He leaned back, regarding me with an intensity that made me feel exposed despite being fully clothed and supposedly the one in control of this conversation. "I've got three options. Fight it, fuck it, or devour it." His gaze traveled deliberately down my body and back up while leaving a trail of imaginary fire on my skin. "Sometimes a combination, depending on the situation."
I’d let you eat me alive, I thought before I caught myself.
The blood rushed from my head so quickly I grew dizzy, pooling hot and insistent between my legs. I gripped my notepad tighter, knuckles whitening, to hide the visible tremor in my hands. "That's... quite a limited response repertoire."
His smile was pure sin. "I find most of life's problems fit into one of those categories. The trouble starts when I encounter something I can't deal with in those ways. That's when I don't know what to do with myself."
I scribbled frantically in my notepad, using the moment to compose myself. These were aggressive coping mechanisms with hypersexuality as a deflection and possible violent tendencies.
The frightening part wasn't his admission. It was how my body responded to it. A therapist should not get turned on by a patient describing their maladaptive coping strategies. Yet here I was, heart hammering, heat pooling low in my stomach. This was a clinical red flag wrapped in blue eyes and danger, and somehow that made him even more attractive. Todd had always called it my "survival instinct malfunction". It was like danger and desire were cross-wired in my brain.
"Let's talk about more constructive coping strategies," I suggested, attempting to steer us back toward therapeutic territory.
Julian stretched while deliberately showcasing his impressive biceps straining against his henley. "I have plenty of constructive outlets. I have a lot of incredibly kinky gay sex. Very athletic. Multiple positions." He paused with a dramatic sigh. "Though I'm currently going through a bit of a dry spell. Hard to find someone who can keep up, you know?"
I blinked rapidly, completely thrown by his bluntness. Most patients took at least six sessions to reveal their sexual habits, if ever. "That's... certainly honest."
"I'm an honest guy, Vince." He ran a hand through his hair, drawing my attention to the defined muscles of his forearm. "Not much point dancing around it. I mean, sex is just part of life. And a great stress reliever. When I can get it."
The way his eyes lingered on me left zero doubt about who he was suggesting might help end his dry spell.
God help me. My cheeks burned hotter than a teenage boy caught with porn. This man turned the most innocent exchange into innuendo with nothing but tone and those intense eyes.
What he didn't know—what none of my patients could ever know—was that beneath my careful professional exterior lurked a man who'd horrified Todd with my bedroom requests. My colleagues saw Dr. Vincent Matthews, the cautious, empathetic therapist with the soft voice and gentle approach. None of them would recognize the Vincent who, three whiskeys in, once begged Todd to hold me down and make me take it until I couldn't remember my own name. The way Todd had recoiled, looking at me like I'd grown a second head, should have been my first clue we were fundamentally incompatible. The memory made me shift in my seat, adjusting my slacks discreetly. My desires had always been too much for "safe" men like Todd.
I took a breath, recognizing the therapeutic opportunity his candor presented. "Since you've brought it up, could you tell me more about your sexual relationships? Are these casual hookups, or do you have regular partners?"
If sex was a way into his psyche, I'd use that avenue. Professional curiosity, of course. Nothing to do with the way my skin tingled under his gaze or how I couldn't stop noticing the ways his body differed from Todd's. His shoulders were broader, hands stronger, and he radiated more dangerous energy.
Julian leaned back, clearly pleased I'd taken the bait. "Mostly hookups these days. I travel too much for anything serious. Grindr, bars, sometimes the gym. I have a type."
"And how would you describe your type?"
His eyes locked with mine, intense and deliberate. "Smart. Professional. A little nerdy with a nurturing side."
My mouth went dry. He couldn't be more obvious if he'd held up a mirror.
"And do you practice safe sex?"
He scoffed. "I'm not an idiot. I get tested regularly and take precautions."
"Would you say your sexual behavior ever interferes with your daily life? Your work? Your ability to form connections?"
Something flickered across his face. A moment of genuine reflection. "Sometimes I use it as a distraction. Sex is easier than... other things."
"What other things?" I pressed gently.
"Actual emotions. Relationships." He made air quotes around "relationships" as if the concept was foreign to him. "I'm good at fucking. I'm not so good at the rest of it."
I waited, sensing there was more.
"I'm an all-or-nothing kind of guy," he continued, and for the first time, I caught a glimpse of something genuine. "When I want something, I go after it full force. Most people find it... overwhelming."
"That intensity can make forming connections difficult," I observed.
"Or incredible," he countered with a smirk, breaking the moment of vulnerability with another sexual allusion. "My intensity has certain advantages in the right context."
"In romantic relationships, you mean?"
