The Therapist's Secret Love

I tried to mumble a refusal, but my body was growing limp. Alexander didn't rush to enter me—instead, he began with slow friction on the outside, then used two fingers to massage the sensitive nub below.

My arousal was building. Jason hadn't touched me in so long, and my body's craving had grown fierce.

His movements were experienced and skillful. Even before penetration, I felt light-headed with pleasure. Wave after wave of sensation washed through my brain, and just as I felt the head of him parting my lower lips, reason snapped me back to reality. I pushed away his length, shoving him back.

"I'm sorry, Alexander. I'm a married woman. Even if things aren't good between us right now, we're still husband and wife in name. I can't do this."

My resolve moved him. He dressed again, stepped back, and pulled open the storage room door. Light streamed through the gap as he stood silhouetted in it. "Will you still continue Noah's training?" he asked.

I looked down silently. He closed the door and left me there in the storage room, clutching the nearby glass, my legs so weak I could barely stand.

'What have I done?'

When I got home, Jason's face showed his displeasure. He wrapped his arms around me from behind. "Soph, I want you."

Without preamble, he freed himself and pushed directly inside. Thanks to what happened this afternoon, I was still moist enough to let him enter easily.

But even as I performed the most intimate act with Jason, it failed to give me that special feeling. He was noticeably smaller than Alexander, his movements mechanical and dull—nothing like the electrifying sensation of Alexander's tip pressing against my entrance.

Still, to please him, I moaned wantonly, giving him some pleasure. He spilled inside me quickly, then ended tonight's exercise. No foreplay, no intimacy—as if he'd simply needed to vent his desires.

After he finished, I showered. When I came out, Jason was already asleep.

Something had shifted after that day. Alexander and I still met normally—no more inappropriate touching—but our interactions felt different from ordinary acquaintance.

Noah still came for rehabilitation on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and his condition was gradually improving. Alexander would sit in the lobby waiting.

The change manifested itself in a thong.

A black thong with red patterns, neatly folded in my underwear drawer. I picked it up, examining it. The size matched mine, but I hadn't purchased it—I kept myself merely trimmed, not fully bare, and a thong would inevitably expose stray tendrils.

Maybe Jason bought it for me, I told myself. But something felt wrong.