There was an unhappy wrinkle between Luke’s brows, the corners of his lips turned downward.
“What do you want me here for?” Roman said. “I’m sure your therapist would tell you that spreading your legs for your former captor isn’t conducive to getting cured.”
A rosy blush appeared on Luke’s cheekbones. He chewed on his lip. “What about the threats I’ve been getting? I really need your help.”
Roman knew the sort of people Whitford had dealings with. They would eat this baby-faced young man alive. He wished he could say he didn’t care. He did. There was no rational reason for that, no logical motive. He just did. No matter what he told himself, he couldn’t see this soft-spoken, head-in-the-clouds, sentimental boy as anything but his. It was frustrating, because Roman didn’t want to want any claim of that sort.
“I’ll deal with it,” he said curtly.
Luke beamed at him, his eyes bright, dimples in full force.
For fuck’s sake.
“Now?” Luke said hopefully, eagerness and longing written all over his face. “I have everything on my laptop here.” Don’t go, Luke’s eyes said. Don’t go, his body said.
It would have been cringe-inducing if Roman didn’t feel the same irresistible pull toward him. Only, unlike Luke, he couldn’t conveniently claim being affected by any sort of syndrome.
“Get the laptop,” he bit off and sat down on the bed.
When Luke brought his laptop to the bed and snuggled up against him, Roman didn’t push him away.
He should have. The boy was a menace.
Chapter 25
His therapist’s unfaltering gaze on him was pretty unnerving.
Luke squirmed and regretted it immediately. He was still feeling last night’s activities.
“Why are you here, Luke?” Miranda said at last. “What do you hope to achieve by seeing me?”
“I…” He licked his lips. “I told you already. I want you to help me get cured of this—of my Stockholm syndrome. I want to get him out of my head.”
She cocked her head, regarding him over the rim of her glasses. “And yet you’re continuing sexual relations with that man.”
Luke bit his knuckle, avoiding her eyes. “You’ll fix me eventually, so what difference does it make?”
“Luke,” Miranda said calmly but with an undertone of reproach. “I’m not a magician. I can’t help you if you don’t make an effort yourself. Your attitude isn’t that different of a woman who chooses to have unprotected sex only because she can take a ‘morning-after’ pill. It is, in fact, worse, because there’s no such pill for you.”
Luke dropped his face into his hands, his shoulders slumping.
“I know,” he said. “It’s just…it’s hard.” Sighing, he lifted his head and looked at his therapist miserably. “I feel so good with him. So, so good.”
Miranda didn’t look particularly surprised. “What do you mean by ‘good?’ Could you elaborate?”
Luke thought of the way he felt this morning when he woke up in Roman’s arms.
“Giddy,” he said. “Safe,” he said quieter, feeling like a freak. Roman was the last person he should be feeling safe with. “I need help,” he said, desperation sneaking into his voice.
“Any kind of BDSM relationship requires a high level of trust in your partner,” Miranda said. “Trust of your safety, trust of taking care of you, trust to read you correctly and give you what you need. It can create a deep bond between two people that goes beyond sex.”
“But we aren’t—we don’t always…do it,” Luke said, his face aflame. “I’m not even into pain. I’m not into whips and things like that. I just like being…” He trailed off, unsure, because the first word that he sprang to his mind was his.
“Taken care of?” Miranda suggested. “Like you belong to someone?”
Luke nodded hesitantly. She wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t really want to talk about it. Truth be told, Roman was the only person he felt comfortable enough to discuss—and do—those things with.
“A BDSM relationship doesn’t necessarily contain bondage or sadomasochism,” she said, but as if sensing his reluctance to talk about it, she changed the subject. “Would you say you feel less attached to him now that you’re free?”
Luke thought of this morning—of how reluctant he had been to move from Roman’s wide, comfy chest when it was time to get up. Of how he couldn’t stop sneaking kisses while he made breakfast for them. Of how he let Roman suck a bruise on his neck in the underground parking garage before they got into their respective cars. Of how he had been obsessively checking his phone all day, barely able to focus on work.
Luke cleared his throat. “Not really.”
He left the therapist’s office with more questions than answers.
Halfway to his flat, he noticed something that finally distracted him from the questions in his mind and the silent phone in his pocket.
A black minivan was following his car. He was pretty sure he’d seen that car parked by Miranda’s office when he left it.