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eight
MOANS, GASPS AND GROANS FILLED THE OFFICE, the sounds bouncing off the credential covered walls. Entangled bodies laid upon the grey psychiatrist's couch; clothing was scattered across the room.
"Lena!" The therapist groaned as he came undone over the woman. His mussed black hair hung over his eyes as he stared at the woman beneath his, both of them breathing loudly, trying to regain some composure. The woman hid her dissatisfaction with the experience, by shooting him a sly smile followed by a wink before pushing the man away and standing to her feet. She had quite a few experiences with men over the years yet no one seemed to understand how to bring her pleasure.
Under the man's green gaze, Yelena's naked body reached the desk a few feet away. Her hand wrapped itself around a clear glass of whiskey, as she brought it to her lips and shifted her body to face her lover, leaning her bare ass against the cool wood of the workspace.
"What is it, Don?" Yelena asked, her eyebrow rising as she spoke. The man simply shrugged, taking in the woman before him, from the glass that she held in her grasp, to her slender fingers, to her wrist, to her arm, all the way up and back down her body.
"Nothing," Donald replied huskily, as he leaned back into the sofa. "Just admiring you."
Yelena's gaze dropped to the floor, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Her body was a battlefield of scars that permanently etched her flesh. Her once smooth olive skin now was a constant reminder of her near-death experience during the war. Yelena thought they were ugly which only added to her insecurity. She raised her glass once more and swung her head back as the cold but harsh liquid fell back into her throat, burning a path down to her stomach. The woman placed the glass down onto the desk as she pushed herself off, reached to the ground, grasping her undergarments.
"Stop thinking like that."
Her movements faltered, slowly bringing the straps of her brassiere over her shoulders as she shot the man a dark look.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"How about this," Donald proposed as he slid his slacks over his legs and his arms through the sleeves of his button up top which remained open revealing his toned chest. He reached the lingerie clad woman's side slowly taking her hand in his. He brought her fingers to a scar on her shoulder, the pads of her fingertips brushing over the flaw in her flesh. "When you look at these scars, you say you feel uncomfortable, right?"
"I wouldn't say uncomfortable," Yelena whispered as she observed him control her movements almost like a puppet through her long lashes, unwilling to look up and meet his prodding gaze. "I'd rather use the terms nauseating, disgusting, horrif-"
