My pulse quickens, and I drop his gaze. “My college philosophy professor was obsessed with Voltaire,” I say. “So it’s not that impressive. But I wonder if you deliberately left out the distinction between enthusiasm and fanaticism, that an enthusiast holds strong beliefs, whereas a fanatic enforces them through violence.” I glance up, noting the tension along his jaw. “Unless you disagree with Voltaire’s warning there.”
The air charges around us as dark amusement sparks behind his eyes. “This isn’t a classic literature lecture. I asked you a question.”
My lips press together before I answer. “I’m passionate about what I do. Obviously.”
He inclines his head. “Don’t give me a canned response.”
“Then I’m not sure what you want.”
His nostrils flare, irritation flickers across his face. “We’re not yet ready for what I want,” he says, voice dropping low. “Let’s start with what I don’t. No practiced responses, no psycho-nonsense. Give me your honesty.”
I release an extended breath, feeling the exhaustion of our sessions. It’s the patient who’s supposed to break, not the doctor. And yet, his walls stand just as erect as the day he first entered this room.
I scoop his folder from the floor and set it in my lap. “You want a direct conversation.”
“Yes.”
“Because you have no inhibitions about speaking your mind, you demand the same of me.”
“Yes.”
Pulling in a fortifying breath, I lift my chin. “How freeing itmust be to say exactly what you want without a single care. Tell me, Grayson, how does that feel?”
The corner of his mouth lifts into a sinful smile. “Liberating.”
My tongue sweeps across my lips, stalling. I’ve allowed him to get under my skin, and he’s relishing in it.
“Is that considered crazy?” he asks, easing back in the chair, chains rattling against the floor. “Does it upset the pleasant complacency of all those boring fucks we don’t actually give a shit about?”
I select my words carefully. “The freedom to do and say whatever one pleases has always unsettled others,” I say honestly, quickly adding, “but that’s why society tends to hide their innermost thoughts. An empathetic person tries not to harm or disturb those around them. In order to blend, for lack of a better word, we must…” I trail off, unable to finish my thought.
“We, doctor?” Grayson leans forward. “I’m dying for you to tell me whatwemust do.”
I brush my bangs from my forehead and situate my glasses, regaining control. “Master our passions.”
His stare intensifies, that disarming gaze hardening as though he’s dissecting me. “Is that how you’ve done it, London?”
An icy splash of fear chills my veins. “I’m sorry. Done what?”
“Blended,” he replies smugly. “Have you mastered your passions, or are you just deluding yourself?”
I close the folder, standing abruptly. “This session has gotten off track. We’re done for today.”
“But we only have one session left.”
The raw hurt in his voice sounds so sincere, it makes me halt, and I turn toward him. “I’ve already completed your evaluation. You don’t require another session.” I yank the paperwork from the folder and flinch. “Dammit,” I hiss out. “Paper cut.”
Bright red beads instantly at the tip of my finger.
In the seconds it takes me to assess the cut, Grayson moves, capturing my hand and hauling me toward him. His grip a vise around my hand, he simultaneously prevents my escapes and forces blood to the surface.
His predatory gaze locks onto mine, a dark hunger stirring in his gaze as he slowly takes my finger into his mouth.
I cease to breathe, a fire burning through my flesh, as his lips close around my finger. His tongue expertly moves against me, sending an intense pulse of heat between my thighs, knocking my legs weak.
“Please stop.” My words are barely a whisper, but it’s enough.
He pauses, his heated gaze still soldered to mine, before he releases first my finger, then my hand. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as he draws the chain off the floor, sliding it across his palm, where he clutches the lock.
