Pleasure Principle: Off The Clock Part 10

Donovan looked her way, pleased that she'd jumped in. He'd sensed Marin's nerves and her hesitation in sessions today. She was confident when talking with him in between appointments, and her a.s.sessments of the clients were pretty spot-on. But once she was face-to-face with them, that confidence collapsed.

Plus, she was way too easy to read. Even when her poker face was in place, her body language and tendency to blush were giving her away. On one level, he thought it was s.e.xy as h.e.l.l. He could imagine the things he could do or say to her to coax that kind of reaction from her. But for work purposes, she wasn't going to make it long if she didn't loosen up and relax in the sessions. Her blus.h.i.+ng was the equivalent of an M.D. grimacing or saying Oh, gross when a patient revealed some medical issue.

Lawrence s.h.i.+fted in his chair, looking uncomfortable that Marin had spoken at all. Not surprising. Lawrence knew how to objectify fantasy women, not speak to real ones. "I thought maybe if I tried to talk to her and sent her pics, she'd email me back. I . . ." His jaw twitched and his gaze flicked toward the window again. "I've got a big c.o.c.k, you know, so I thought she'd be into that."

Marin's lips pressed together as she obviously tried to temper her reaction and not roll her eyes or something. "I see."

Donovan was proud of how mild and unaffected she sounded. He made a note. "Did she respond to the email?"

A secret smile touched Lawrence's lips. "She did. She said I was hot and that she was sorry she couldn't be there with me, but she sent me a code to get a discount off of her body mold so I could, you know, f.u.c.k her. I ordered one."

Fan-frigging-tastic. Donovan wanted to tap his head against the wall. All the progress from previous sessions was unraveling before his eyes.

Marin's eyebrows lifted in question as she looked Donovan's way.

He could tell she didn't want to ask and seem uninformed, so he threw her a rope. "So when you say body mold, you mean the s.e.x toy that's specifically shaped like Rebecca Bling's anatomy."

"Yeah, p.u.s.s.y and a.s.s." The pleasure in Lawrence's voice was bordering on giddy. He'd slipped into fixation mode. He wasn't looking at either of them anymore. He'd gone into his head. "I don't know why I didn't get one before now. It's like f.u.c.king the real thing, especially with that lube that heats up. I rubbed my d.i.c.k raw this weekend."

He grinned, but then he lifted his head, apparently remembering that there was a woman in the room, and winced. "Why the h.e.l.l does she have to be here again?"

Marin sat there stoically, but her fair skin took on that telltale shade of pink again. Donovan couldn't tell if it was embarra.s.sment or anger. Either way it was not going to go over well.

Donovan put down his pen. "Because Dr. Rush is training with me and is here to help."

"Look at her. She's f.u.c.king judging me is what she's doing," Lawrence said, his voice going snide, the spoiled-rich-kid side coming out. "How am I supposed to talk about this stuff when some chick is staring at me like I'm a pervert? I want her to leave."

Marin blinked, her spine going poker straight, and she looked to Donovan, clearly unsure on how to proceed.

Donovan lifted a finger, silently asking her to give him a second. "You have the right to not have her observe, Lawrence, but maybe we should think through this for a moment. It seems like you're getting angry because Dr. Rush's presence has triggered some reaction in you. She's not looking at you like you're a pervert, but maybe that's a fear you're having. That this behavior makes you a pervert?"

"f.u.c.k that noise. I'm just doing what everyone else does and doesn't have the b.a.l.l.s to say out loud." He sent daggers Marin's way. "Dr. Proper over there probably has a big fake c.o.c.k at her house to shove inside her. I don't see what's the difference."

Marin's face went full red now, and Donovan had to wrestle back his own flash of anger. He sat forward. "The way you're talking to Dr. Rush is beyond inappropriate, Lawrence, and you know it. I'm going to ask you to apologize to her, and we're going to end things early today and schedule another session for next week. I expect you to come back then and be ready to work instead of las.h.i.+ng out."

