He went home. He was still chilled and feeling the residue of the session on his skin, so he took a long hot shower before falling into bed and careening into sleep.
And he dreamed.
Dreams with cruel vividness and clarity, with not a shred of the absurd to remind him these were only dreams. He was back up in Daisy’s room, in her bed, wrapped in her arms and legs and hair. Her mouth swollen and hungry in his, her breath in his lungs as she whispered amazing things.
Up on his elbows, cradled in her thighs, he held her head in his hands, her hair woven around and between his fingers. As he worked his hips in her, his necklace swung back and forth by her chin. She kept catching the fish in her teeth and smiling up at him. Those gorgeous, wicked, blue-green eyes. She had him. She’d caught him. He was where he belonged and it would never end, ever.
He rolled down and pulled her up onto him, a cartwheel of limbs and a seamless, unbroken kiss. And then she was over him, leaning on his wrists, holding him down, onto him and all over him and so damn good at him. He could writhe here forever, gripped from within and without by her body on top of his. Firm flesh and soft skin, shifting muscle and bone. So small but so strong and coaxing from him emotions he didn’t even know he had. They burst from him unbidden as he gasped out of their kiss, holding her head, holding her mouth still against his, fighting for breath. I love you, Dais. I love you, I love you…
Then the dream turned dark.
Pitch black. Thick, tangible black. His back burning under the rake of her fingernails. The taste of blood in his mouth. Her hair damp and sweaty in his tight fist. His weight pinning her to the floor, to the wall, to the bed. Her wrists crossed in her back. Holding her down. Hurting her. His teeth on the back of her neck as he tore her up because she needed it.
Down into the black.
Down…
Erik woke up coming, sweating and trembling, a lap full of sweet, strong wetness and the taste of blood on his tongue as his mouth cried Daisy’s name out to the dark. The thin dark of his room. He was awake. Alone and cold. She wasn’t there anymore, she had sent him back.
I’m useless to her.
He crawled back into the shower, literally crawled and sat under the spray, curled up against the wall of the tub. He had the hot water full blast, steam billowing in clouds around him, but he was freezing again, drowning in the icy rapids. He could not get warm, could not get out of his own head. He put on his warmest clothes, even a hat, made tea and warmed up some soup but he could barely tolerate a sip or spoonful. He was sick.
He was crazy.
He pushed the bowl away and picked up the phone. He got Diane’s voicemail, left what he hoped was a coherent message, and then resumed pacing around and sipping plain, hot water. She called him back in five minutes.
“Help,” he said.
“Help is here. Tell me what happened when you went home.”
He sketched it out for her, too anxious to be embarrassed.
“I’m sorry, Erik,” she said. “We didn’t leave off in a safe place.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s difficult to end a session in a place where you feel safe, in a place where you can put down whatever we were discussing and leave it there. We were in the middle of something rather intense, and you took it with you.”
“I need to talk to you,” he said. “I can’t tough it out another week.”
“Of course not. I’m glad you called. I can meet you at my office in ten minutes, can you come?”
“You’d see me?” he asked. “Tonight?”
“Erik,” she said, “it’s my job. You’ve hired me. I’m on your team now.”
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“See you in ten minutes. Drive safely, please.”
*