Absolve Me Read online

  “How much were you able to discuss with her?”

  “She knows I’m struggling with increasing thoughts and ideas, but not the nature of the ideas themselves.”

  “Dominic, before you continue, I have to ask. Are any of your fantasies about illegal activities, serious self-harm or serious harm to another?”

  His eyes widened and he sat up in the chair. “No, no, of course not! They’re just...things I want to do, or have done to me. Kink, I guess you would describe it.”

  Liza frowned. “I’m sure Dr. Cooper would have told you that sexual kink of all types is normal and nothing to feel ashamed of. Is this something you feel like you can’t share with your partner?” He didn’t wear a ring, but hell if that tall drink of cool water was wandering the streets of Nola solo.

  “That’s just it,” he said. “I’m single and...um, celibate. It’s not that I haven’t had sex in the past, but I don’t anymore, and that’s part of the problem. Plus—” some color started to appear on his face “—I can’t do this with just anyone. For very personal reasons.”

  Wow. That was a lot to unpack, and their session was more than halfway over. She jotted a quick mental note and decided not to push for the moment. “Okay, so I gather you’d like to explore your sexual thoughts and ideas in a safe, nonjudgmental space. What do you hope to have learned or gained through this experience?”

  Dominic met her eyes with a solemn expression. “I’d like to know if I can live without them.”

  Chapter Two

  Circling the block in busy noontime traffic wasn’t helping Liza’s pounding headache.

  The hangover was her own damn fault. She’d taken advantage of a free night, with no client scheduled the next morning, to hit what used to be her favorite club just to work off some pent-up tension. Club Atlantis was a small, private BDSM group that carefully vetted its members. She’d had luck in the past finding a like-minded regular to flog her on the St. Andrew’s cross, or paddle her ass until her endorphins soared on one of the padded benches scattered around for that purpose.

  The door manager had grunted a polite greeting, but shaken his head at her raised eyebrow—her preferences were a known quantity, and Sammy was warning her that it was unlikely to be her night. True to his assessment, she hadn’t found any of her usual Doms to do a scene; she hated breaking in the greenies, but sometimes there wasn’t much for choice.

  And last night had been a doozy. “Call me Shadow,” the surfer-blond twenty-something with skin still marked by acne and oversized muscles had said, his voice almost squeaking against the thumping bass of the sound system. Liza hadn’t bothered to respond with more than a finger crook; she’d found an empty playroom and told him succinctly, “My safe word is ‘caterpillar.’ No body fluids. Don’t break the skin. We can fuck if you have a condom—otherwise, keep your come off me.”

  Mr. Brawns-Not-Brains had gawked at her, so she’d dropped her dress, leaving on her platforms and thong, and stepped over to one of the benches. She bent over, grabbing the edges so her ass was displayed, and looked back over her shoulder. “Hit me, big guy.”

  “Oh. Okay, right. Um, what do I call you?”

  Liza had turned her head back so he didn’t see the disappointment that surely flashed across her face. “Call me whatever you want. Just beat my ass.”

  It was the least memorable spanking she’d ever received. She’d attempted to provide some instruction, which had irritated her beyond reason, but had eventually given up and let him whack ineffectually at her butt and thighs with his open palm while he’d tugged hard on his own cock. At no point had Mr. Muscles even attempted to penetrate her, so Liza had sighed and massaged her own clit to a weak completion just to get something out of this farce.

  She’d left him gasping and shaking in the aftermath of his own orgasm while she’d zipped back into her dress and rearranged her hair.

  “Oh God, baby, that was so good. When can we do this again?” he’d said, a big, sloppy, self-satisfied grin on his face.

  Liza hadn’t bothered to dignify that with a response, marching straight to the door and past Sammy with a massive roll of her eyes before yanking out her phone to call for an Uber. At Sammy’s muttered, “Told you so, Liza,” she’d flipped him a backhanded bird, ignoring his bass chuckle as she’d paced along the curb, inhaling air redolent of blooming magnolia and the ever-present Nola undertone of vegetation-rich, stagnant water.

