AHHH THIS WAS MY FAVORITE FIC AND I SO LONGED FOR A PART TWO AND THE FACT THAT THIS IS A REWRITE WITH

AHHH THIS WAS MY FAVORITE FIC AND I SO LONGED FOR A PART TWO AND THE FACT THAT THIS IS A REWRITE WITH THE REST OF THE STORY AHHHHH … definitely reading this one when i get home 🤭

Exposure

AKA: a gentle rewrite/edit of Part 1, plus the rest of the story.

Pairing: therapist!Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: After a year of self-inflicted social isolation, a rather intimate suggestion from your therapist turns your life on its head and opens up a whole new world of cliche, sexy possibilities... Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Themes and discussions of sexual trauma surrounding a painful sexual encounter, power dynamics, masturbation, dubious consent, voyeurism (unbeknownst to reader), Spencer is a perv, fingering, oral sex (fem. receiving), dry humping. Word Count: 9.6k (I had to cut her down, y'all, it was getting ridiculous and I'm sorry flsjdlksdk)

MASTERLIST

It is finally here. I have finally tackled the beast and finished Exposure the way the fanfic gods intended. I initially wanted this story to be what is is now and what you're about to read, but back when I wrote it the first time, I had ZERO self control and decided to just post what I had without finishing the rest, and I split the story into two parts... And then part two never saw the light of day. I have felt so bad ever since for abandoning the story and leaving you without a conclusion. I hope you'll forgive me and that it hasn't been too long for you to still care and read this now. And if you weren't around to read the original first part of Exposure, I hope you enjoy this brand new story that totally didn't exist before just now... ;)

———

ACT I: Homework

"And what about your sexual relationships?"

You freeze like a deer in headlights, unwilling to budge no matter how loudly his horn is blaring. Even as he asks again, your name a gentle coax on the surface of his tongue, you remain perfectly still.

"Did I strike a nerve?" he asks sweetly with a tilt of his head.

"U—Um... I..."

"It's important that you're up-front about these things with me... It's more than acceptable and valid if you don't feel like telling me everything right away. But if there's something wrong, I'd like to know. That way we can at least find somewhere to start. Does that sound alright?"

"Um... Y—Yeah, I guess so..."

He asks again, and you find it extremely difficult to look him in the eye.

Or to look at him in general.

You knew eventually you'd have to talk about your sex life, but in all honesty it had been forced deep into the back of your mind during the other sessions— You know, when you were laser-focused on literally anything else while trying not to think about how attractive you found your therapist and how fucked up that was.

Doctor Reid always makes sure to speak slow and concisely, which, when combined with its smooth tone and the way he looks at you with his pensive, hypnotizing eyes, tends to be absolutely fucking deadly. And his hands— the way they glide beautifully across the notepad he writes in, or how they flex and tap on his knee or on his chin from time to time, his focus trained solely on you...

He'd been dangerously distracting from the get-go, but now, on the topic of your sex life? You can't even entertain looking in his general direction.

So, with your eyes glued on your lap, you mindlessly count the number of tiny flowers printed on your skirt and answer the best you can. "I don't... I don't have frequent sexual relationships."

You wonder if he'll ask you to speak up, but he doesn't. Instead, he asks, "How frequent would you say they are?"

"Um... Well... I've only ever had sex once," you continue quietly, still training your eyes on your skirt.

"Are you... embarrassed about that?"

"No," you offer more firmly. Defensively.

He pauses. "That's good. There's no reason to be." And after you don't say anything in response, counting seven excruciatingly long seconds, you hear him continue. "How long ago was the encounter?"

You hesitate a little longer, but he doesn't push it. Eventually, intimidated by the silence, you sigh and quickly blurt, "About a year ago."

There's another pause, and you would assume he might be writing something down, but the room is too silent. Not even the soft scratch of pen to page dares to interrupt the tension you're feeling.

"And how did you find your experience?" he asks then, your eyes jumping to his face as if to make sure this is actually real and he's actually in front of you right now, asking you what you think you just heard. Your heart speeds up and your hands start to sweat.

"I—I'm sorry?"

He clears his throat, and yours contracts in a gulp. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"I... I don't... Why is that relevant?"

"You're coming to me once a week for counseling because you said you've found yourself shying away from other people, where a year ago you were a normal adult with normal interests in socializing and being around others. And you're unsure of what steps to take to get back to a normal routine. Correct?"

"Yes..."

"Every session so far, we've gone through your upbringing, your family life, school, friends, your first jobs... All up until now. Everything is perfectly fine, and yet we still can't seem to figure out why you've strayed from your habits. The only topic we haven't discussed is your sexual and romantic relationships."

You remain silent, eyes having dropped back down as he spoke, the flower pattern on your skirt suddenly becoming more like a dizzying optical illusion by the second.

Doctor Reid continues. "And judging your body language, I see that you haven't looked me in the eye once since I brought up sex. My guess is that something happened during your first time that—"

"Look, honestly I don't think that's relevant to my situation, I haven't had sex since then because I don't want to, it has nothing to do with this."

"It's okay if it does," Doctor Reid encourages. He is gentle as always, though if you hadn't known any better, you would think he sounds amused. "That's what I'm here for."

You glance up at him briefly, seeing a soft smile lighting the air between you. It briefly filters some of the embarrassment you're feeling, and with a sigh, you adjust in the chair and look off to the side.

"No. I didn't enjoy myself."

"Do... you want to tell me why you didn't enjoy yourself?"

You blink, feeling your chest tighten and your stomach churn at the memory. "It's stupid."

He calls your name gently, sympathetically... "I promise you it isn't... We don't have to discuss it now if you don't want to, but it's not stupid."

