“I said, it’s none of your fucking business,” I repeated, shoving my face an inch from his. Sofia’s cousin or not, what happened between me and Sol is private. No way am I disrespecting her.
Kill knows I’d never force a woman to do something she wasn’t ready for. But I’ll admit, it doesn’t look good on my end. Sol was upset when she left, Sofia probably saw as much. They don’t know what went on between us and I think it scares them, especially given how I’ve been lately. But no matter how tight me and Kill are, I couldn’t exactly tell him she left because I couldn’t have sex with her, even though that’s exactly what happened.
I couldn’t have sex with Sol, I repeat in my head, barely believing it myself. I couldn’t have sex with this hot woman who I can’t stop thinking about, who gets me so worked up, I want to tear her clothes off with my teeth. Christ, what’s wrong with me?
“You seem troubled,” Mason says, tilting his head to the side as he scrutinizes me. “If there’s something you want to discuss, I’d like to help if I can.”
“Would you?” I ask in a way that would make most men back away from me.
Mason smiles softly, like I’m not capable of bashing his face in . . . probably because it’s true. Despite that I’m royally pissed, like I said, I don’t hurt those who are weaker than me.
“I would,” he answers.
“I got some head over the weekend,” I tell him. There, he wants to know something about me, there it is.
If I’m expecting a big reaction―slacking jaw, widening eyes, even a gasp―it doesn’t happen. Don’t get me wrong, my response gives him the barest pause, but not much more than that. If anything, he’s probably shocked I finally said something worth scribbling in his notes. “Did it feel good?” he asks.
“What?” I respond like a dumbass.
Okay, maybe I’m the one who ends up being shocked. It’s a simple question, one any guy should be able to answer without much thought, and a cocky smile. But it’s the way that he asks that throws me off―not like how guys in a locker room would ask―but in the same manner I’d ask if it’s going to snow.
“I asked you if it felt good,” he repeats. “You’ve mentioned there are times you feel numb, as if you’re disconnected from the world.”
I didn’t use those exact words, but it’s more or less the one thing I’ve managed to tell him during this whole time we’ve been meeting. “That’s right,” I say.
“So did it feel good?” he asks. “Were you able to derive pleasure from it?”
“It felt . . . great,” I say, thinking back.
“So you successfully felt something during the act? That numbness you often experience failed to manifest, correct?”
I nod, but again that cocky grin that should form based on the topic doesn’t appear. My expression and tone remain tight. With Sol, damn, I always feel. That disconnect he mentioned doesn’t happen when she’s around. I thought it was because she’s a woman I’m hot for, but based on what Doc Mason is saying, I can’t be positive that’s all it is.
“I felt everything,” I confess.
“What about the other piece?” At my frown he explains. “You claim it’s something that gave you pleasure, but was it a pleasurable experience?”
It’s then I realize where he’s going, and what he’s asking, and I swear it’s like a freight train hits me at the same time the light bulb goes off. “No. I wanted it to stop.”
He nods as if he’d anticipated my response. “Why do you think that is, Finn?” When I don’t answer he asks. “Do you think it was your partner?”
“No, S―”
I cut myself off when I almost say her name, remembering she works here and could get in a shit storm of trouble for messing around with a client. “Sal’s awesome,” I say. “Among the best people I know.”
“Sal?” he asks, like he doesn’t believe me.
“Yeah, Sal,” I say. “It’s short for Sal . . .veeno . . . ah.”
“Salveenoa?”
Shit. “It’s French,” I add, because I haven’t lied enough.
“Very well,” Mason says, clearly humoring me. “Is Salveenoa a man or a woman?”
“A woman. I’m not into men.” I shake out a hand. “No offense.”
The corners of his mouth lift. “No offense taken, Finn,” he assures me.
He considers me a moment. “So you like Sal, I take it.”
“I like her a lot,” I say.
“Do you trust her?”
“I guess,” I answer. “I mean, we haven’t been together long. I’m not exactly giving her my bank account information or anything, but yeah, I trust her.”
“Do you trust her not to hurt you physically?”
“Like punch me?” I ask. “She’s not the type to take a swing at me just because I annoy her.” I huff. “Not like psycho Chelsea, my ex. Shit, she hurled a toaster at me once.”
Mason cuts me off by lifting his hand. “We’ll get back to Chelsea. When I ask if she’d harm you physically, I mean during the act.”