Read Online Submission Therapy by Willsin Rowe Katie Salidas - Free Book Online Page A

carved a sharp-tongued path through them all. No way I’d expose myself like that. Not to this nobody. He already had too much of me sitting in his notebooks. I pulled out my gold cigarette case and flipped it open. “I really don’t know.”
    “ Natasha, you can’t smoke in here.”  
    I rolled my eyes. Tiny lives with tiny rules. “Derek, my company owns this building. One of my companies, anyway.”
    He produced a business card from his pocket. “This is it, Natasha. Your last chance.”
    I glared at the card, but he didn’t waver. Just held it steady as I blew a stream of smoke into his face. Finally I took the thing and checked it over.
    Room 112
    Master Sweet
    “ I see your people are no better than mine. I should proof-read for you.”  
    Sadly, he didn’t rise to my taunting. He remained remarkably collected, delivering his deadpan statement. “Master Sweet is not a room.”
    I tapped the ash from my cigarette into a potted plant by the door. “So what is it? Candy?”
    “ Radical therapy. I’ve tried the softly-softly , ‘tell me how that makes you feel’ method. It’s had no effect. Clearly you need a more hands-on approach.” He tapped the edge of the card in my hand. “And what you’ll find in that room will gel perfectly with your current…addictions.”  
    Why didn’t he just come out and say it? I fuck a lot. So what? It was just another thing that no-one else could get right for me. Though I had to admit, any therapy involving sex might be worth a try. “And how much is this radical therapy going to cost me? Time is money you know.”
    “ Hotel Bridgeman. One hour.”  
    “ One hour? You’re cute, Derek, but you didn’t answer my question.” I stopped just short of pinching his cheek.  
    “ I’m quite serious, Natasha. Time and money are irrelevant. You attend this session. Otherwise we’re done.”  
    My first reaction was just to turn and walk. He had no power here. Half of his flea market office furnishings were paid for by my therapy sessions.
    But the sharpness in my chest stopped me. The weight of all my responsibilities made it hard to breathe. All those investments. All those companies. The stocks, the properties, the...oh, what are they called? People, that’s it. And the idea of spilling all my dirty secrets to yet another therapist - if I could find one - actually gave me a flood of desperate affection for this earnest lummox in front of me. I stared at Derek and waited for him to crumble, but he showed no sign of doing so.
    “ Derek, I cannot simply blow off my entire afternoon. Even without all my other meetings, there is a stack of paperwork on my desk that’s even taller than you.” The thought of all the work piling up gave me heartburn. No one in my office could be trusted to do the job right.  
    He shook his head. His expression finally changed into one of hangdog sadness. “That’s exactly the trouble, Natasha. You’re the tightest-wound person I’ve ever met. Socially or professionally. You’ve carved out this world view and you won’t be swayed. But I assure you that the ulcer, the angina, and the panic attacks will not be tamed by condescension or... efficiency . What you need to learn is how to let go of control and allow others to shoulder some of the responsibility.”
    Fuck this little man and his microscopic life. If he wanted to call me weak, I could easily expose the same pathetic quality in him. I traced my fingers over the soft skin of my breast as I leaned forward and whispered straight into his ear. “Tightness in a woman can be quite a desirable quality, Derek.”
    If my heavy breathing and display of cleavage had any effect on him, he hid it well. He just leaned against me and whispered back. “Natasha, I’m your therapist. We’ve talked about your childhood, your adolescence, and...all the things you’ve done to get where you are. Are you sure your current tightness isn’t just a reaction to all your...looseness?”
    I