Bad Medicine (Wolf Love Book 4) Page 6
And it’s normal to have just sex. That’s what many people do.
I gulp as we enter the emergency department. Strangely, Ryder isn’t letting go of my hand.
Yeah, I really can’t make more out of this than just sex.
If I can have just sex.
With Ryder.
Gulp.
Chapter Six - Asha
“Hi!” I almost scream into my phone’s screen.
My therapist is Skyping me after I texted her to see if we could chat, even though it’s in the evening. Somehow I got off my shift two hours early, thanks to someone over-scheduling MDs. Which is fine, because in twenty-four hours I’ve only slept a total of three. Maybe more like two and-a-half hours.
When texting my therapist, I tried to make it sound non-emergency related, but I did mention I was kind of desperate to talk, not in the I-think-I-might-kill-someone kind of desperate, but more in the I’m-crawling-out-of-my-skin sense.
Megan Atwood, my therapist, is laughing as her image comes into focus.
I landed her as my therapist back in college, when I was attending University of Washington. So I’ve known her now for six years. Almost seven.
“How’s one of my favorite people in the whole world?” She chuckles. “I like your text by the way. So how does it make you feel when you’re crawling out of your skin?”
Here’s why I stick with her. She’s funny. Deadpan funny, especially with therapist jokes, like how something makes me feel. And she’s helped me so much, as well as she doesn’t mind Skyping even though I live in a different state from her, and she doesn’t mind chatting for a few minutes if she’s got the time. She’s the most generous soul I’ve ever met, and I want to be like her.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I couldn’t figure out any other way to say I needed to talk, but if you were busy that it would be okay not to.”
Megan’s pink hair—Yeah, that’s right. She rocks pink and purple hair. Sometimes blue and green, even if she is in her fifties.—is softly braided over one shoulder, but it wiggles every time she giggles.
“I can talk, missy. So what’s up?”
I swallow. I just had an appointment with her a couple days ago, so she knows the only reason why I’m asking to talk is because something big happened. And only she would understand that kissing a man is a big deal to me.
I summon the courage to talk as openly as possible. “I kissed a guy.”
Her face lights up. Her pink braid sways. “That’s great. Wait. Is it great? Did you like it, kissing this guy?”
I nod. “It’s the first time I’ve enjoyed it. Ever. First time. I already said that.”
She beams yet again. “Awesome. And you like the guy?”
I’m in my car at a far-off parking lot of a local coffee shop, hoping for some privacy, instead of the hospital parking lot. But it’s slamming here. Must be that after-work, espresso-fix time. Someone annoys me by parking close to where I am. It’s getting dark, and I doubt anyone can see me, but I feel boxed in all the same.
Even though my windows are rolled up, I’m worried the person parking close will eavesdrop. So I speak in a low tone. “I really like him, but…but am I normal enough to do this?”
“Do what?”
“Kiss a guy.”
“It sounds like you already have.”
I purse my lips. “I mean, continue to kiss him.”
“Does he want that?”
“Yeah. I think. Yeah. He said…yeah.”
She laughs. “This wouldn’t be the guy you work with? What’s his name? It’s so cool. Something about his name and the way you described him made him sound like James Dean.”
I nod, smiling. “That’s a perfect description, except he’s a lot bigger and darker than I imagine James Dean would’ve been. He’s kind of huge, hulking, mostly somber, and does have a rebel-without-a-cause vibe.”
She squeals. “I love it! He sounds perfect. And you forgot to tell me his name.”
“Ian Ryder.”
“Right. Ryder. God, I love that. So do you want to continue kissing him?”
I swallow, noticing that the guy parked next to me is finally leaving his car. Something about the way the man holds himself and his jet black hair reminds me of my brother, reminds me of our lost relationship and why I reached out to a therapist in the first place when I was only nineteen. The guy marches towards the coffee shop, like a man on a mission. So similar to my brother now. But not when we were best friends. Back then he had a fluid grace that I always admired, a freedom to his movements, to his speech, to everything he did. And especially his wide smile. He used to have that on his handsome face almost every minute of the day.
Not now.
I look at Megan, tears suddenly flooding my eyes as I think of my past colliding with this present moment. I ache for my brother, but I won’t call him. I’ve tried too many times. And I ache for Ryder in a completely unexpected way, so I confess, “I really liked kissing him.”
“Oh sweetie, that’s good, isn’t it?” I can tell she notices the tears in my eyes from the concern inflected in her voice.
I nod. “I guess. I—I never thought I’d feel like this. I never thought I’d like it when a man kissed me, touched me. I mean, he only held my waist, a little of my butt—”
“Whoa. Wow. He grabbed your ass?”
I nod again. “And I liked that too.”
“This is really good news, Asha.”
I want to join her, smiling, and congratulating myself for getting this far in life. But there’s still so much to overcome. “I—I think it is, but—”
“But?”
“But—okay, so, say we do continue kissing. What then? How the hell am I going to tell him I’m a twenty-five-year-old virgin? He’ll think there’s something wrong with me, and then I’ll have to tell him.”