Thankfully he lets you mull it over in the silence for a while, giving you time to gather your emotions and thoughts. And eventually, without looking directly at him, you begin to open up.

"He hurt me... I—It wasn't... bad or anything, like he didn't do anything I didn't want to... I just... I—It hurt. Really bad. Like, I don't think I'd ever felt that kind of pain before."

"Did he, um... Go too hard? Do you think maybe that's why it hurt you?"

You let out the loudest breath of air, embarrassment and exasperation filling your lungs with every breath you take. "Yeah, that was part of it, but like... He was also kind of big, and it didn't feel good going in at all... And I know it's supposed to not feel great at first, and I thought it would get better, but... I—It just got worse, and worse, and I felt like I was getting torn apart from the inside out, I..."

Tears are steadily streaming down your face now, your throat incredibly tight and ears pounding as you try to find the strength to speak.

"I... I never want to do that again."

A box of tissues is dropped into your lap after you take the time to gather yourself a bit, and you mumble a small 'thank you' as you wipe your face. Doctor Reid is more than willing to let you take your time, and you couldn't be more thankful.

It's also great to know that it doesn't seem like he had been embarrassed for you or ready to laugh. In fact, his tone is still as smooth as ever, and incredibly warm as he speaks to you, aiming to help you work through this confidently and logically. It's an effort that comforts you more than you'd ever be able to express.

"Do you think that experience had an effect on the way you socialize somehow?"

"I... Maybe. Sure, I mean... I'm at that age where the people I hang out with all want to hook up, and if we're not trying to go home with someone, then we're not having a good time. It's... It's a lot of pressure, especially when I think about the fact that people like sex... I mean, like... That was awful, and people act like it's the end-all-be-all to enjoyment, I... I don't know..."

"Sure... You had a bad experience, and it's normal to retreat after experiencing that kind of pain... But it was only one time. You never know, maybe your partner just wasn't the right partner for you."

You shake your head intently. "No. No, that's not..."

There's a decent pause before Doctor Reid speaks again. "I want to ask you something... And this might be a bit personal, so I apologize if I push any boundaries..."

He waits for you to object, but you don't, silently giving him the go-ahead and wondering what else he could possibly ask you that hadn't already been beyond the boundaries of a deeply intimate and personal conversation.

"Have you ever masturbated before?"

Dear God, you suddenly feel like you have to throw up. "What?"

"Well, before you had sex... Did you ever... Explore what you like on your own?"

"Um... Y—Yeah, I guess so..."

"You guess so?"

You sigh, trying not to roll your eyes for fear of crying at any sudden movement. "Yes."

"Okay... In your exploration, did you ever try anything penetrative?"

"Do I actually have to answer that?"

"Of course you don't. If you're uncomfortable we can move on, but... I really do think this is going to help..."

You sigh again, then swallow hard as you look at his face once more, only to see him as he always has been— sincere and pensive and understanding. And then, as if that look is designed solely to pull information out of you, you can't help but continue.

"No... I've... only ever done clitoral stimulation."

"And what about after your first time? Have you masturbated since then?"

You pause, throat dry. The word comes out of you with resistance, its fear and indignity rising to the surface of your tongue like sandpaper. "No."

Then he pauses. And as you glance up at the clock to see your time is nearly up, you're pretty sure you know exactly what he's going to tell you, that sinking feeling returning to the pit of your stomach. Each breath feels like a stab to the chest.

Sure enough, he speaks and you close your eyes like shielding yourself from his words will prevent them from taking any meaning. You can hear the sympathy in them anyway, and you feel foolish for even attempting to hide.

"Before I see you next week, I suggest you try masturbating again. Maybe watch some pornography or read some erotica... Whatever you think will get you more comfortable with your body and your sexuality... And we'll see where you end up."

The whole situation is so ridiculous, you can't help but laugh, though there's not an ounce of humor lacing the sound. "Do you really think this is going to help me get over my... fear of sex, or whatever this is?"

He smiles softly at you, and despite the poor relationship you've been having with sex, it brings a low simmer to the pit of your stomach that scares more than excites you. "It's a good start."

It's a good start...

"It's a good start," you whispered when you got home that night, right before getting under the covers and letting your hand wander...

It worked, too.

You'd expected it to take way longer than a week to get back any sliver of libido. And it was definitely hard at first, but by the time your next session with Doctor Reid came around, you'd been masturbating regularly every day.

Though, it seems his instruction may have worked a little too well.

Once you were more comfortable with your own body again, you couldn't stop the images of his face as they danced in beautiful flashes behind your eyelids. Scenarios were acted out in your dreams, his presence melding with yours and replacing those you'd watched and read, and it created a new sense of anxiety once you realized that you'd have to see him again in a few days...

And now that you're here, only seconds away from the moment he'd walk through the door, your stomach twists and your heart leaps.

You almost think maybe running out the door is a good option, but then he's waltzing through it with that seasoned swiftness that only adds to his charm and intimidates you further.

"Good afternoon," he greets with a warm smile, taking the seat in front of you.

"Hi, Doctor."

"How was your week?"

You clear your throat, obviously not very good at hiding anything. "Fine."

"Just fine?"

"Yep."

He only waits for you to continue. You hate when he does that...

Because it works, getting you to talk every damn time. "Still not inclined to do anything out of my normal social routine, but I'm... better."

"How so?"

Feeling his gaze on you makes your heart lurch. "Um... I'm more... comfortable... with my body, I guess..."

"So you took my suggestion, then?"

You can only muster a nod, words dying in the back of your throat and evaporating into nothing. You're still not looking at him—not directly, anyway.

"You still seem... reserved."

"Well, I'm talking to my therapist about my masturbation habits..."

