Absolve Me Page 7

  “When I starting researching specializations, I kept coming back to sex therapy and the concept of surrogacy. It’s controversial, and not as widely accepted as I would like, but the challenge excited me. It felt like an area where I could make an impact—I love sex, I think every human being deserves to understand and accept their sexuality and I get to participate in advancing the scientific and therapeutic understanding of sex as a critical part of mental health.”

  Dominic was sitting forward, leaning his elbows on the island as he listened. “Was it hard to, you know, get started?”

  “Well, it’s a process. I didn’t just start having sex with clients. I studied and progressed in certification programs, and then I spent time out in California with a nationally recognized surrogate who mentored me. It was only after I came back to New Orleans that I set up my own practice working in conjunction with local therapists.”

  “You grew up here?”

  “In Metairie, yeah. I love this city—the scrappiness, the energy. It’s sex-positive and sexy and inspiring.” As she spoke, the warmth of the bourbon, coupled with the post-coital glow, made her body feel loose and sensual, and she tried and failed to hold back a sloppy, satisfied grin.

  Well, a mind-blowing orgasm did tend to have that effect on people, she thought, snickering.

  Dominic saw her trying to hide her smirk behind her raised glass. “Dare I ask?”

  She cleared her throat and tried to worm her way back into her therapist skin. “At the risk of making you overthink while the blood is still making its way back to your brain, how are you feeling? Was it what you expected?”

  “What I expected? Um, no. It was way, way, more than I expected. I thought—I guess I thought it would be hard to stay in the moment and not get weirded out, but...it wasn’t.”

  This time, her smile was wide and genuine. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “I am curious...you talked a little about dominance and submission, and if that’s anything like the kind of stuff we did tonight, I think I’d like to know more. Is it like BDSM?”

  “Yes and no,” she said. “BDSM stands for a few overlapping concepts: bondage and discipline, dominance and submission, and sadism and masochism. BDSM can be sexual or nonsexual in nature, private or public, and can involve couples, groups or singles, depending on the type of kink.” She laughed when she saw Dominic’s eyes widen. “But that’s kind of the deep end of the pool. I’d advise wading before you swim.”

  Dominic took a larger swig of bourbon, his eyes a little unfocused as he appeared to analyze the ideas Liza had rattled off. “Maybe I could, you know, poke a toe in or something? I don’t know if even my ankles are ready to commit.”

  Dammit, he made her laugh again, a snorting, inelegant kind of laugh that had him joining her in no time. They giggled together in her darkened kitchen, and Liza had a flash of what it might be like to be sharing a nightcap before bedtime and hot, hot sex with Dominic every night.

  Knock it off, she reminded herself, sitting up straight and setting her glass down on the countertop. Client. He’s a client, and it’s okay that you like him, but there has to be a line.

  Liza cleared her throat and did her best to fix on her professional face. “I have an idea. Why don’t you send me another fantasy you’d like to play out, and I’ll arrange to take you somewhere you can learn a little more firsthand, so to speak.”

  He frowned. “I can’t take a chance that someone might recognize me.”

  “No worries,” Liza assured him. “Let me handle that.”

  They finished their drinks, and with a warm, lingering hug, Liza ushered Dominic out, allowing herself to indulge just a bit with a sweet, light kiss on his cheek. He returned the gesture, shyly, and again Liza felt the traitorous thump-thump of her heart as it ignored the insistent warnings from her brain. It’s fine. It’s no more than I would do with any other client I connect well with. So why did she feel that little poke of guilt?

  With a sigh, Liza locked the door behind him, wandering back to the kitchen to pour herself another finger-width of bourbon. She headed into her study to write up her session notes before sleep overtook her. Her limbs were languid, her body relaxed and satisfied, but her thoughts had begun to race the moment he’d left.

  Dear Diary, she thought, that was the best sex I’ve had in years, and he’s off-limits. A client. A priest. And so, so good in bed—especially for a man who’d forsworn sex for his career. Maybe because he’d foresworn sex for his career.

