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We talk through a drink refill, top our lunch off with peppermints from this adorable little glass jar by the door, and latch hands as we step into the sunlight. It’s a balmy, humid day, springtime-warm.
“How’d you find me at the UPS place?” I ask.
Barrett smiles. “I was watching for you. Want a walk to Helga’s office?”
“Yes.” I lean my cheek against his arm as we walk slowly toward her little, white brick building. “You’ll go home after?”
He nods. “Unless you want me to stay. I could kill some time down here. You need anything done?”
I smile, and Barrett smirks. “That’s some Cheshire Cat stuff there.”
“I know.” I laugh. “That line is every woman’s wet dream.”
We nuzzle each other outside Helga’s office, and Barrett agrees to meet me here in fifty minutes.
“I’ll pick up a helmet for you. Pink?” His brow quirks up.
I nod, smiling.
“Second choice neon green?”
I grin and blow him a kiss.
Fifty minutes later, I emerge, feeling lighter and holding the business card of a local therapist who works with vets.
I see Barrett’s yummy, thick back leaned against the glass window at the front of Helga’s office, and my heart does a little tap dance of excitement.
I launch myself into his arms as soon as my feet hit the sidewalk. He pushes a hot pink helmet on my head. I lean my head back. “Do I look sexy?”
“Very sexy. So damn sexy,” he murmurs, kissing me lightly, “it’s a shame you have to drive yourself back.”
“Race you there?”
He smirks. “C’mon…”
I punch his arm and dart off toward my car. When I pull into my driveway, Barrett’s standing on the porch with his arms crossed, an adorable smirk on his face and his dark hair blowing in the perpetual mountain breeze. When I get out of the car, the first thing I notice is his dick tenting his pants, a dark glaze on his eyes.
I unlock the laundry room door, but before I step inside, I unbutton my pants so as I walk, they’ll fall down.
“Fucking hell, Gwenna. I hope that pussy wants a dick inside.”
I lean over slightly and wiggle my ass at him. Barrett tackles me. We fuck on the rug beside the couch like dogs, my pussy stretched around his steel-hard length, his body heaving as he pants and pounds me.
It’s not until after our bath that I manage to get the card in his hand. I’m making chicken salad at the counter when he strokes his hand over my hair.
“Be back, Pig,” he murmurs.
My walls are thin enough that I can hear him calling from my office.
Sean Eddins, PhD. His card says he does PTSD Recovery, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, Brainspotting, and Exposure Therapy.
My stomach twists a little at the thought of Barrett going somewhere. Talking to someone.
So when his appointment rolls around, two days later, I can’t help offering to drive him. I sort of expect him to say “yes,” so when he shakes his head, picks up his helmet, and says, “I’ve got it, Pig,” I slap his arm, pretending I’m offended by my silly, new nickname. In truth, I kind of love it.
“Okay, Bear.” I plant a kiss on his scruffy jaw. “Be careful for me.”
“Will do.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders, drawing me in close against his chest. His lips brush the crown of my head. “He said this time will be an hour and a half. I’m going to do something right before, so it might be more like two hours.”
