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Juliet nods. “Yes, I want to get better. I’ll do anything it takes.”
“Good,” I commend. “How about we take a seat on the sofa where we’ll both be more comfortable.”
Juliet’s mouth tips up into a secretive smile, but I ignore it as I reach for my notepad and make my way to the leather recliner. My eyes flick to the clock on my mantel, and I honestly don’t know how I’m going to get through an hour session, talking about her sex addiction, without ripping her clothes off.
Clearing my throat, I try not to stare as she takes a seat on the black leather sofa. As she slowly crosses her long legs, images of her black heels digging into my ass while I fuck her up againstmy office wall assault my brain, and I barely suppress my moan at the erotic vision.
“So what brings you here today, Ms. Harte?”
Juliet shifts in her seat, the leather creaking under her sinful ass as she replies, “I have a problem.”
I nod, encouraging her to go on.
“An addiction, I guess you could call it.” She pauses, lowering her eyes.
I wait for her to continue, as I will try my hardest to act professional.
As she meets my gaze, she huskily whispers, “I’m addicted…to sex.”
Those glorious words coming out of her mouth is what every hot-blooded American male wants to hear, but I appear unaffected as I ask, “How long have you felt this way?”
“For a while now.”
“How long roughly?” I press, my pen poised over my notepad.
“For about two years,” she discloses, her composure never wavering as I write down her secrets.
“I would like to talk about your personal life, Ms. Harte, would that be okay?”
She nods.
“Did anything happen around that time? Anything that may have caused this behavior change?”
I can see her mulling over my question. “Well, there was this one thing,” she states, and I remain impassive, allowing her to continue. “It was the first time I had sex with a girl. Does this mean I’m bisexual? Or gay?” she asks, genuinely curious.
“I don’t like to categorize sexuality, Ms. Harte,” I reply, pressing the notepad over my looming erection. “How did being with a woman make you feel?”
“I liked it. A lot,” she confesses. “There are some things men cannot provide in the bedroom.”
“And what’s that?”
“Being with a woman, it’s soft and familiar. They provide that gentleness and comfort a man doesn’t usually offer. The way a woman touches another woman’s body, exploring the soft curves and supple planes, it really is beautiful. But being with a man, it’s rough and raw. The way a man eats you out, compared to the way a woman does, is completely different. A man wants to devour his meal, while us ladies, we want to take our time and savor the taste,” she explains, her pink tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip.
If my erection got any harder, I’d be able to pound nails into the wall. I know I have to steer this conversation into another direction before I show her not all men are barbarians, and we too, like to savor our meals.
“So apart from this event, did anything else happen? How’s your family life? Work? Social life?”
Juliet’s composure doesn’t shift, and she happily answers, “It’s all good. I live by myself in an apartment Daddy bought me. He’s an investment banker, and well, we’re quite well off. My mother passed away when I was seven, so I don’t really remember her. Daddy got remarried to Rachel, and Rachel treated me like I was hers. She has two children of her own, and they are both nice people.”
“Are they older? Younger? What’s your relationship like with them?”
“One older, one younger, and I love…both of them.” I don’t fail to notice the apprehension in her strained admission.
“What do you do for work?” I question, writing down her stepsiblings as a possible cause for her addiction.
“I work for a law firm. I’m just a file clerk, but I don’t really need to work, as Daddy takes care of me.”
I nod, feeling a tad disturbed that a twenty-six-year-old woman refers to her father as “Daddy.” I write down that apossible cause to her issues could be because she was sexually abused as a child. Most sex addicts describe their parents as being rigid, distant and uncaring. But in Juliet’s case, it seems her father was the complete opposite. I make a note to revisit this point later.