  Either way, she was walking a razor-thin line without a net. She sighed, flinging herself down into her office chair and grabbing her notebook. She knew that in the clarifying light of day, she’d be able to pull her act together and keep it professional, but maybe it was time she engaged in a little personal therapy of her own.

  Chapter Seven

  “Baby girl, you look great!” Angie kissed her with a smacking sound and held her at arm’s length to stare into her eyes. “You got laid. You totally got laid! I knew it. I could hear it on the phone. Tell me, tell me, tell me. I’m living vicariously through you and I need to hear everything. Every. Thing.”

  Liza settled down into the cozy corner of the bar Angie had staked out, accepting the martini from the server when she dropped by the table. “Hello to you too, Ange. What did Bells think of my gift?” She’d dropped by earlier with three new video games for Bella to choose from, and of course had given her all three when choosing proved impossible.

  “She barely stopped her Skylanders game long enough to kiss me goodbye when the babysitter arrived,” Angie reported. “You’re still her favorite aunt.”

  “And I always will be. How about you? I’m sorry I’ve been so freaking busy lately. What’s new?”

  “You’re gonna make me beg, aren’t you?”

  A shiver ran through Liza at Angie’s innocent barb, but luckily, Angie didn’t seem to notice. “Things are...a little weird.” She took a sip of her martini, poking at the olive with a fingertip.

  “Weird? Weird how?”

  Liza sighed, sitting forward. “Can I tell you something that I shouldn’t be talking about? I need to unload, but it involves a client, so there’s only so much I can say.”

  “Honey, you know I’ve got your back. You’re always so freaking careful.”

  Keeping her volume low, Liza said, “You know I started working with a new client—he’s asked to explore some fantasies that happen to be right up my alley. I mean, right up my alley, Angie. Like, he couldn’t be more my type in bed if I ordered him from a freaking ‘perfect kink’ catalog.”

  Angie’s eyes widened over her drink. “Oh my.”

  “Right? And I can keep it professional—I have to keep it professional—but it’s just such a huge reminder what a complete wasteland my sex life is. I haven’t met anyone who even interests me in forever, much less someone I’d want to get to know outside the scene.”

  “When’s the last time you had a date?”

  “Um. Hmm. A while?”

  “Jesus, honey. No wonder you were glowing so much when you walked in. You needed it.”

  “Yeah, well, I can’t be getting it solely in the workplace, yanno?”

  “I know, I know. So, is he hot?” Angie shot her a huge grin. “Like, other than in bed?”

  “Super hot.” Liza sighed. “And interesting. Complicated. Mysterious. All the good stuff.”

  “So, he’s not gonna be your client forever, is he?”

  Liza raised a hand to forestall Angie’s train of thought. “That way lies madness. I can’t be thinking of him like that.” At least not right now. The truth was that it wasn’t unheard of—hell, her own mentor was married to a former client. But Liza had never, ever thought, not even for a moment, that her professional and personal life would collide in this fashion.

  “Wel
l, not now, sure, but once you guys aren’t working together, who’s to say that you couldn’t try getting to know each other outside the office, so to speak?”

  And that was the crux of the problem right there. Dominic intended to exorcise his demons with her and then recommit himself to the priesthood. Wham, bam, thank you therapist. Liza sighed, hating the disappointment that knowledge brought. “Trust me when I say that’s not an option, unfortunately. And not because I wouldn’t want to try. It’s where the complicated part comes in. I doubt this would be happening if I could find any prospects outside work. I just don’t have the energy for it that I used to.”

  “Don’t I know it! Try dating with a nine-year-old. I don’t even know where to meet reasonable single men anymore. This is the first bar I’ve been to in a month, and frankly, if I have to choose between another Cosmo and trying to chat up some bro, I’m picking the pink drink every time.”

  They toasted their mutual dating woes and sat in companionable silence for a few minutes.

