Yup, yup, today I’ll be sharing a little of Sex Therapy with y’all, and because this is my regular ole blog, I figured it best to keep it clean, sooooo …
I picked out the first 500 words. To introduce you to Chase Walker. To show you the inside of his clinic. And to hopefully leave you intrigued and wanting to read more.
Here you go:
Letting his body sink back in his chair, Chase Walker took a moment’s rest. When he’d first set himself up as a therapist almost three years earlier, he’d no idea how quickly the idea would take off. No fucking idea how many would flock to him for his kind of advice and assistance. He could’ve suggested splurging on a penthouse office on the outskirts of the busiest city in the UK had helped boost his numbers, but his clients travelled however far they needed to for his services, and he knew damned well that his practice’s top-level discretion took the trophy for that.
He slid out a drawer on his walnut desk and withdrew a bottle of water. While he’d have loved a stiff drink before his next clients arrived, he doubted they’d appreciate the smell of whiskey on his breath. The liquid glugged when he tipped the bottle back and took a swallow before recapping the drink. Tapping the plastic against his knee, he let his head sink back, closed his eyes, took deep breaths. His usual routine for preparing for an appointment such as the one he suspected was on its way.
Each inhalation sucked in rich woody perfumes and expensive polish—scents that spoke of money. And so they should. Behind him, the room-wide windows graced the eyes with an almost bird’s-eye view of the Thames, and around him, teak panelled the entire bottom third of the walls and boarded the floor. Even the elegant chaise that passed as a visitor seat had cost a pretty penny from a dealer he’d once been hired by.
The intercom buzzed on his desk, and he lifted his lids, revealing all of his well-earned belongings. After tucking the water back inside his desk, he pressed a small camouflaged button and answered, “Yes?”
“Your four o’clock is ready for you, Mr Walker.”
“Thank you, Samantha.”
Clicking off the connection, he pushed up from his chair, brushing his hands over the front of his crisp trousers as he straightened his legs. Those had cost a bomb, too, but at least the fabric caressed his thighs and hugged him everywhere it should. After checking his shirt front for blotches and straightening his tie, he strode for the door.
Opening it exposed the reception area. The highly-polished desk on the left looked like a piece of art, with the way it curled around the two women sat behind it. They both glanced up, as he stepped out, their lips curved into smiles that spoke of contentment in their work, while their perfectly-plucked eyebrows arched in a knowing expression. They may have reacted the same at his appearance, but in looks, Samantha was day to Raelyn’s night. The innocent persona of blonde hair and blues beside the wickedness of raven darkness surrounding hazelnut eyes that Raelyn often lowlighted with smoky grey kohl.
At the slight lift of Sam’s chin, he followed her gaze to the seating on the opposite side of the room, where a middle-aged couple sat side by side in nothing but the clinic-provided robes and terry-cloth slippers.
“Mr and Mrs Miller—would you like to come through?”
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