Thankfully he seems to understand, nodding with a small laugh that aims to lighten the mood and make you more comfortable around the whole situation. After all, it is only the start of your session this week, and a whole hour and a half of awkwardness wouldn't suffice.

Even still, what he says next doesn't ease your mind much at all.

"Do you mind elaborating a little?"

"I don't know how much more elaboration you need," you half-scoff, clearly defensive over your privacy— And with every right to be so, considering most of your thoughts had been about him.

"Well, let's start with how frequent you've been with it."

That you could do. "Um... about every day for the past week?" And right before I left the house...

"Good. How many times a day?"

"Once." Twice, sometimes three...

"Okay..." He writes things down, and then pauses before asking his next question. "Have you tried any new techniques?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I mean other than clitoral stimulation."

"No."

He must have sensed the unease in your punctuation, because he leans forward. "Let me be clear. My questions on the topic are thorough and perhaps a bit boundless, but I am not expecting you to be ready to have sex right away. You should always be allowed to go at your own pace, and I will always encourage you to do so, I hope you understand that."

"Right..." There's an awkward pause, but you want things to keep moving, so just to keep him talking, you clear your throat and continue, "So, um... What's the next step then?"

By the look in his eyes, you realize it had probably been the wrong question—and way—to ask. Even after just explaining that you could go at your own pace, the way you spoke to him could have easily been interpreted as a newfound confidence to push forward.

Currently, under his watchful gleaming eye, you find yourself feeling anything but confident. In the past week, unfortunately, that much hasn't changed. Especially after he tells you, "We're going to make sure you've actually been doing your homework. Come with me."

———

There's just something about you that Spencer can't seem to understand. It's something beautiful and alluring, and more than anything it's incredibly wrong. Because he surely shouldn't be taking you to a separate room in the building where they interview mental patients while others watch from behind one-way glass and take notes.

But here he is anyway, leading you into the room and trying desperately not to kiss or touch you in the meantime...

"W—What do you want me to do, exactly?" you ask in that timid way of yours. It's almost innocent, like you truly don't understand why he's brought you here rather than confirming your suspicions. And somehow that only makes him want you more.

"I would like for you to watch yourself masturbate in front of this mirror here." He opens the door and urges you inside as he follows. You survey the space as your hands fumble nervously, and he continues. "It's a form of exposure therapy. My hope is to get you not only to feel your pleasure, but to see it... The act of seeing yourself that way is a good effort to boost confidence and embrace sexuality. The room is soundproof, it's camera-free... Whatever you do in here will be completely private."

"I—Isn't this like... This... I..."

Spencer reaches out and touches your shoulder, and when you look at him like a lost puppy, he nearly caves. "I understand your reservations, and you are more than welcome to decline... But I really do think this will help you. You're completely safe here, it's important for you to know that."

He's speaking to you in that slow, collected way that always gets you to open up to him, and it proves itself useful once again when you finally nod and agree to do his assignment. He smiles tamely, though the images that grace his brain of what might transpire soon are anything but. The pit of his gut is a raging wildfire, and you, though deeply unaware just yet, are the fuel that feeds and flourishes it.

"What do I do when I'm done?" you ask.

He reaches into his pocket and gives you a pager. "You can page me with this. I'll be in my office, so by the time I get to you, you should have enough time to get yourself situated. Is that okay?"

"You're... Leaving me alone?"

The question almost knocks the wind out of him. To play it off though, he offers a small, breathy laugh. "Did you want me to watch?"

"That's not what I meant! I... I just mean... Anyone could..."

"Like I said, this room is completely safe and soundproof. I've booked it for your session today, so no one will be here to use it..." He thinks for a moment, suppressing a grin to the best of his ability when the words come tumbling out. "There is a room right next door if you'd prefer I stay closer though, just in case."

"Y—Yes, please..."

Spencer smiles and hands you the pager, trying not to linger too long when his knuckles brush the inside of your palm. "Okay. Page me when you're done, and I'll give you a few minutes to collect yourself. Okay?"

"Okay," you offer with a nod and a small smile. Your nerves have calmed, and maybe this helps Spencer feel better about what he's about to do, but regardless of his ulterior motives, he truly is glad you're making progress.

He leaves and shuts the door, locking it and making quick work of sliding into the small door next to it. After locking that one as well, he switches on the light and settles in, seeing that you've only just sat down on the small couch in the middle of the room.

You both lean back at about the same time, you into the couch cushions and Spencer in the spinning desk chair. It doesn't take but a single movement of your hand down to the button of your jeans to make him hard, and the sight has him even more determined to make you feel the same way about him that he does you.

It's set in stone the moment you slide the denim down your legs and spread them wide, right in front of him. He watches as you take a deep breath and rub yourself through your panties, little pieces of your hesitation crumbling away by the second, and he just knows he's going to fuck you properly.

When, he doesn't know. But it will happen, that much he's sure of.

In the meantime, he settles for fantasy. Spencer opens up his own pants and just loosens them enough to get his dick out, and all the while his eyes are trained solely on you.

He doesn't start moving his hand until you slide your panties down as well, fluttering your eyes closed the moment your finger makes contact with your bare clit. In that moment, Spencer is glad for the soundproofing, because if you'd actually heard the way he groaned out just then, he would have been doomed. He spits on his hand and starts to glide it softly over himself, matching the speed of your own as it languidly explores your body.

All he can think about is how beautiful you are... He should be thinking about how wrong this is, or how you probably don't feel the same attraction to him that he so obviously feels about you, and doing this is only making his crush worse...

But damn it, you're just so captivating, and he can't stop.

And he doesn't.

No, Spencer doesn't even give a second thought to sighing out your name and imagining you in front of him—closer than you are now—with your head tilted up and your pretty eyes batting up at him while he fucks your throat. He mindlessly whispers praises in between low whines as his speed and pressure increases, and he's so close to coming.