“Asha, honey, I’ve told you all along you never have to tell anyone anything you don’t feel comfortable sharing.”
I sigh. “I know that, but he’s going to want to know why I have such little physical experience, isn’t he?”
“If he’s a good guy, he might be curious but also know it’s none of his fucking business.”
Another reason why I love Megan—she’s real. Swearing and all, to make her emphatic points.
I nod. “Okay, but let’s say I do want to tell him. I want to warn him that I’m—I’m—” She sucks in a warning-like breath, but I say it anyway, “—I’m broken. I’m not normal.”
She sighs. “Honey, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known. And so far from broken. Besides, being normal is overrated.”
“You know what I mean about the normal thing.”
She slowly nods. “I do. And I do think you’re normal. But that doesn’t counter your own thoughts right now, does it?”
I glance away, something getting good and lodged in my throat, something that hurts and keeps threatening to make me cry soon. But crying’s okay. Crying’s cathartic. So I blink and let a tear fall. “Thank you for saying I’m normal. It means a lot to me. And you’re right. I do feel broken and not normal, even with all the work we’ve done. But getting close to Ryder today was…was so good. I wanted…more from him.”
Megan smiles. “He must be a good kisser.”
I bite my lip. “He is.”
“And a good listener.”
I blink, surprised she’s said something like this.
She waves a hand in the air. “I’m just saying that a man who’s good enough for you should be a good listener. He should know how to stop when you say so. Maybe even let you take control when you get more physically involved.”
“But—but don’t men want to be in control? Don’t men want to be the one on top who sometimes gets a ride on the bottom? Don’t men want to dictate…the sex?”
“The sex? We’re sounding awfully academic about this.”
I snort a laugh. “I didn’t mean to, but I only know sex in terms of academia or in terms of my romance novels.”
Megan then shakes her head. “But aren’t we jumping the gun here a little? I mean you just kissed. You’re not planning on a roll in the sheets any time soon.” She stiffens. “Oh my goodness, you were thinking of doing just that.”
I cover my face with my free hand. “I—I don’t know what I want.”
“Do you want to have the sex with Ryder?”
I laugh and keep cringing. “I might.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that, honey. I just—wow. You are really living life, then, huh?”
The man who parked close to me returns with a to-go coffee cup. He’s distracted with something internally, not really looking at anything as he walks to his car. He looks so much like my brother, Hon. And my heart breaks. The real reason why I needed to talk to Megan comes to light.
“What is it, Asha?” Megan asks, her intuition always spot-on.
The man gets in his car and drives off in a hurry, and I glance back at my lovely therapist, swallowing as I feel the stabbing memories of my past come back to me full force.
“Megan, I know I don’t have to tell Ryder everything about me. I know that. But what if I want to? What if I want to tell some man in my future about…about the fact that I’m still kind of a virgin but was sexually assaulted. That my best friend, who happened to be my brother’s best friend too, put a roofie in my beer, took off all my clothes and was taking off his when Hon found us. That I don’t remember any of it, but at the physical examination some of my hymen was torn and I had vaginal lacerations. I don’t remember a goddamned thing about that night, but I couldn’t sleep without a light on…okay, I still need a light on. I couldn’t sleep alone for…for years. I suffered from PTSD and sought a therapist, you, who I have seen for almost seven years now, and I’m still not fixed.”
Megan blinks and licks her lips. “There’s nothing to fix, baby doll. You’re still perfect. No matter what that fucker did, you’re still perfect.” Her voice is strained and her eyes are sparkling more than usual. I think she’s fighting her tears.
“Then why don’t I feel like it? Why won’t my brother be my brother again?”
Megan nods. “Those are excellent questions. Regarding the former, I believe you don’t feel like you’re fixed because you can’t see that you’re perfect. Right now. Just perfect. As to the latter question, that might need a lot more time than we have. Shall I schedule an extra session to talk about Hon?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe next week?”
She nods. “I’ll email you with a possible schedule.” She leans toward her computer camera. “Asha, I really want to challenge you about your thoughts. I want you to ask yourself what would it mean to be fixed?”
I bite my lip, watching a little girl in all pink pull on her mother’s denim skirt as they make their way across the parking lot toward the coffee shop. They’re cute. There’s a part of me that wants something like that—a family. But there’s a part of me that feels it could never happen because even thinking about the way to make a baby is so uncomfortable for me. Sex, in my books, is fine. Because that’s making love with someone else’s body. An imaginary body. A real family requires a real body. Mine. And I got to a point in my life where I felt I just couldn’t get over that sexual hurdle. There is adoption, though. But I wanted a husband to help me raise a child. And more often than not, in a marriage, sex comes with it. So I was resigned to dreaming, but never hoping for something like that for me.
However, for once, I’m not scared of the thought of sex. With Ryder.
Okay, I am scared, but not like I used to be fearful of sex. Now, I’m more curious and scared of getting my heart broken.
What if having sex with Ryder could be like a gateway for me? Ryder doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to think of happily ever after, but he does seem to be the kind of guy who would be happy to have sex with me. And after he loses interest in little ol’ me, then I’d be that much more prepared to meet a nice guy who might want to have sex at certain scheduled times, who might put up with my weirdness and my feelings that I still need fixing, to make a family. Maybe Ryder could be the start to a normal life.
