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Marin’s attention swung back to Lane.
His expression went serious, businesslike. “She handled it pretty well. We took it very slowly again. But she panicked when she got close to orgasm. She thought she was going to look silly and got self-conscious. So I backed off, and we talked it through. I reminded her that a good lover wants to please her. They’re not going to be turned off by how she looks when she comes. They’ll be excited. Plus, I assured her we all look a little ridiculous when we orgasm anyway.”
Donovan chuckled. “True enough.”
Marin peered his way. Was it? She had a hard time believing he’d look ridiculous in that situation. She imagined that firm mouth going lax, those sharp blue eyes going unfocused, the muscles in his neck tightening. Would that cool mask fall away completely? Would fire burn there instead? She’d never gotten a chance to see that.
Ugh. Stop. She gave herself a mental punch in the face. She was sinking into stupid land. He was her co-worker now. They were not together. She should not give a shit what he was like in private, personal moments. She didn’t.
She totally didn’t. Her pen poked a hole in her paper.
“How’d she respond to that?” Donovan asked, blessedly oblivious to Marin’s R-rated train of thought.
“She was really good with openly talking about her feelings. Eventually I got her to sit in front of a mirror with me, and she let me bring her to orgasm with a small vibrator. She admitted afterward that she thought she’d looked kind of sexy.”
“Wow. Excellent.” Donovan sounded genuinely pleased as he made a note. “That’s huge progress.”
“Yeah, I thought so. But I think I’ve brought her as far as I can get her at this point. The variable is going to be this guy. He’s going to have to be patient with her. And she’s going to have to be prepared for it to go a number of ways.”
Donovan made a sound of agreement. “That’s what we’re going to be working on today. Both the separation from you and how to have coping strategies if the guy turns out to be a dud.” He looked to Marin. “One of the issues with surrogate therapy is that someone gets used to having a partner who is sensitive and focused on their needs and issues. It’s a safe place. Not to mention a heady experience having all that focused attention. Then they try a real relationship.”
“And are jumping off a cliff into a sea of imperfect people,” she filled in.
Donovan met her gaze, mouth in a flat line. “Exactly. Not just imperfect people. Imperfect is expected. The assholes are the problem. They’re good at finding the vulnerable, and one shitty experience can undo a hell of a lot of work.”
Lane groaned and tipped his head back against the couch. “God, I hope this guy isn’t a dick. Bianca deserves someone who’s going to be good to her. She’s worked so hard.”
“Agreed. But there’s no way we can predict how this is going to go. We’ll need to prepare her to not accept anything less than a great guy. No settling. She can’t get The One Syndrome.”
Marin paused in her note-taking. “The One Syndrome?”
Donovan checked his watch and then peered her way. “It’s a disease you’ll see a lot around here—that belief that there is one person for everyone, that you’re fated in some way. Or, in this case, that this is Bianca’s one chance at love. There is no One. But I’ve seen the notion keep people who should be divorced together way too long. I’ve seen people cling to damaging partners over it. And I’ve seen people fall into despair when they think they’ve lost their one chance.”
Lane smirked. “Didn’t work out so well for Romeo and Juliet either.”
“Exactly,” Donovan agreed. “The One
got them killed.”
Marin lifted her eyebrows. “Well, aren’t you two a couple of romantics. Remind me not to invite either of you over for my annual marathon of Nora Ephron movies.”
Donovan groaned. “Just work here for a couple of weeks. You’ll lose your taste for fated love stories.”
She smirked but didn’t say anything more. She knew it was probably a silly thing to hold on to that kind of magical thinking. But watching those kinds of movies had kept her going through the past few years as she watched friends and co-workers fall in love and pair off while she remained alone. The movies and books were fantasy, sure, but part of her still wanted to believe that there were Harrys and Sallys, and Sams and Annies, and Empire State Buildings on Valentine’s Day.
“Bianca will be here any minute,” Donovan said, breaking her from her thoughts. “Let’s see how she’s feeling about taking the next step and meeting this guy. Then we’ll go from there.”
Marin nodded. “Sounds good.”
Bianca showed up a few minutes later—tall, graceful, and dark-haired. One side of her jaw and neck had burn scars, which apparently continued down her body. But her brown eyes were big and bright, her smile genuine, and her clothes chic. When Marin complimented her blouse, Donovan informed her that Bianca was a very successful fashion designer.
Bianca wasn’t what Marin had expected. She was quiet, but she clearly had developed a comfort level with Donovan and Lane. If Marin hadn’t known Bianca’s history, she would’ve never guessed the woman had issues dating.
Bianca sat next to Lane, and they talked with each other like business partners instead of people who had slept together the night before—mutual respect and a friendship there. Marin sat fascinated as she watched Donovan work with the two of them.
She didn’t feel confident enough yet to interject much, but she took notes at a rapid pace and tried to absorb everything she could. She couldn’t get over how brave it had been for Bianca to be open to surrogate therapy. Lane was a big, intimidating guy. Attractive. Very experienced. That was like plunging into the deep end of the pool for someone so inexperienced.
Though, Marin realized with an internal cringe that the woman sitting before her actually had more sexual experience than she did now. And this woman was in therapy for it. Nice. Marin was here trying to help other people with their sex lives and hers was nonexistent. Maybe she should be the one in therapy.