He can hold out, though. He can wait for you. He wants to wait for you. He wants to watch you come undone before he even thinks about getting there himself.

But of course, as they say, you don't always get what you want.

It's not like it's his fault, though. You're the one who's losing yourself in a fantasy, using his name on your lips as a plea to aid you in the most intimate form of pleasure...

"Doctor Reid," he can hear you whine as you squirm and bring yourself closer to bliss.

He can't help it, then. His name desperately falling off your tongue sets off the explosion that ripples through his insides. His hand falters, and he releases the most pathetic sound he's ever made right as he comes all over his hand. You're calling his name again, in broken chants getting higher and higher in pitch until you're incoherent, and he's just a sticky, flustered mess.

He sits there and watches you reach your climax, still gently stroking his cock with a lip between his teeth. Your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth hangs open, and your legs, while still wide, are wavering and tensing. His eyes travel down to your hand as it strokes and circles, and he wishes more than anything that it was his.

In fact, the thought gives him an idea for another session...

ACT II: Awakening

The amount of time you've spent the last month watching porn is extremely embarrassing. It's not even just to get off anymore, either, though the relief is nice. Still, the act itself doesn't embarrass you so much as where your mind goes when you do it. You're purposely watching videos where the men have slim builds and curly hair so you can squint and imagine who you really wish you were watching...

It's wrong and dangerous and probably illegal somehow, and still, it's a better place than you were in months ago... So you can't really complain, can you?

Yes, really, you can; You still have to see your therapist while regularly having sexual fantasies about him. Which would be fine if you didn't have to talk to him about your sexual habits every session...

You almost think about cancelling today, but despite the overwhelming amount of time spent thinking about sex and how much you actually want it, you figure that means this therapy is helping. Yourself a month ago would be absolutely petrified at the idea of watching some girl get railed on screen repeatedly, vivid flashbacks of your first and final experience of sex surely to barge in and render the porn and its purpose useless.

So, despite the potential awkwardness, you end up in his office right on time.

Doctor Reid is already there, standing next to a small fold-out bed in the middle of the room with the rest of the furniture moved out of the way. It almost looks like a completely different place.

"Oh, am... Did I get the wrong time?"

He calls your name brightly, turning to see you. "You're right on time, actually. Come on in. I want to talk about your next step... I assume you've been keeping up with your homework?"

You swear then that you must still be in your bedroom, watching porn on a loop, weary and orgasmed out, because you can instantly feel the setup here; It wouldn't be hard to put the pieces together. The cliche nature of it all makes you think you might just be blurring reality and fantasy, your legs weak as you make your way over to him.

"Yes, I have..." you confirm cautiously, though the back of your mind is already battling over whether or not to be excited or scared, or both, at the prospect of this 'next step'. Is it something you're really willing to do? Is it in the realm of comfortable possibility?

Doctor Reid smiles at you, and, Yes, you think finally, it is.

"Well, you've done really well lately, and I'm proud of you for taking this journey in rediscovering your sexuality. It isn't an easy feat after going through what you did, and your progress is something you should be very proud of."

Admittedly, the praise is nice. It's comforting. Genuine. You really have progressed in embracing your sexual desires, though the thought of trusting someone enough to respect your boundaries and understand your reservations to the act itself is nearly sickening.

Unless, of course, that person is your therapist. Then it's not so hard to imagine.

Your body warms at the implications, and suddenly you're nervous all over again, your eyes trying not to eye the bed in the middle of the room. Through a deep breath, you tell him, "Thank you. What's on the agenda today?"

The small laugh that escapes him has you weak in the knees again. "Eager, are we?"

Oh, there's no way he's not flirting...

Right?

You shrug and offer a smile. "You did renovate your office rather... drastically... Excuse a girl for being curious, Doctor."

"Touché," he replies. His syllables are slow and smooth, and when his eyes bare into yours, reality and fantasy have moved past the point of blurring— they've full-on collided, creating this new atmosphere of thick, palpable debauchery that promises to alter the course of your life forever.

You want to jump his bones now, before something changes your mind, but you can't move. The possibility of misreading the situation is far too humiliating to make any sudden movements or declarations of desire.

"Please, sit," Doctor Reid invites, and you calm a little. Your limbs are still on fire with each muscle that moves, until you're seated on the bed, looking up at him and trying not to give yourself away.

Just in case.

If he can tell what's going on in your brain, he doesn't let on. Still, there's something that lives in his gaze, something knowing and all-consuming that calms your nerves like a weighted blanket as his voice plunges you further into this fantastical reality you've created together.

"Like I said, it seems that you've been succeeding at rediscovering and maintaining a healthy sexual appetite. How does that make you feel?"

"Um... Really good, actually. I think I've come a long way, and it's all because of you."

It hadn't been intentional to phrase it that way, but as soon as the words leave your mouth and his lips quirk into a gentle smirk, you avert your gaze, clutching the edge of the bed. "I mean, your suggestions and your kindness have been extremely helpful..."

"That's what I'm here for," he says, amusement lacing his tone, but disappearing quickly as he continues. "Now, I know it's only been just over a month, and it's still absolutely imperative that you do this at your own pace. So if you find yourself feeling like you're not ready to move forward when I ask you this, you are not obligated to agree. Is that understood?"

Your heart is beating wildly within the confines of your chest, daring to and desperate for escape. "Yes, Doctor."

His tongue darts out over his bottom lip as the honorific trickles sweetly off of yours, and then he clears his throat, taking a step closer to you. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes." There isn't a single ounce of hesitation in the meaning of the word or the speed at which it leaves your mouth. It's not even a second thought.