As long as I don’t fall for him.
I glance at Megan. “I guess, I thought when I would be fixed I’d know how to address the fact that I’ve been sexually assaulted and can’t remember anything about it. I guess I thought I’d be okay to admit I had and maybe still have a touch of PTSD.”
Megan sniffs. “You know, most people who can admit in public about their past traumas are usually doing it for a talk or workshop. They’re exposing themselves to help others. But for the most part, we keep our traumas close to our chests. And we only let in the few who have earned the right to know. But what do you think about that?”
I nod. “I see your point. I totally see your point.” I take a deep breath. “Megan, do you think I would be called a slut if I asked Ryder to have sex with me?”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course not.”
I chuckle. “Too bad. I kind of wanted a title like that. Something other than virgin would be nice.”
She smiles. “Honey, there’s only one way to remove the title of virgin.”
“I have to have sex.”
She rolls her eyes again. “No, silly. You have to open your mind to—hold your seat, babe—the possibility of—gasp!—not needing a title. Maybe, Miss Asha, the world is a big enough place to not have titles or labels or whatever. Maybe, my friend, you can have sex if you want to and it doesn’t have to mean anything other than what you want it to mean.”
I sigh. “God, you’re always so rational.”
“That’s why I get paid the big bucks.”
I laugh and feel good. So good that I’m going to do something crazy. I’m going to drive myself to Ryder’s apartment. I have his dets. I can do that. I will do that.
Chapter Seven - Ryder
So masturbating after kissing Asha wasn’t enough to calm my cock. After my shift, after I got home, I was exhausted, yeah, but I fell into bed, thinking about her. I felt so fucking dirty doing it, but I couldn’t help myself. I thought of her coming into my room, stripping naked, then she’d climb on my bed and straddle me. I fisted my hard dick, thinking of her slowly lowering herself on me, her wet walls tight and warm. I thought of her breasts, those same perfect globes that had been pressed against my chest not that long ago. And I came after I imagined her orgasming, saying my name as her long hair fell over her sweat-slick body.
After that, I slept like the dead, which I’m glad of. Thanks to a scheduling SNAFU, I have to work another twelve-hour shift. After working a shit-load of days in a row, we’re usually given at least twenty-four hours to recover, but shit happens. Tina’s making up for the mistake by giving me the next five days off.
So I woke a few hours before my shift, got in a workout, and am now showering, thinking of Asha again. I can’t believe I kissed her. And she kissed me. I had my body against hers. I felt her breasts, her soft stomach, the way her arms held me so tight. I felt her hot little pussy against my cock. Even if just for a second. But I did that. I think she was going to wrap her legs around me before we were interrupted.
Taking the soap, I lather up my balls, squeezing and pulling, making my already hard member even more so. I think about her little hands if she were here in the shower. I imagine her wrapping her fingers around the base of me, so I do the same. I imagine her stroking me up and down, up and down. She pays attention to my head, circling the extra-sensitive area, but then goes back to stroking me.
I spread my legs, bracing myself in the shower, feeling a tad guilty for t
hinking of Asha again. But fuck it. I can’t help it after we shared that kiss. And I’m going to see her in just an hour or so. She’ll be getting off her long shift, while I’ll be in agony during mine, missing her. Maybe we can talk about a date. Would she like dinner and a movie? Or maybe something less traditional? Bowling? Once, I overheard her say she liked dancing. I could trade off my pride and go to a club for her.
I can’t remember the last time I went on a date. A real date with food and conversation and flirty gazes. I’ve been such a shit to women.
Even with my roaming thoughts, I’m stroking harder, imagining Asha kneeling before me. She’d smile up while she’d have her hands around my cock. I grunt at the vision. Then she’d open her perfect full lips, lips so plump I can sink into them, and they’re even more full after I’ve kissed her, kissed her for long minutes. I pump at my shaft even faster as I think of her mouth, pulling me in. She licks around my head then right over my slit. I gasp and groan. Fuck, I want her.
In my imagination, I lift her from her knees, hiking her up my body, holding her luscious ass as she wraps her legs around my hips, like she was going to do in the janitor’s closet. This time she’s naked, and I slide in because she’s so wet for me. I have both hands fisted around my cock, ensuring it feels like being all the way inside a woman, inside Asha. And then I imagine her coming, her inner channel contracting around me, squeezing me, while she whispers, “I’m coming. Coming for you.”
My own orgasm takes me. It scuttles down from my skull, through my spine and right into my testicles where I feel the delicious warmth of my desire pump through my cock. I open my eyes enough to watch my ejaculation. Must be a guy thing, but I always want to see if I can spray the ceiling. I am shooting crazily and grunt with a weird mix of pride and the associating pinch of humiliation at making myself come like this.
After pushing myself during my workout and now this, I’m boneless and wish I could just sit down in my shower. But I don’t have time. I want to shave for Asha. I want to look clean. I know I’m not good enough for her, but I’ll try to look the part until she figures it out.