If he expected me to tell him to call me Amelia, he was going to be waiting a long time. As awkward as it was for the man I'd just fucked to call me doctor, it would be even more awkward – and much too casual for my liking – if he called me by my first name.
“I've looked over your file. The Navy was kind enough to sende it over, and it seems that you've been suffering from what appears to be PTSD. I understand that you're looking for a formal diagnosis, as well as to get treatment for your condition. Is that about right?”
“I'm fine,” he said, brushing it off. “I'm not dealing with anything anybody else isn't. I don't think what I'm going through is different than anybody else goes through when they've seen combat.”
“Uh huh,” I said, pushing my glasses up higher on my nose as I tried to look at Drew through my professional, medical lens opposed to the one of a warm-blooded female. “If you're fine, why are you here?”
He shrugged. “My Captain insisted upon it. I told him I could go back to work anytime now, but they seem to think I need to talk to a shrink – err, I mean a therapist. No offense.”
“None taken.”
The notes from Drew's Captain told an entirely different story altogether. Dissociation, depression, panic attacks – all symptoms that had manifested during combat. I knew men like Drew – I worked with them every single day. He wasn't going to talk to me about anything he'd gone through over there.
Even if we hadn't hooked up, I could tell it would be hard for him to truly open up. But since we had a sexual relationship, there was no way this Navy SEAL was going t
o allow himself appear weak or vulnerable in front of me. Especially after his bravado when we'd first met in the bar last night. It was hard enough to break through that tough exterior as it was, but now, given our history – limited thought it was – I felt like it very well could be impossible.
“Well, Mr. Hunter – ”
“Drew, please. I insist.”
I cringed. I normally don't mind calling my clients by their first name, if it made them more comfortable. But this wasn't normal in the slightest and I had to tread carefully. Very, very carefully.
“Fine, Drew then, as you may or may not know, the reason you've been sent to me is because I'm a specialist on post-traumatic stress disorder in combat veterans. But we've run into a bit of a problem, and to be rather blunt with you, I fear it might affect our professional relationship. My colleague – Dr. Frank – doesn't have my level of experience with veterans, but I'm sure he'd be more than happy to – ”
“Are you transferring me?” he asked.
He stared at me wide-eyed and slack-jawed – looking almost offended by the suggestion I was going to make.
“I believe it would be in your best interest, Drew. I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I can help you. Not with our – history.”
It pained me to admit that. I'd only been practicing for three years, but never in my life had I admitted I couldn't help someone. I'd never turn a client away who needed my expertise. It was something of an unwritten rule of mine. But I was torn and caught in a no win situation. I was, as the old cliché went, caught between a rock and hard place.
A delicious and sexy hard place, I thought to myself – and then immediately mentally kicked myself for it.
“What if I refuse?” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “What if I want to stay with the expert and refuse to see your partner?”
“Well, there are other experts in my field I could – ”
“No, you're not answering my question, Dr. Emerson,” he said. “What if I want to see you? What if I think you're the best fit for me and I refuse to see anyone else?”
“And why would you do that, Drew?” I asked, leaning back in my chair and crossing my legs at the ankles.
“Because I like you, Dr. Emerson. I like you already,” he replied. “I can already tell you've got my best interests at heart and can help me.”
I opened my mouth to ask if this had anything to do with what happened last night, but I closed it, not wanting to bring that up. I feared that by opening those particular flood gates, by admitting that something had happened between us, it would make things even more difficult. Not to mention, the risk to my career – a career I'd worked really hard for – if this ever came to light, would be far too great.
But he was there. Asking for my help. I could see in his eyes that he needed help – needed somebody with my level of experience. Dr. Frank was a good man and a good therapist, but I wasn't sure he'd be able to crack open a tough nut like Drew. I knew my own chances of success with him were small, but they were probably still better than Dr. Frank's.
“Very well,” I said, feeling no small amount of trepidation. “We'll give it a shot, if you insist. But if things don't work out – ”
Drew's lips pulled back into a cocky smile as he finished my sentence for me. “Then, and only then, will I allow you to break things off.”
“Well, I wasn't going to put it that way, but okay,” I said. “Then yes, I will continue to see you then.”
My cheeks were burning, and I knew they were bright red. In my mind's eye, I kept seeing him on top of me, plunging his cock into me. My body reacted, recalling the way he'd felt inside of me. The way it had felt when I'd had him in my mouth. I felt a fire ignite between my thighs and felt myself getting wet despite my best efforts to avoid those thoughts in the first place.
I had to continue to act like a professional, however. I had a job to do – a job I took very seriously and very personally. I was good at what I did and enjoyed it to boot. I wouldn't jeopardize it. So, I remained in my chair, was sure to sit up straight with my ankles crossed, and my arms crossed in front of my chest. Drew smiled at me, and in that smile, I could tell that his inner thoughts weren't exactly clean – he was likely recalling everything that had just flashed through my mind. As if acting of their own accord, my eyes drifted down to his crotch and I could see the outline of his thick, hard cock strainging against his pants. That only made the fire between my thighs burn hotter and more intensel