"You want me to leave? I'm paying for this f.u.c.king session." Defiance sparked in Lawrence's eyes.

Donovan almost pointed out that no, his parents actually were, but that would've been petty and would've risked Lawrence giving up on treatment altogether. Lawrence stared at him like he expected an answer, used to getting his way when he threw a man tantrum. But when Donovan didn't budge or say anything more, Lawrence launched himself off the couch and stalked toward the door, throwing out a whatever. When he pa.s.sed Marin, he mumbled a sorry but didn't look her way or slow his stride.

The door slammed behind him, and the pictures rattled on the walls. Silence ensued for a few long seconds until Marin sagged in her seat and groaned. "Well, that went great. Gold star, Dr. Rus.h.!.+"

Donovan smirked, tossed his notepad onto the nearby desk, and then stretched his neck from side to side. "Nah, it wasn't that bad."

She looked over at him like he'd told her turtles could fly. "Now I know you're bulls.h.i.+tting me. The guy just walked out because of me."

"No, he walked out because of him. Lawrence's biggest issue is that he objectifies women and fixates on them as tools for his pleasure. He got himself in trouble in high school because he got obsessed with a girl and started following her home and peeking in her windows. That's when his parents originally started him in therapy."

She frowned.

"He's moved on to a safer target in the p.o.r.n star but not healthier. I mean, how apropos that he literally has a piece of a woman to use now? No face, no brain, no words." He ran his hand over the back of his head. "He's taken a big step back. It's frustrating. But having to deal with your reactions today-a real woman who has thoughts and opinions-could be therapeutic."

She rubbed her fingers over her forehead. "I don't know. That felt like a disaster. We had to end the session early."

He shrugged. "Clients are going to get p.i.s.sed. You expose the vulnerable spots, and people are going to react like wounded animals. It's part of the deal. You use that anger to get to the stuff you need if you have to. And you always, always keep your cool."

"So was I looking at him a certain way?"

Donovan leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees. "You weren't looking at him like he was a pervert. That was him projecting his feelings about himself onto you. But you did blush again, and that can be a problem in sessions. You've done it a few times today and most of the time it went unnoticed. But if they see it, it can make clients feel like they should be ashamed if you're embarra.s.sed."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "s.h.i.+t."

"Don't stress. You can train yourself out of it."

She peered over at him. "Right. And how would I do that? It's not like I want to blush. I've been fighting that particular affliction since grade school."

"Easy. You have to learn how to be unshockable."

She sniffed. "The nature of shock is that you're surprised by something you don't see coming. How the h.e.l.l can I prepare for what I don't know will shock me?"

"Oh, don't give me that, Rush. You have a good idea of what will do it." He rolled his chair over to hers so that he was facing her, their knees almost touching. This wasn't an issue he'd ever come across with another trainee, but it was one they were going to have to fix. Starting now. "Okay. What if I said, 'I like to cut my thighs with a razor when I'm having a hard day'?"

He said it with a straight face. Truth usually came out that way. Even if this one was a past truth not a current one.

A wrinkle appeared between her brows. "I'd say we need to talk about the dangers of self-harm and work on finding alternative ways to release stress or emotion."

He nodded. "Good. Now what if I said, 'I like to dig my nails into my thigh when I m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e'?"

Sometimes true.

Sure enough, her cheeks stained pink. She licked her lips. "I'd say if that works for you, go for it."

The soft cadence of her voice and the sight of her tongue slipping over her lips distracted him for a second. If he wasn't careful, he was going to be the one getting too warm. He reached over and touched her hot cheek. "There's your answer, Marin."

She seemed startled for a second, something unreadable flickering in her gaze, and then she turned her face away with a grimace.

He lowered his hand to his side, knowing he shouldn't have allowed himself that touch in the first place. He dragged his focus back, trying to remind his brain that this was work and he was training her. "Society teaches us to react that way when people talk about s.e.x. It's not your fault. But in this job, you have to lose that or it will be your downfall."

