Surrender to a Sex Therapist

Surrender To A Sex Therapist

Part 1 of the Surrender Series Volume 1

Anita Lawless

 

Copyright © 2012 Anita Lawless

Published by Wild & Lawless Writers

http://wildlawlesswriters.blogspot.com/
 

All rights reserved. No part of this ebook may be distributed, shared, resold, posted online, or reproduced in any electronic or hard copy form.

This ebook is a work of fiction. Any similarities between actual persons or events is entirely coincidental. This ebook contains adult content and is intended for a mature readership. All sexual scenarios depicted in this ebook occur between consenting adults over 18 years of age.

Cover art design by Mr. Wild.

The photo on the cover comes from a free images section of a photo stock site. It is used here under a royalty-free license. The writer, publisher, and cover designer claim no rights to the original photo. Photographer and model have no affiliation with the author, cover designer, or publisher, and use of this photo does not suggest in any way that the model or photographer endorse the author’s work.

Surrender To A Sex Therapist

I enjoyed my new job so much it was almost too good to be true. An old friend of Dad’s from the precinct, Sherri Taylor, had landed me the interview with Dmitri Nichvalodov, and I’d become the secretary of this prominent sex therapist three weeks ago. At first I’d had reservation about working for him. Not that I was a prude, but I knew little about sex--I’d only been with two men in my life, and one was a disappointing fumbler at best--plus I’d heard Dmitri was a stunner. Being introverted and a social kumquat, my reservations stemmed from the fact there was a good chance I’d stumble over my words, or tip over a coffee table, and make a complete ass of myself. I tended to do just that when I was nervous or intimidated by the subject or persons involved.

However, the salary promised was generous, and it would cover Dad’s mounting medical bills. Dad came first, so I swallowed my fear and accepted the position.

“
Charlotte,” Dmitri said, his green eyes meeting mine, making my stomach do a flutter I tried to ignore. “Would you join me in my office when you’re finished up there? I’d like to ask you something.”

“
Oh, certainly, Mr. Nichvalodov.” I adjusted my glasses, thankful they slipped down my nose at that moment, because it gave me a chance to break away from his penetrating gaze.

“
It’s Dmitri to you.” I watched his broad shoulders, clad in a pinstriped suit, disappear behind the door. His long hair gleamed as the sun caught it just before he vanished. He wore his straight, black mane in a braid that fell to the middle of his back. How a psychiatrist managed to look like a male stripper was beyond me. Maybe it had something to do with being a sex therapist. I scolded myself for picturing him out of that suit for the second time today.

Dmitri also came from money, a lot of it, and his family held a history of investing in entrepreneurial ventures that had, for the most part, paid off well. He’d told me, in some of our frequent office conversation, that there had been some risky investments in the early days, and his great-great grandfather lost his shirt a couple times over a hunch that went sour. However, these days the family had enough wealth to take a million or more dollar loss and not even feel it. They invested a great deal in green energy technology. Dmitri told me the only thing holding green energy back, in his educated opinion, was the lack of funding for researching and developing these techniques.

“
Why work as a sex therapist then?” I’d said one day, and when he turned those penetrating green eyes on me, I’d added, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

He flashed a wide, dazzling smile. “Our parents encouraged my brother and I to be more than a part of the family empire. Mom and Dad worried focusing on one thing would narrow our minds, our pursuits. They wanted us to be well rounded, so here I am.”

Now, as I stepped into his office, I tried to slow my heartbeat to normal. Had I entered some data incorrectly in our patient database? I mentally checked over the day, looking for a mistake. There had to be one. I’d been doing a great job so far, but this had to be about a screw up. I just knew it.

Dmitri looked up from a sheaf of papers and gave me that winning smile. “Please, have a seat, Charlotte.”

I sat in the chair he indicated, crossed my right leg over my left, uncrossed, repeated the process. Then I silently scolded myself for fidgeting.

He sat in his looming, leather office chair, folded his hands on top of the desk, and gave me an intense gaze. “How would you feel about seeing me outside of the office? Maybe tomorrow night? Dinner perhaps?”

I choked and coughed on my nervousness. Enough so that I had to get up and excuse myself so I could grab a glass of water. As I brushed a lock of mouse-brown hair from my face, I noticed how badly my hand shook.

“
Sorry about that,” I said, after I sat in his office once more. “I must be coming down with a bit of a cold.”

He stood, walked around the desk, then leaned against the front of it. Obviously he was waiting for my answer, but he didn’t make it any easier to speak when he towered over me that way.

I dared a glance at him, felt my face warm, played with the silver chain Dad had given me for my sixteenth birthday. When he gave a impatient sigh, I finally managed to speak. “Dinner, oh, that would be fine, great, yes.” I nodded like a bobblehead. “Certainly, Mr. Nich--I mean, Dmitri, I’d love to have dinner with you.”

My stomach clenched tight with anxiety as he offered his hand. “Wonderful,” he said, as I took it and he tugged me to my feet before I could stand. “Will you need a ride home tomorrow to freshen up? I can have my car take you there then return for you at eight. Would that suffice?”

I bit my lip, wondering briefly if he was playing with me, but then just nodded my response. My throat felt too tight to attempt words.

Then he made the anxiety all the worse as he yanked me close. I stumbled and fell against his massive barrel chest. He took my chin between his thumb and index finger, tipping it up so I had to meet his stare.