  “Well, if this one’s off-limits, you may be shit outta luck, baby. At least for the time being.”

  “Yeah. I know. It’s just...maybe it’s time for a break, you know? No new clients for a while, open up my schedule a bit and try to get out there more.”

  “There you go. That’s the spirit! And if you find a good one who’s too straight an arrow for you, maybe you could steer them my way?”

  Liza laughed, but Angie’s comment about straight arrows hit an unintended bull’s-eye. A big part of her business was helping people when their preferred partner’s sexual needs didn’t align with their own. Who in the great wide world was out there to heal the healer?

  * * *

  By the time Dominic’s next text arrived, Liza had vowed to set aside her own shit and make sure she stayed focused on his needs. Still, she couldn’t suppress a shiver as she scrolled down the screen, his next fantasy painted boldly in black and white as it appeared on her phone.

  There’s a woman who used to attend Mass when I first started at St. Joseph’s. She’d arrive early so as to secure a seat near the front. She was always impeccably dressed and seemed proud of her figure—her dresses were skintight, a little shorter than what most consider appropriate for church services, but she wore them well.

  She was...what’s the word? Overt, I guess in her interest in the new priest, and I could feel her eyes on me at all times during Mass. She made sure to take Communion from me alone every week, receiving the host on her tongue with a blatant sensuality that always rubbed me the wrong way. At first I tried to view her intentions as innocent—some people wear their sexuality more flamboyantly than others, without specific ill intent, but as time passed, I felt her attentions toward me increase. She’d wait until she knew I was looking in her direction to bend over and retrieve a dropped pamphlet from a pew; she made it clear with word and deed that she wanted me despite—or perhaps because of —my position.

  I did what I could to discourage her attentions and create distance between us, and eventually she got the hint and stopped attending the Mass that I presided over. In general, I was relieved, but once in a while I’d find myself imagining what would have happened if I’d snapped and given her what she thought she wanted. She’d tried her damnedest to seduce and debauch a man of the cloth with her perky tits and her mouth painted that bright whore’s red; I’d show her what a man could do to a woman who’d pushed him over the line.

  If she wanted to be treated like a cheap fuck toy, I’d be happy to oblige, using her for my own pleasure, degrading her for thinking she could have any control over me. And in the end... I’d explode all over her face, rubbing my come all over her with my cock so she’d know her place.

  Holy shit. Her mind was already racing with all sorts of interesting ideas.

  Her phone chimed. Was that too much? I’m not sure how I feel about typing it out like that.

  Not at all, she typed back. Thank you for trusting me. I’d like us to meet somewhere in particular to start off our next session. I promise—you’ll be able to maintain your anonymity. You said you wanted to know more about the dynamic between dominants and submissives, right?

  Yes, was his response. I really do.

  Then here’s what I want you to do. Liza outlined her plan and set the time and date for late on Saturday night.

  Thank you, Liza, he sent back. I’ll see you on Saturday.

  Hell yes, he would. And maybe, just maybe, she’d help him see more of himself.

  Chapter Eight

  Saturday night had not come fast enough. Liza had pushed herself through the week, working with clients, hitting the gym more than she liked and exhausting herself so she could sleep. But that hadn’t stopped the dreams: hot, twisted; Dominic as Jesus, naked and panting, bound to a cross while she worshipped his cock on her knees—images that left her gasping and unsatisfied at the blare of her morning alarm.

  Now, she took her time preparing to meet Dominic at The Cricket, a burlesque club that hosted a masquerade night every few months. Tonight’s theme was “Rapture” and would feature a few BDSM demos and a main stage scene. The goal was for Dominic to get an up-close view of the dynamic between actual BDSM practitioners. If that served to rev his engine—as she suspected it would—she’d take him back to her office to play out his own scenario with the sights, sounds and scents of the club still fresh.