Her jaw flexed. "Believe me, I get that. But I'm not sure how to get past it-beyond time and a lot of sessions. I don't want to be s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up with clients in the meantime."

Annoyance filled her tone. Annoyance at herself. He loved that she was so determined to get everything right. To be perfect right out of the gate. It was an impossible goal, but he admired that she set it for herself anyway.

Donovan leaned back in his chair and considered her. He should probably leave it at that, just let her work it out over time. That'd be the prudent course. Eventually, she'd get to the been-there-heard-that stage. But that could take a while, and he knew it would drive her crazy. She was a perfectionist. She was going to beat herself up over any mistake. And if she didn't fix it quickly enough, she'd fall victim to the dark side of perfectionism. Quitting. She'd bail because imperfection was too uncomfortable. He'd have failed her. And lost his promotion and maybe his job in the process. No way could he let any of that happen.

He clasped the back of his neck and rubbed the tension gathering there. He'd told Elle that he'd stop by after work for a chat. He hadn't gone over to her place since the morning he'd had to sneak out half-dressed. They needed to talk, cut the ties. But the whole idea of seeing her tonight had dread curling through him. He checked his watch. "What are you doing later tonight?"

Marin looked up at the s.h.i.+ft in subject, brows scrunched. "Unpacking more boxes, why?"

"I've got an idea. There may be a way to tackle this issue guerrilla style."

"Uh . . ."

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he checked the screen. An appointment reminder for his weekly call with the private investigator he'd hired to work on his parents' case. He stood to get his things. "Look, I've got a few things to take care of this afternoon but can you meet me by the east side fountains around seven? I'll explain more then."

"Explain more about what?"

He headed toward the door, his mind already formulating a plan. A risky one. But a plan nonetheless. "Just trust me, okay? I think I have a way to help."

She frowned for a moment, and he thought she was going to refuse, but then she stood and shrugged. "Sure, whatever you say, boss."

"I'm not your boss." The words came out sharper than he intended them to.

Her brows arched. "O-kay, mentor. Does it matter?"

"Yeah. It does." He stopped in the doorway, his hand braced on it and peered back at her. "I can't be your boss. Because if what I have in mind is going to work, it's going to have to be strictly off the clock and off the record."

Her eyes widened. "Donovan . . ."

He tapped the doorframe. "See you at seven, Rush."

13.

Off the clock. Marin wiped down the kitchen counter, trying to channel her nervous energy into something productive, but she ended up cleaning the same spot three times. Since she'd gotten home, she hadn't been able to get her impending meeting with Donovan out of her mind. She had no idea what he had planned or why they had to meet after hours to accomplish it, but it had her thoughts drifting down all kinds of curving paths. Dangerous paths with Keep Out signs and flas.h.i.+ng barricades across them. What could be so covert?

It's not like he'd made a pa.s.s at her. He'd been nothing but professional today. And the way he'd raced out this afternoon after their last session, she was pretty sure he'd been heading out to meet up with someone-probably a woman. The thought niggled. But she told herself that if he had a girlfriend, that'd be a good thing. That would help her keep all stray thoughts about him out of her head. The last thing she needed was a resurgence of her crush on Donovan West. It'd gotten her in trouble last time. This time it could mean her job. Or his.

No thanks.

At least Nathan had been in a better mood when he'd gotten home. He'd landed a job at a late-night cafe that featured musicians and sold local art. It didn't pay much, but he said the place was "cool" and that he wouldn't have to wake up early. Apparently, these two things were of vital importance. The free coffee he'd get was a bonus.

She'd thrown together some dinner, and they'd eaten while he rattled on about what he'd seen in the city today. He was polite enough to ask her how her day went, but she had no idea what to tell him. How had it gone? The whole day had been fascinating but also stressful and strange. She hated feeling so d.a.m.n incompetent. For the last few years at the university, her role had been like a second skin. People came to her for advice. She was the expert. The girl with the answers. Or at least the girl who knew how to find the answers. Now she was the novice in the corner, the interloper the clients didn't want in the room. The girl who felt awkward anytime someone started talking about s.e.x.