“
Are you frightened of me, Charlotte?” Was that a smirk? I thought, as he spoke. “You shouldn’t be. I thought we were friends. I’d just like to get to know you even better, that’s all.”

Before I could respond, his mouth descended on mine lightning quick. His tongue slithered over my lips, demanding they part and give him entry. Surprised by his kiss, and the dormant sensations it stirred in me, I whimpered as his tongue teased mine into submission.

Large, strong hands roamed down the back of my blazer (bought on a discount rack at E-Mart). His wide palms cupped my butt through my skirt. He reached for the clip that held the curls away from my face, and soon a curtain of hair tumbled to my shoulders.

The stimuli invading me felt like tiny electric shocks going off throughout my body. My brain swam in a flood of sensation. I hadn’t been kissed like this--so passionately, so ravenously--since Doug, my last boyfriend, who’d passed away over three years ago.

His strong fingers cradled the back of my head and I moaned into his mouth. His other hand tugged up the hem of my skirt, then slid up my cheap nylons, edging closer to my loins. A fire started deep in my belly and surged lower. He tore his mouth from mine and nibbled a path to my ear.

“
Charlotte, I--” Before he could speak another word, the shrill ring of his desk phone cut him off. He took his arms away, giving me a disappointed look. “Excuse me, I have to see who that is.”

I pressed my palms to my cheeks. They were positively burning. My lips tingled from the roughness of his kiss. My body ached all over to be back in his arms. But I shook my head, found my hair comb, and gathered my senses, while he chatted away to whoever interrupted our interlude.

He covered the mouthpiece with one beefy paw. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to be a while. It’s Mildred, and she needs to confer with me about this patient.”

“
Oh, oh, of course.” I gave a shaky smile, tried not to trip over the chair as I backed away. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Mildred was the other therapist who had an office on the same floor as us. She was right next door, and she specialized in abnormal psychology. She and Dmitri had been good friends for ages, apparently, and when I’d started at the office, she’d instantly struck up a conversation with me. I didn’t know what to make of her kindness at first. I’d been exposed to a clique of passive aggressive girls in high school, and college, who’d made me the target of their frequent bullying. Because of this, I’d come to expect that type of treatment from most women I met, even though I knew my expectation wasn’t accurate. But Mildred spoke honestly, directly, and you always knew where you stood with Millie, as she told me to call her. She was a leggy, blonde bombshell with a brain as big as her heart.

As I went to my desk to gather my purse and coat, I couldn’t help feeling I’d been casually dismissed, and that, after a passionate kiss and an inquiry of dinner, made me all the more befuddled. What was going on here? Dmitri had, so far, been one of the kindest and most personable bosses I’d had. He actually talked to me in the office--asked about my dad, our situation, seemed to take a genuine interest. But he couldn’t be interested in me romantically, could he? Not a powerful man like that. My fear of being set up for a fall grew.

Dad could obviously see the worry on my face when I came home. “What happened, kiddo? You’ve got that white line around your mouth that you get when you worry.”

I could tell he struggled to get the last few words out. His breathing was bad today. Dad, a retired homicide detective, had been diagnosed with emphysema when I was thirteen. Now the disease had progressed to the point where he needed an oxygen machine at all times.

“
Well, looks like I have a date,” I told him, as I sat in the tattered armchair across from where he rested on the couch. “And it’s with my boss.”

His tired, grey face brightened. “That’s great. I’m always telling you to get out more. When is it?”

“
Eight o’ clock tomorrow. But you can’t be left alone…”

He waved me off. “Bah, call Lucy from across the way. She said she’ll come watch me when you need.”

Lucy rented the second half of the duplex we lived in. She was a nice older woman who, if Dad were healthier, I could see him running away with. “Okay, okay, I’ll go. Let me call Lucy now.”

***

I stared at myself in the cracked, bathroom mirror. My eyes, a smoky blue grey, were the only part of my face I liked. My nose was too big, my face too long, my chin far too pronounced. At least, I’d always thought so. I rarely wore make up, but tonight I decked out in some blush, a touch of eyeliner, mascara, and a muted shade of rosy brown lipstick that matched the dress I wore. I’d even splurged on a pair of contacts for the date. Truly decadent of me, considering the cost of Dad’s medication, but he’d encouraged me to go treat myself. The dress, however, was the only one I owned, and the satiny, slip-like garment had also been my prom gown. Thankfully it still fit, and was plain but classy enough to pull off as fancy dinner attire.

Lucy came running in the bathroom, her round face ruddy with excitement. “A limo just stopped outside. Look at you, Charlotte.” She beamed like a proud mother as she gazed at me. “You look lovely, and I think your date plans to spoil you.”

“
Thank you, Lucy.” I leaned forward to hug her and place a grateful peck on her cheek. “For everything.”

She squeezed my hand tight, returned the affectionate peck. “Go have a wonderful time. Be Cinderella for a night. You deserve it.”

As I carefully picked my way down the front steps, wearing a pair of two inch heels so I wouldn’t break my neck, the driver exited the limo and opened the passengers door. Dmitri stepped out, looking like a fabled god carved from marble. His charcoal, tailored suit clung to the lines of his sculpted body. I felt like an ill dressed frump in comparison.