"My hope for today's session is to get you to a place where you're comfortable with trying different techniques. And if you don't mind, I'd like to assist—to show you some new pleasure points and help you discover what you like. Is that something you're willing to do?"

You nod slowly, words feeling impossible, which brings a small smile to his face.

"Okay, a few rules. This is a very vulnerable thing. So you need to use your words. I'm not comfortable moving forward unless you explicitly say so, so I ask you again; Do you give me permission to help you experiment?"

"Yes."

Firm. Some might even say confident. The word rings sharply in the air for a few moments before Doctor Reid nods and responds quietly, "Good."

He walks over to you, slowly until his knees are barely touching yours. You feel yourself becoming a living current of electricity at the sheer closeness of him, never mind that he hasn't even touched you. You can only imagine what it will feel like when he does, the thought making you fight the urge to clamp your thighs together.

"Do I have your permission to touch you?"

Touch me how? you want to ask, but you realize it wouldn't matter; You'd let him touch you in any way he pleased. So instead, you tell him, "Please."

His eyes rake slowly over your figure then, possibly considering his next move, but then he simply nudges your knee with his leg, the most brief form of touch but still electrifying all the same. "Will you hold your right leg out for me?"

Not quite what you would have expected, but you do as he says, extending your leg as he rests his palm under your ankle.

"Are you familiar with erogenous zones?"

Your heart leaps. "Yes. I know the concept."

He considers this before slightly swiping his thumb along the side of your ankle. "Are you familiar with your erogenous zones?"

"I can't say I've ever thought about it, so... Probably not, no."

"Hmmm."

Honestly, you figure it wouldn't even matter where he touched you; The fact that he's taken an interest in your sexual desires and putting them to the test with an attentive, hands-on approach is more than enough to get you hot and bothered. The sheer presence of him alone makes your whole body pulse with writhing need.

Still, you let him explore, trying not to prove impatient. It's incredibly difficult when the denim of your jeans slowly becomes nothing more than a claustrophobic obstacle to his attention. Everywhere his fingers brush, heat radiates, but you know it could be stronger. You try your hardest to focus on his questions and less on the signals your body is sending you, violently and utterly whorish. You'd never been this way before, not even by yourself, and you're becoming less and less patient by the minute

Doctor Reid seems to notice this as his knuckles brush the inside of your palm, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Are you relaxed?" he asks quietly, keeping his head low but lifting his eyes to meet yours. Something about the sight stirs in your stomach.

"Yes."

"You don't sound very convinced."

You can't help but succumb to the bout of nervous laughter that's been dancing in its cage in the back of your throat the whole session. His fingers halt their gentle discovery of your body but remain rested in your palm, every nerve ending threatening to explode. "Well, I don't know if relaxed is really the right word, but... I'm... Good."

He hums pensively, pausing to tilt his head. "You've been responding rather enthusiastically to just about every touch..." If he's amused by this, you can't tell, but the words feel like a prideful observation regardless. "I suppose that means we can move this along..."

When his eyes meet yours again, you nearly whimper.

"May I kiss you?" he asks.

His knuckles start moving slowly against your palm, and your entire arm lights up with excitement at the contact, as does your heart. Suddenly the room feels cold yet hot at the same time, a deep chill crashing through your body like a tidal wave. Your nipples are painfully hard against the fabric of your bra, and you feel it in your bones.

You've never been so turned on in your life.

You nod, then stop yourself, remembering his rules. The word sounds utterly wanton as it gently squeaks past your lips, but it's the best you can do to give him permission short of reaching up and pulling him down to kiss him yourself.

"Please..."

He surprises you again by stepping forward and lifting your arm to his mouth. Sticky honey eyes trap you in their gaze as his lips replace his knuckles on the inside of your palm, soft and warm in every aspect. He takes his time, grazing his nose along your fingers and then your wrist as he drops the gentle pressure of a kiss along every centimeter of skin he explores. It's thorough and attentive and gentle, and you're mesmerized.

Eventually he's kissed his way up your whole arm, and it feels like you've been in this bed for hours, something slowly awakening inside you at his every touch. The excitement bubbling in your bloodstream starts to boil over when he reaches your collarbone, using his hand to slip under the strap of your tank top so he can kiss you there.

Responding to his touch has become second nature at this point, so your head leans away and gives him room to start kissing your neck, to which he does happily.

Where Doctor Reid's kisses had been kind and curious in their pursuit, they've now grown indulgent. His lips part, lavishing the skin at the side of your neck with a warm, wet caress that makes your toes curl and your fists clench. His hand comes up to drag the pad of his middle finger down your throat as his tongue darts out and laps at your skin, and you moan.

Your hips grind and your thighs clench, a disastrous wave of heat flooding through you, and he sucks gently on your skin for a second before sighing.

"There it is..."

You pout when he pulls away, but he strokes your hairline and doesn't go far. "How are you feeling?"

"Really good," you breathe through a nervous smile.

"Are you turned on?"

Obviously, you want to exclaim, but given his thorough and affirmative nature, it makes sense. You also force yourself to remember that he's your therapist and not a guy you've taken home for the night. He's a professional, despite how unprofessional in nature this particular situation is on paper; He's not going to move the process along based on an assumption, no matter how obvious your reactions might be.

"Very," you tell him confidently, a proud gleam in your eye as you look up at him. The twitch of his grin does more than excite you— it urges you. "You turn me on, Doctor Reid..."

"Is that so?"

"Mhmmm."

He leans and his breath is hot in your ear. His voice comes in low and seductive. Curious. Careful.

"Then I'd like you to show me. Will you touch yourself for me, love?"