  The tequila she’d pounded before bed hadn’t managed to blunt the memories of her strikeout, so Liza was hoping she could clear her mind with a combination of old-fashioned carbs and good company.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late!” She flung her bag down and flopped into the padded wrought-iron chair. Café Trieste was her favorite weekday indulgence, made even better by the presence of her bestie, Angie, and her goddaughter, Bella. “What’re we having?”

  “Mac and cheese!” Bella chimed at the same time her mother said, “Green salad and grilled chicken.”

  Liza grinned. “One of these days, you’re going to tell me something different and I’m going to know the apocalypse is actually coming.”

  “I’ve ordered your BLT and Arnold Palmer,” Angie said. Her dark eyes sparkled. “I’m sure you’ve worked up an appetite.”

  Angie’s favorite game was to tease Liza in G-rated terms, knowing she wouldn’t be able to offer any salacious details in front of a nine-year-old. Liza found it charming but stuck out her tongue, tearing into the bread basket with gusto. Angie wasn’t wrong, but she was sure as hell not going to discuss it, even obliquely, in front of Bella.

  “So, Bells,” Liza said around a mouthful of sourdough, “when’s your next competition?” Bella was a horse fiend, much like Liza had been at her age, and she was starting to do really well jumping her adorable pony, Lafitte.

  “Two weeks! Are you coming?”

  “You know I’ll be there if I can. And if your mom doesn’t hate me for canceling our plans for Tuesday.” At Angie’s disappointed look, Liza reached over to squeeze her arm. “I know, I know. I’ve got a new client. He can only meet on certain nights, and he’s going to be a tough one.”

  Angie rolled her eyes, but patted Liza’s hand and reached for her diet soda. “You’re gonna owe me deets on this one, baby.”

  Oh, Lord. If Angie only knew how much she was dying to share. But she was careful how she talked about her clients, even with her oldest and best friend. There was a very fine line between dishing about her cases in the abstract and keeping what happened in session confidential. Trust was paramount in her profession.

  And trust was the very thing she kept coming back to as she replayed her first meeting with Dominic La Sera. She’d been able to pry the barest of details from her tight-lipped new client, who’d declined to provide more than a sketch of his personal history and current lifestyle. Given that he had an established therapeutic relationship with Dr. Cooper, Liza wasn’t too concerned, but it did present a pickle. She had to create a safe space for physical intimacy despite his emotional reservations. Fortunately, she was damn good at her job, and she had some time to noodle on it.

  “Earth to Liza? Hello?” Angie broke into her reverie. “Jeez, lady, you were just a million miles away.”

  Liza coughed, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry! Work. But I’m here, I swear.”

  Angie snorted. “You really need some extracurricular recreation time, baby. Something to get you worked up outside the office.”

  Liza winced.

  “Like tennis!” Bella piped up, scooping up a huge bite of her mac and cheese.

  “Doubles tennis. With a very...fit partner,” Angie added.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She sighed, picked at a stray piece of lettuce on her plate. “Too bad all the good...tennis players already have partners. Or are never at the court when I need them.”

&n
bsp; “So go play by yourself! Mom says that if I want to try something, I should go ahead and do it even if no one else I know, like Tanner or Kimmie or Brady, wants to do it with me.”

  Angie choked on her drink. “Oh, honey. I think Auntie Liza’s tired of playing by herself.”

  Liza threw the leftover lettuce at her friend, who shrieked and ducked. She winked at Bella. “Good thing I always have you on my team, right, Bells?”

  “Yep! ’Cept I’m not very good at tennis. Can we play soccer instead?”

  “Sure thing, kiddo.”

  “In the meantime,” Angie said, “I trust you’ll try to find some time to have a little fun? I mean it, Liza. All work and no play—”

  “—makes Liza likely to grow old alone. I know, I know.” She sighed. “Speaking of which—how was your coffee date with the cute librarian?”

  Angie launched into the not-so-sordid tale, complete with commentary from Bella, and Liza’s mood lifted. After all, she was still young, she stayed fit, men seemed to find her attractive—though most freaked when they found out what she did for a living. She could certainly afford to throw off a bad night here or there.

