[THIS BOOK CONTAINS MATURE THEMES WHICH IS ACCEPTABLE FOR 18+ READERS ONLY]
"Yes?" His deep voice growls. It's so deep, so velvety. I can feel myself getting aroused. Aroused in ways I've never felt before.
"I was told to come and speak to you abou...
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Jackson Blake's POV
"A THERAPIST? I fucking told you I didn't want to see anyone!" I bellow at him, his cold hard stare watches as I pace the room and run my hands through my hair in distress. "AND WHY WON'T THIS FUCKING DOOR OPEN," I scream, frantically pulling at the door handle as if it would magically open this time, even though I'd tried and failed only five minutes ago.
"Mr. Blake, if you would just sit down, perhaps I could help," the lady's gentle voice lulls across the room and entices me to calm down.
"I don't want to sit down, I want to leave," I hiss at her, pacing the room back and forth. I didn't want to speak to anyone. I feel humiliated. Why did I need to speak to someone about it? I like getting fucked and I like it rough, what more is there to talk about? Sex is a private thing, you don't discuss it with other people!
"Jackson, sit down," Slater growls, fed up with my pacing and disobedience.
"Oh and if I don't? Are we going to do a live reenactment of why we're here?" I spit at him before resuming my pacing. I must have done it for a good 20 minutes, back and forth, across the cold hardwood which creaked beneath my feet. My mind was in a frenzy, I felt like a lamb going for slaughter, trapped in a pen with a stun gun at my head. I let out a deep sigh before sitting on the sofa, pressing my body into the cold leather and facing the lady before me. If I was getting out of here, I need to give her something.
"Mr. Blake, do you mind if I call you Jackson?" She asks, raising her brow to me to which I stare back like it was a stupid question. "Fine, Jackson, I understand you don't want to be here, but I'm not here to discuss anything you don't want to. I'm here to help," she starts, offering me a soft smile.
She was older, perhaps in her late 40s, judging by the few wrinkles around her mouth and brow line. She's a pretty woman, her blonde hair now greying is slicked in a bun, her cheeks glowing from her blusher, and her physique is tall and slim. "So tell me, why are we here today?" She asks, her pen poised in her hand, ready to write in her notebook. Slaters piercing eyes rest on me, analysing me like my next words were a mystery.
"Don't act like he hadn't told you," I bark out, huffing and crossing my arms over my chest.
"Jackson, I've been asked to sit with you because your mate is worried. I have very little understanding of why we're here actually, but judging by that nasty bruise on your neck, that may have something to do with it?" She queries, gesturing to the no doubt purple bruise on my throat.
I scoff as she finishes speaking. "Worried? Is that what you think? He's not worried, he's dragged me here to clear his fucking conscience. The only thing he's worried about is whether he raped me or not," I chuckle, a bitter and sinister laugh that held no amusement.
"Did he rape you?" She asks.
"No!" I exclaim. "Of course, he didn't rape me. He's stupid to think otherwise. If I didn't want it I could have stopped him and I didn't. I initiated it, so why would he think I didn't want it," I hiss.