The pet name makes you clench around nothing, and you whimper at the way it stings. At this point it's physically painful to keep lying there at his mercy without any sort of stimulation, so despite how embarrassing and desperate it might be, your hand is slipping under the band of your sweatpants with ease as you sigh out. "I'll do anything..."

The back of his knuckles tease your neck as you slowly circle your clit with your middle finger, and you don't have to do much wandering to gather your wetness either. Everything is warm and wet and ready for release, which doesn't go unnoticed by Doctor Reid.

"I can hear how wet you are," he muses brightly, his throat caught in a groan as his lips hover over your neck. "That's good."

"Uh-huh?" you whine out, his praises bringing you closer to nirvana.

"That's really good... Are you close already, baby?"

You can't help but moan at the name, a white-hot pool of pleasure filling up in your gut as his lips attach to your pulse-point. "Yes, Doctor..."

"Mmm," he hums into your skin, continuing to kiss you. His hand strokes your forehead as your own makes quick work of your clit. It won't be but a matter of seconds before you're coming undone. "How long can you go between orgasms? Do you know?"

"I... usually wait... ten minutes at least..."

Doctor Reid licks softly at your neck before he asks, "Have you used a vibrator or a toy?"

You laugh involuntarily, clenching your legs as your orgasm approaches and wishing you had your vibrator right now. You bought it after your third session. "A vibrator. A cheap one... But it works."

"Nothing wrong with that," he mumbles amusedly into your skin, trailing his kisses up to your jaw. It takes everything you have not to turn your head and take his lips with your own, just to taste his warmth as you come undone—to whimper and whine into his mouth with every wave of pleasure that crashes through you, and—

God, that's exactly what's happening...

Your body shudders blissfully as Spencer kisses you, and the moment doesn't even feel real. His mouth is gentle but coaxing, helping you through your orgasm with a sense of accomplishment, like his kisses are a reward. At least, it certainly feels that way. It doesn't help that when you finally come down, slowing your breathing and removing your hand from your pants, he rests his forehead to yours with a final gentle peck on the mouth and an affirming, "Very good, sweetheart."

You can't help but feel like he takes note of the way you flutter your eyes closed at the nickname; there's a pause in his movements before he returns to them, lightly trailing his knuckles over your neck until his touch disappears completely.

Even though you just came moments before, his next sentence nearly gives you a second wind, your eyes snapping open and your cunt throbbing with want.

"Has anyone ever eaten you out before?"

"No," you tell him truthfully, and he studies you with a look in his eyes that tells you he isn't surprised to hear the unfortunate news. Embarrassed suddenly at his pity, you try to shrug it off. "Men seem to be pretty notorious for being bad at it though, so I didn't hold it against him... My ex, I mean..." You huff a nervous laugh, seeing Doctor Reid stare at you blankly. "I figured it would save us both the trouble."

"There's nothing troubling about it," he mumbles, more to himself. But then he straightens and inhales, back to business as his gaze cements into yours once again. "Would you be willing to let me do it?"

Even more embarrassing than the fact that it hasn't been done before is the speed at which you respond, "Yes." The word is sharp and desperate, loud and true, and you swear you see Spencer's eyes glow. "Please..."

It's hard to tell what he's thinking exactly—ever the professional he is—but aside from lack of a smile or any other indicator of eagerness, his eyes give his emotions away on a grander scale. They're practically fucking you already as he saunters around the bed, their intensity settling deep in the pit of your stomach. Suddenly you're convinced you could come just by his stare alone.

"May I?" he questions, gently tugging at the ankle of your leggings.

"Yes."

"Lift your hips for me, sweetheart."

After a sentence like that, you aren't sure how you have the strength to do it, but you manage, hot flashes coursing through your entire body as his nimble fingers grip the waistband of your leggings and slide them over your hips, then your thighs. His skin is hot against yours, even with as little contact as there is; a simple brush of the knuckle over your knee might as well be a branding iron, claiming you as his own.

He doesn't even have to instruct you, your legs falling wide open once they're free from their fabric confines.

At this point you aren't even embarrassed anymore. You might even be proud of it— how badly you want him to touch you and taste you and show you just how good another person could make you feel. In an odd way it makes you feel important. Cared for.

Your cunt throbs at the intensity of all these emotions and feelings.

It doesn't help when Doctor Reid settles between your legs, making himself comfortable and looking up at you through his eyelashes. The sight is just as overwhelming as everything else.

"You're absolutely sure you want this?" he inquires softly, almost like a plea.

Your vocal cords feel like they're made of rope, the words climbing out of you with burning calluses and a determination to see it through to the end. You've never wanted anything so badly, and you tell him precisely that.

The confirmation seems to please him, a beautiful lilted sigh escaping him as his nose comes in contact with your underwear. It rests just above your clit, his breath hot against you.

His hands come up from under you then, gripping your thighs to keep you steady as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your clothed cunt. The gentle pressure makes you moan and squirm, his fingers gripping your thighs even tighter, and you sigh his name.

He keeps going, taking his sweet time to explore what areas get reactions from you, though he's quick to learn that every touch, every kiss, every gentle probe of the tongue... all of it is slowly undoing you to the point of madness.

With a hooked finger pulling your panties aside, Doctor Reid sighs into your thigh.

"Are you ready for it, pretty girl?"

All you can manage is the most whiny, whorish "Uh-huh," to the air. It echoes brightly and rings in your ears long after the moment, time seeming to stop right as his tongue comes in contact with your dripping heat.

The sensation is hot and sharp, and never ending. After what seems like forever, the tip of his tongue finally comes up and swiftly flicks your clit before he repeats the entire motion, like a wave crashing over the shore, and that's when your body finally releases all its tension.