  Trouble was, the good nights were becoming fewer and farther between.

  Dear Susan,

  You weren’t kidding about sending me a challenge. Mr. La Sera’s deeply conflicted feelings about his sexual needs are, of themselves, not uncommon, but he seems convinced that his sexuality must be either tightly lidded or eradicated. I applaud his determination to pursue a solution, even though I believe—and I think you’d agree—that his conclusions are unhealthy.

  Today will be our first hands-on session (if he follows through and keeps the appointment—he wouldn’t be the first to lose the nerve after the initial consultation). Due to his long celibacy, I intend to use this time to reintroduce him to sexual touch. We won’t be able to address his deeper-seated issues until we establish intimacy and trust.

  In the meantime, I’ll recommend that he continue to discuss the implications of his choices with you, as well as encourage him to process the effect our sessions have on his progress.

  Wish us luck!

  P.S. C’mon, Susan, you could have warned me he was, like, a ten on the OMG HOT scale. Shame on you!

  Cheers,

  Liza

  When her doorbell chimed at 7:06 p.m., Liza grinned. He’d kept the appointment; the first barrier was passed. Now it was time to focus.

  Although sex was, in her case, a therapeutic act, clients often had a difficult time committing to nudity and physical intimacy in a setting that felt too clinical or too public, which was why Liza had purchased a home close to the University, away from the downtown bustle and touristy French Quarter. It allowed her to utilize different rooms for specific purposes, all in a safe, welcoming space that she controlled.

  Tonight’s session would be held in the quiet, isolated bedroom behind the kitchen—a windowless, cozy nook that allowed her to close the door against the outside world and put her client at ease. She kept the room stocked with all the basics—lube, lotion, tissues, toys and other sexual aids were discreetly stored in closets and drawers. The bed was plain and sturdy and the colors she’d selected were neutrals in beige and cream.

  It was the polar opposite of her own bedroom on the second floor. Though Liza lived and worked in the same space, she found it critical to keep her professional encounters as different from her personal relationships as possible.

  It pained her to realize that in the past year, the majority of her sexual experiences had been on the job.

  Liza shook herself out like a dog after a bath and blew out a breath. Focus. She strode to the door, opening it to a waft of warm, thick air perfumed by the jasmine on her trellis.

  She smiled at the man on her porch. “Dominic. I’m so glad you’re here.” She reached for his hand and tugged him into the house.

  “I, uh...thank you. How are you?” Nerves were evident in his voice, but he met her eye and offered a tentative smile in return. In deference to the rising temperatures outside, he wore a light-weave linen shirt, the sleeves again rolled to the elbow. Deliberately casual, she decided, but the underlying tension, evident in the crease between his eyebrows and the fine lines around his lips, gave him away. She fought the urge to reach up and smooth away the strain with her fingertips.

  A tiny bit of silver glinted against his neck. Liza realized it was a small cross and filed that nugget away for future exploration. Tonight wasn’t about talking. “I’m well, thank you. Can I get you a drink?”

  Dominic cleared his throat, his gaze roaming as she led him through the first floor. “No, I’m okay.” His eyes widened as they entered her “office” bedroom, and she turned to face him.

  “Makes it all kind of real, doesn’t it?” she teased, squeezing his hand, and was rewarded with a nervous laugh. Liza tugged him down to sit next to her on the bed, turning so she could face him. “I want you to remember that we’re not going to do anything, and I mean anything, that feels wrong or bad to you. Just as I want you to trust me, I’m trusting you to tell me if you aren’t okay at any point.”

  Dominic blinked, his deep-set hazel eyes framed with heavy black lashes. “Of course.” His voice was thick, raspy and did things to Liza’s stomach that made her breath catch. Damn.

  “Do you remember the signals we discussed in our initial session?”

  “Yes. Like traffic signals—red, yellow and green.”