So she'd told Nate that the day had been "fine." Sure. Whatever.

After dinner, she informed him she was going to meet with a few new colleagues. She almost wanted him to talk her out of it or make her feel guilty for leaving him alone. Then she'd have a good excuse to cancel on Donovan. But Nate had shrugged and said he planned to play Halo with Henry for the night and that he'd see her in the morning.

With no other excuses to hold her back, she changed into more casual clothes, slipped on her shoes, and headed out. Here goes nothing.

By the time she found her way to the large fountain, the sun was on its way to setting and the cicadas were playing their distinct songs, like a stiff wind rattling through reeds. Donovan was already there, flipping through a stack of stapled papers. He'd changed from his slacks and dress s.h.i.+rt into jeans and a pale blue T-s.h.i.+rt. Without the formal clothing and with his dark hair mussed from the breeze, he looked so close to the boy she used to obsess over that it took her breath for a second. She found herself standing there for too long just taking him in.

Donovan looked up after a while, apparently sensing he was no longer alone, and smiled when he saw her. "I didn't hear you walk up."

She raised a finger toward the trees. "The quiet night is not so quiet."

He tucked his papers into a bag by his feet. "Yeah, the cicadas are in mating season. It can get deafening at this time of night. But one of the groundskeepers told me that this species only comes out from underground every thirteen years, so we're witnessing a rare event."

"One big bug orgy, huh?"

"So it seems." He patted the bench. "I find it calming. Makes me want to sit on a porch and drink sweet tea while whittling wood or something."

She laughed and took the spot on the other end of the bench, turning her body slightly toward him. "Sorry. No wood to whittle and I forgot to bring the sweet tea."

"No worries." He reached down and dipped his hand into his bag. He pulled out a bottle of red wine. "I brought reinforcements."

She lifted a brow. "A little stronger than tea."

"I figured this would be more fitting after a first day at work."

She took the bottle from him and shook her head. "Oriana dropped a bottle off the other day, too. Guess she had the same idea."

"Yeah. We've all had a first day here." He pulled two red plastic cups out of the bag. "Wanna do it college-style?"

Her gaze snapped to his and she bit her lip. They'd only done one thing together college-style and it hadn't involved Solo cups.

He stared at her for a second, obviously confused, and then he let out a strained laugh. "d.a.m.n, I keep walking right into those."

She grinned and took one of the cups. "Yeah, you do."

"Sorry." Donovan twisted the top off of the wine and poured them each a healthy dose. He set the bottle aside and lifted his cup. "To surviving your first day."

She touched her cup to his and then took a sip of the wine. "I'm not sure I totally survived. I may be slightly traumatized knowing that they make molds of p.o.r.n stars' v.a.g.i.n.as."

"And a.n.u.ses," he said with mock seriousness. "Lawrence made sure to point that out. Can't forget the celebrity a.s.sholes."

She blanched. "I really don't want to know the process of how they take the imprint of the original."

"Yeah, sounds pretty uncomfortable. That's probably why those toys are expensive as h.e.l.l. They work hard to make them lifelike."

"You sound like you know far too much about this device."

He sniffed. "Well, I haven't personally taken a test drive, if that's what you're getting at. But it's our job to know what's out there, so I've done research. I keep a closet full of toys at the office. They can be an important part of treatment, so I like to keep up with what's new. Though, I won't be stocking any p.o.r.n star parts anytime soon."

"You actually give clients the toys? Don't most therapists just recommend stuff?"

"People here want full service. They don't want to have to hunt down something themselves. Plus, there's a lot of c.r.a.p products out there. I curate what I've seen to be most effective. You'll need to do the same."

She shook her head and sighed. "I feel so completely out of my depth with this."

He gave her a sympathetic smile. "You don't need to know everything day one. Just tackle one hill at a time. Or one vibrator at a time as the case may be. Imagine how fun that research will be."

She laughed and looked down at her cup.

He reached out and tapped her wrist. "You're blus.h.i.+ng again."