with little choice other than to kick up an argument he couldn’t be bothered with, he stepped into the room and closed the door.

  “What’s up?” he asked, concern warring with his curiosity.

  “Sit down.” She nodded toward a stool, and he dragged it closer to himself and sank his arse onto it. Leaning over him, she pressed a few power switches and scrolled through lists on the screen, then she grabbed the back of his seat and swivelled him to face the huge viewing screen mounted across one of the walls.

  On it, Abi O’Shay lay back against the bed in the room behind them, the image frozen as if awaiting the command to move forth.

  “You watch her last session back yet?” Rae asked over his shoulder.

  “Not yet.” He didn’t need to. All the bits he’d caught, the bits he’d actually had his eyes open for, had etched themselves into his brain and refused to depart.

  All the parts he hadn’t caught, his mind had recreated all on its own.

  “Then, we’ll watch it now.” She tapped a button that set the picture into motion.

  With her hand dipped between her thighs, Abi thrust her hips into the flick and dip of her fingers, her cunt meeting each plunge. Her clit getting attention each time her arse sank back against the mattress. It was a sight Chase had seen a few times since she’d began coming to his clinic. A sight he hoped he’d see again.

  More than once, when alone, he wondered if he’d step into a territory he had no right to and watch the damned Abi O’Shay recordings even after she’d moved on, but those thoughts came from a deep, dark part of himself he rarely investigated—for good reason.

  “Watch …” Rae said, leaning in closer over his shoulder, and he forced his eyes back into focus, his mind back from where it’d taken him.

  Onscreen, Abi’s chest thrust higher with the rocking of her body into her finger fucking. Lifting from the bed, her free hand hovered over her torso. Although Sam had muted the show, Chase knew the command would come any moment. For Abi to touch herself, to pleasure herself further.

  And right on cue, her hand skimmed across to her breast and rolled across the rigid tip of her nipple. Her back arched into the contact, and Chase sat poised, eyes fixed on her face. Waiting for it. The moment he’d demanded she give in.

  As Abi’s lips popped open and her eyelids half-lowered, Chase released the breath he’d held. Her back arched higher, as she massaged the clitoris with the ball of her hand between the deepening plunges of her fingers into her pussy.

  Shifting in his seat, Chase tried adjusting the swell of his cock without actually touching it. Without alerting Rae to just how hard watching Abi got him.

  He stood little chance of that,
though, when Abi adjusted her fingers as they fucked her own body and extended her thumb to press down on her clitoris. To flick across its tip. To circle the solid ridge that’d stiffened more and more with every caress of her hand.

  “Quit staring at her cunt and watch her face, Walker.”

  At Rae’s order, he forced his gaze toward where she’d tipped her face to the side, her brows pulled taut in concentration and her pupils as dilated as fuck. With her focus fixed on a singular spot of the room, her entire body quivered, her lips rounded and narrowed with every sound that had passed her throat.

  Chase knew when she’d hit peak by the stretching of the tendons through her neck, the flex of the muscles across her shoulders, but not once did she close her eyes or shift her gaze from whatever held her so rapt.

  Leaning in, Rae tapped a button, and the image on the screen froze. “What do you see, Chase?”

  Frowning, he stared at the screen—like he hadn’t been already. “Abi O’Shay,” he said slowly, wondering what the hell Rae was getting at.

  “What about her?”

  His lips curved into a half-smile. “She just had a great fucking orgasm.”

  “How?”

  His frown returned. “What do you mean, how? She gave it to herself—like we taught her to do.”

  “You’re missing the point.” Her chest pressed against his shoulder and she stretched over him and stuck her fingertip almost in Abi’s face. “Look at her. You see her face. The way she’s staring.” Her body moved from his as she stepped back. “What do you think she’s staring at so intensely that, obviously, made her come as easily as she did?”

  Chase swallowed. Because he already knew the answer.

  He suspected Rae already knew the answer, too.

  He gave a dismissive shrug of his shoulders instead.

  “Could it be this?” Rae said behind him, and the image across the wall blinked out, to be replaced by a full-blown view of Chase sitting in that damned chair with his eyes half-mast and staring right back at Abi, and his cock straining against the wet patch just visible on the outside his pants.