  “Exactly. I’ll check in with you throughout our session, and you can tell me whether you feel good to proceed, or proceed but with caution, or stop. And I will stop entirely if you tell me ‘red,’ okay? It’s your job to be honest about how you feel.”

  He nodded, and his dark hair slid across his temple. Liza gave in to temptation and brushed it back with her fingertip, watching his reaction.

  And what a reaction. Dominic shuddered, his eyes drifting closed and his lips parting. Liza’s breath caught in her throat. Starved for touch. This singularly attractive man had cut himself off from sensuality of all kinds and was already on the edge of losing control.

  It made her eager to feed that kind of desperate hunger.

  “Dominic, I’m going to get started. Remember to let me know if anything I do makes you uncomfortable or doesn’t feel good.”

  He nodded again, wordless and with his eyes still shut.

  “Open your eyes. Look at me.” His lids drifted apart, and Liza traced the contours of his face with her fingertips, keeping her gaze locked on his. “Remember to breathe.”

  She stroked his strong cheekbones, letting her touch ghost down to his jawline, scratchy with stubble. As she lowered her hands to his collarbone, he gasped and suddenly gripped her wrists.

  “Red light?” Liza asked, freezing in place. If this minimal amount of contact was too much for him, she’d need to back way, way off and figure out a new approach.

  “No, it’s just...” Dominic’s eyes had darkened to a captivating golden brown, hardened by an intensity that told Liza fear wasn’t the source of his hesitation. “It’s been so long—I don’t know if I can do this slowly.”

  It was Liza’s turn to blink. “All right. Tell you what. Why don’t you take the lead and go at the speed that works best for you?”

  It was as if her words had flipped an internal switch. One moment they were seated side by side on the bed; the next heartbeat found her back pressed to the mattress, the wrists he’d been holding now pinned to either side of her head. His weight was plastered across her stomach and legs, and his erection was evident, hard and hot against her thigh.

  “Is this okay?” Dominic panted. “Um, green light? You’ll tell me if I do anything that’s not all right?”

  Liza would have laughed at the sheer suddenness of the role reversal if her body hadn’t been too busy r
esponding with gusto to the rapid turn of events. She felt herself flush and squirm, testing the solid pressure of Dominic’s body through the layers of their clothes. He responded with a deep groan and dropped his mouth to hers in a hot, openmouthed kiss.

  And boy, could he kiss. There was nothing tentative about the press of his lips to hers, the slick of his tongue as he pushed his way into her mouth. Liza welcomed the intrusion, letting Dominic keep control as she enjoyed her first taste of him, the essential flavor that was his alone.

  Like a slow-burning match, heat spread from their joined mouths down her throat, warming her chest and belly, flowing like the burn of whiskey until it settled low in her pelvis, pulsing and throbbing in time with her accelerating heartbeat. She fought the urge to stretch and rub herself beneath him like a smug cat. One step at a time.

  When Dominic came up for air, he was breathing hard, his eyes starting to glaze over. “Liza? Green light?”

  Oh, hells yes, moaned a little voice inside her. Green green green. But she cleared her throat and did her best to keep her smile calm and professional. “Green light. You’re good to go.”

  It was all the encouragement he seemed to need. In an instant, his mouth was pressed again to hers, his tongue stroking and probing with an urgency she understood. This time, as he devoured her with his kiss, she felt the press and flex of his hips when he positioned himself against her, rocking and stroking. His hand slid from her wrist down to her breast and he cupped his palm against her, his thumb finding her nipple and teasing it mercilessly.

  Jesus. Liza had always been super-responsive; given the right circumstances, she could come from nipple stimulation alone. Dominic’s fingers squeezed and tweaked, and she bit back a sharp cry, feeling her nipples harden beneath his deft touch.

  “May I?” He’d hooked his hand into the low neckline of her sleeveless dress, pausing long enough to gauge her assent before he tugged the fabric off her shoulders, baring her bra. Before she could suggest he consider removing his own shirt, he’d latched his warm, wet mouth onto her nipple and started to suck, and Liza arched beneath him, moaning encouragement as wicked lightning bolts shot straight to her pussy.