You hadn't even realized you were so tense. Your fingers release their grip on the thin sheet beneath you and your chest sighs of relief, and that's when you feel yourself finally start to breathe. Head spinning, the sensations happening below you are coming into sharp clarity.

Spencer's tongue is relentless, leaving no crevice untouched by pleasureful curiosity. But you barely even have time to wonder if he might be enjoying himself more than you are, because all thought at all completely disappears the very moment his lips gather around your clit, sucking softly as he groans.

"Ohhhh my god..."

You're unable to keep your hips from grinding into his mouth. Still, he persists, cycling between sucking and licking and kissing, and it takes everything you have not to reach down and thread your fingers through his hair.

"You taste so fucking good," he sighs, coming up for air for a second. Then he kisses you again and repeats himself. "You're so good..."

This time you do reach down for his head, brushing the stray strands away from his forehead as he looks up at you. He pauses his ministrations, and his tongue's absence is sorely missed in feeling but a pleasure to the eyes as he runs it over his bottom lip in a slow, almost predatory nature.

"I'm going to slowly add a finger, is that okay?"

The thought admittedly panics you, flashbacks of pain and disappointment and embarrassment barging in and nearly ruining the moment. But Spencer can tell, his head tilting into your thigh again until it makes contact. His hair tickles and sends a shiver over your limb as he uses his hands to rub gentle, reassuring circles into your skin.

"We don't have to. I can keep doing it just like this if you prefer. Whatever you want, sweetheart."

The words shoot straight to your core, which sparks the realization that your previous encounter with sex was nothing like this at all. Not only in situation, obviously, but in feeling as well. You were excited to do it the first time, sure, but the build-up was pretty much non-existent. And now here you've been, pining away at this man for weeks, reawakening your libido and engaging in the longest game of foreplay known to man.

You have this very moment to show for it, your entire body humming with want and your worries slowly melting away under Doctor Reid's careful yet eager exploration.

Where there had once been an absence of communication and genuine care, now rests a bright and blossoming excess of it, in every touch and every pull of his eyes. It burns through you like a shot of whiskey, growing in sizzling warmth as it reaches every limb.

It's this new, odd and exciting comfort that urges you to tell him, "It's okay. You can do it."

You expect him to sigh in relief, grateful for your permission, but if he feels it he doesn't show it. Gentle hands continue caressing the underside of your thighs and he looks up at you. "You're sure?"

"Yes. I want it. I want your fingers inside of me, please."

Between the desperate emphasis in your nodding and the way your eyes are practically begging him, you've sealed your fate, a soft gasp reaching your throat when his middle finger slides through your opening and sends a rush of excitement over every plane of your body.

He doesn't enter you, but simply glides, up and down, like he's trying to soothe you.

"Tell me if it's too much, okay?"

"O-kay..."

Your breath shakes on the last syllable, his fingertip slowly disappearing inside you. He takes his sweet time, one knuckle, then two, and then he's fully inside you, and it's not nearly as painful as the last time somebody had been there.

"Fuck, you're so warm..." His eyes search yours for a moment before he sighs and lowers his head. "So beautiful..." And then his mouth is on you again, his compliment muffled by the essence of your pleasure, and your head is thrown back in an instant.

As his finger kindly allows you to adjust to its residence, experimentally moving in and out, his tongue continues to lap at your clit, and both sensations together are a bit odd but not unwelcome. You're slowly getting used to the fullness, yet something in you aches for more...

Maybe it's in your sighs, or the way your hands claw at the sheets, or perhaps he simply just knows you that well, but either way, Spencer knows.

He adds another finger, slowly and without an ounce of resistance from your body, and when you sigh out this time, it's of relief. You smile through it, allowing yourself to revel in the feeling of something new and erotic and exciting. Every whimper that falls from your lips is prideful and maybe even a bit exaggerated, but it's entirely worth it if only for the encouragement it seems to give Doctor Reid to keep going.

After a while of letting you get used to the feeling, he pulls back and twists his palm up before he enters you again, slowly as he says, "You're taking them so well... I'm proud of you, love..."

His fingers are in as far as they can go, and then they curve up just right, and you gasp.

"That feel good?"

"Uh-huh..."

"Yeah?" he coos proudly, starting a rhythm with his fingers that has you crying out in unbelievable pleasure. You're quickly reaching a peak again, every sensation from the fullness of his fingers and the way they twist and curl inside you to the sounds he makes as he kisses and sucks at your clit sending you into overdrive.

Dizziness starts to swarm you and your body can't handle it. Rather than fight this tight, new feeling brewing at each stroke of his fingers, you embrace it with deep breaths and cries out into the air, and then it snaps inside you.

Doctor Reid manages to keep your legs open as he works you through it, though you're not sure how you haven't crushed him yet. Everything feels tight and sharp and blindingly good—it feels like something that would take an army to keep from closing in.

Still, he does it, holding you open and groaning his way through your orgasm. Your hands instinctively reach out to keep him there, clutching at his hair and holding on for dear life while you tremble and clench around him.

Galaxies dance vividly behind your eyelids for what feels like eons as the pleasure bursts through you like a display of shooting stars, until eventually it subsides and your body feels extremely tired.

"Mmm, see? No trouble at all." He removes his fingers and continues to lazily make out with your cunt through small aftershocks of overstimulation, and then he's gone.

He gives you a few moments to collect yourself before he asks, "How do you feel?"

"Tired," you sigh with a smile, relaxing back with your eyes closed. You feel like you could take a nap. "But good. Very good."

His momentary silence intrigues you, so you flutter your eyes open and see that the heat in them hasn't subsided. In fact, it burns through him brightly as he prowls up the bed and climbs over your body until you're face-to-face. Something hard and hot and familiar rests firmly against your thigh and you choke on a whimper.

