Chapter 3
After a particularly quiet session, the weight of his voice left me so wound up and breathless that I locked my bedroom door, staring at the ceiling as my hand moved on its own.
It was a desperate effort, driven by an ache I couldn't scrub out of my mind, and when it was over, I lie in the dark hating myself for the betrayal.
But even through the disgust, my brain looped the tape of his office. The way his eyes tracked me. The deliberate gravity of his movements.
By the sixth week, I was sitting in the chair while he spoke about boundaries...about taking my own body back from the ghost of James... and I realized I had stopped translating his words entirely. I was just drowning in the vibration of his throat.
He cut himself off mid-sentence.
"What?" I asked, my pulse instan