  Combing through her closet, she found a tight red bandage dress that fit her like a sinuous skin, and paired it with her one and only pair of spiky Louboutins. She applied her makeup with special attention to her eyes and lips; black smoke on her lids and sin on her mouth.

  And then, the pièce de résistance—the Venetian-themed mask that obscured her forehead, cheekbones and nose, leaving only her crimson mouth framed with exquisite perfection.

  That’ll do, indeed, she thought as she surveyed her work in the full-length mirror.

  She tried to tamp down her excitement as she got into the cab she’d ordered, knowing that whatever happened that night, it was imperative that she remain in control. Dominic’s sexual needs might align with her own, but this was his night. His need. She was there to introduce him to a world that could both intrigue and repel, and it was her job to ensure that he had an experience he’d never forget.

  And perhaps, she could admit to herself that that might lead him away from a mindset where he was forced to deny a part of himself in order to preserve his self-ordained place in the world. It stuck a bit in her craw—how could it not? There had to be other ways he could serve his community. But who was she to make that choice for him? All she could do was help him to open up the lockbox of his sexuality and hold up a mirror to reflect the beauty and power of Dominic the man beneath the starched uniform of Dominic the priest.

  So she drew a fortifying breath as she alighted from the cab, greeted the doorman with a kiss and a smile and adjusted her mask as she entered the darkened club.

  Given the late hour, the party was in full swing. While every patron displayed varying states of dress—or undress—the masquerade theme was respected with iron-clad attention to detail. The club assured privacy and anonymity in any public space in the club during masquerade, and anyone attempting to flaunt the rules was both escorted out and banned.

  The Cricket took the needs of its clientele very, very seriously, and it was why Liza had chosen it for her demonstration.

  Dominic, she hoped, had already arrived and begun to wander and observe, which she’d suggested in her text. Enjoy the atmosphere, she’d texted him. I’ll find you.

  How?

  In response, she’d mailed him a Guy Fawkes mask—not a popular choice that she’d noticed in the club scene, and a full-face mask that would help preserve and protect his identity, unlike most of the Mardi Gras-style masks that were popular.

  Now, she stopped near the bar on
its elevated platform, signaling for a sparkling water as she scanned the crowd, already deep in their revels as the hour crept closer to midnight.

  To her left was the main stage, where the scene she’d brought Dominic to see would take place. Scattered throughout the club were both raised and lowered areas for one or two people to show off, and most were occupied with revelers in various stages of undress, their masks firmly in place as they danced and touched, the atmosphere sexy and erotic without crossing too many lines. Her first plan of action was to find Dominic and assess the effect that being in the midst of such overt sexuality had on him.

  She needn’t have worried. Winding through the rowdy crowd was a tall man in a Guy Fawkes mask, a simple black T-shirt and dark jeans, who stopped every so often to observe the activity around him. Occasionally a woman—or a man—might sidle up with a proposition, but Dominic seemed to handle it well, leaning to speak a few words into his admirer’s ear and sending them off with an understanding nod.

  Liza was content to observe for a few minutes, enjoying the voyeuristic feeling of watching Dominic absorb the mood of the crowd. His body language was guarded, but not defensive. He picked an empty spot of wall and leaned back, crossing his arms as he continued to observe the revelers around him.

  She licked her lips, adjusting her mask and setting aside her water. Now it was time to have some fun.

  Liza began to work her way among the throng, accepting a few greetings and offering a few smiles but making it clear that she already had a target in her sights.

  She slid her hip alongside him, and when he turned his head to rebuff her, she grinned up at him. “So, what do you think so far?”

  Behind the wide, frozen smile of the mask, she heard Dominic make a noise of surprise. “Liza? Oh wow, you look...spectacular.”

  Liza twirled, a slow sweep that let him soak in every angle and curve. He rewarded her with a wolf whistle, and when she faced him again, she leaned up to say in his ear, “I’m so glad you’re here. I wasn’t sure if you would be okay with this idea.” But she’d sure as hell hoped he’d find the premise as arousing as she did.