"Have you ever tasted yourself before?" he inquires, his voice barely above a whisper.

You swallow and prepare yourself. "No."

"Would you like to?"

And then without a second thought, your hands bring his face down to yours, and you embrace the subtle tang of your pleasure on his lips. He groans into your mouth, low and warm as his hips rut into your thigh.

The action sends you into overdrive, and suddenly you want to ask if you can return the favor, but Doctor Reid seems to have other ideas.

A finger delicately makes its way past your lips, seamlessly replacing his tongue, and you open your eyes again, nearly falling apart at the sight of him. The man is wild, eyes desperate for release as you suck on his finger, and then he adds another.

You clean him of your essence, sensual and enthusiastic in your maneuvers in a newfound confidence that wouldn't even exist now if not for him. So you treat this act as a reward to him, an act of gratitude, regardless of whether or not this session is technically all about discovering your likes and dislikes. If anything, you've learned that you like pleasing him. And so—if the constant friction between his bulge and your thigh is any indication—you'd have to say that his goal for today's session has been achieved tenfold.

"God, you're perfect," he huffs as his movements stutter and his hips still. You moan around his fingers, gliding your tongue in the space between them, and when he finally comes, he's choking out your name.

His weight gradually comes down on top of you, his fingers sliding out of your mouth and resting on your chest as he finds his composure. And then he's kissing your neck and your jaw, and each hot caress of his mouth at your pulse point feels like a reward of its own, an intimate form of affection made specifically for you.

Your name sighing past his lips and into your skin is proof enough of that; the lust is still there, sure, but it's laced with something else. Something softer.

As the breathing between the two of you slows, you comb through his hair with your fingers and sigh. An odd, pleasant feeling swirls around in your gut.

"Thank you, Doctor Reid."

"Mmm, you're very welcome," he murmurs into your skin, still nestled into the crook of your neck.

"For everything," you clarify. "A month ago, doing something like that would have felt impossible to even imagine, but... You make me feel safe, and cared for. And more importantly, you don't make me feel like I should be ashamed. Like there isn't actually something wrong with me. I don't know how to thank you enough for that."

When he pulls away, you almost think you might have scared him off, but the look in his eyes is anything but fearful. In fact, they practically shine like a glimmering lively lake as they search your own.

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. You're beautiful, and bright, and curious... And as long as you remember that, and you hold onto it, you will be just fine—no matter where you go, or... who you go to."

You shake your head, that feeling in your gut growing exponentially and the words flying out before you can stop them. "I don't want to go to anyone else. I only want you."

The look in his eyes deepens, almost a little melancholic in their intensity, close enough to that fear you were worried about earlier to make your heart beat faster.

"You don't mean that," he says, and you want to cry. Hell, you might, if that feeling in your stomach is speaking for something.

"Like hell I don't," you counter, cradling his head in your hands. "You're the first person I've actually wanted to be around in so long, and... Maybe it's twisted, maybe it's not right, but if there is anyone that I need, it's you. I won't even be your patient anymore if that makes up for it, I just want to see you. I trust you. More than I would trust any stranger."

When your name exits his lips, this time it's a gentle warning. Authoritative. But still sweet. Maybe even a little disappointed. "The purpose of these more... interactive sessions was to get you comfortable with trusting people with your body as much as you do... Seeing me and no one else would, in the end, defeat that purpose."

All feeling in your bloodstream curdles and starts to wither away with rejection. Embarrassment fizzles behind your eyelids as you close them, forming into tears that you try and will away until you're out of his sight. "You don't... actually want me..."

He tenses at your exclamation, and sighs. "That is absolutely not what I said. Look at me."

"Then... what?"

Spencer remains professional, but there's something hiding behind his eyes that longs to get out, you can see that. You can feel it too, as prominently as you feel your heart beating in your chest.

"As your therapist, it is in both of our best interests that I recommend you to try a night out. You don't have to sleep with anyone or do anything you're uncomfortable with, obviously, but... Based on what we've accomplished today, it is my professional opinion that you're ready for the next step."

So you're kicking me out, you cry dramatically in your head, even though you know it isn't true. Still, there's something inside you that doesn't want to let go— that can't. This connection you have with him is something strong and beautiful, something valuable. Something profound. You're not going down without a fight, until he is kicking you out of his office.

Your fingers glide down the side of his face and your eyes sharpen, studying his face with lustful reverence.

"And what are your thoughts as a man... and not my therapist?"

While you'd intended it more as a plea, your words seem to challenge him. Gone is the liberal professionalism, replaced with a familiar sly desire that ignites your heart and fills you with hope.

"As a man... it's impossible even trying to deny you..."

The words excite and warm you all over. You hum, nudging your nose to his and thinking aloud. "Mmm. After my hour is up and the day is long over... Maybe I should wander back to the parking lot and let a man take me home... As my therapist, d'you think that would count as a night out?"

You're relentlessly teasing him now, but he seems  alright with it, laughing dryly above you as his hands clutch your shirt and his hips shift firmly into your thigh again. "Haven't you gotten bold," he muses lowly, his mouth inching closer to yours.

"What can I say... You're very good at your job, Doctor."

"Mmm, you make it easy, love."

His lips are on yours soon after that, and with each tick of the clock your kisses grow hungrier.

Nothing escalates, but for the next fifteen-or-so minutes, your body remains buzzing with the ever-present energy of him, the knowledge that his presence has altered the course of your life forever, and the hope that the feeling is mutual.

Though, if the way he holds you and kisses you means anything, there is nothing to worry about in the slightest.

You leave his office that day feeling lighter, and while you're a far cry from where you were when you started seeing Doctor Reid, you're certain that by tomorrow you'll be a completely different woman.