Volatile

Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly.

~ Charles Addams

Chapter One

The woman crawled towards him, blue eyes cast down. Slowly. Methodically. Exactly as instructed. His cock was fisted in one hand, ready and waiting, a half-consumed glass of whiskey in the other.

She crept closer, her tiny frame diminishing within his larger presence. He leaned back in the chair and raised the glass to his lips, relishing the warm burn slithering down his throat. She came to his thighs and assumed the position, waiting for his next command.

He took one last sip before resting the tumbler on the small table beside him and filled his palm with a handful of her hair instead. Long and silky. Easy to slip through his fingers if he didn’t grip hard enough. Tightening his hold, he lowered her head, bringing her lips to the tip of his cock and pressing her down, gliding her tongue over the tight skin.

He didn’t ease up until he received indication that she couldn’t take any more. Until her body tensed. It wasn’t her nature to struggle, to fight his authority. It was up to him to pay attention and act accordingly. And it was exactly what he needed at the moment.

After a short time, he released his grip to allow her to work her mouth and give him the distraction he came for. His breath picked up watching her service him with the perfect amount of suction, the correct pace. He’d taught her well.

She welcomed him fully into her eager mouth as her blonde strands floated over the tops of his thighs. From that direction, he could easily imagine the woman down on her knees was another one entirely. In the dimmed light of the room with her face concealed between his legs, with her small, naked body trembling and curled inward, with her pale hair spilling down...

He could almost convince himself that she was Julia.

Almost.

He was fucking pathetic.

His imminent release gave him a reprieve from his thoughts, and once he knew the brink was near, he just wanted it over and done. No sense in prolonging the act. Regaining a firm hold on her hair, he pumped her head faster and deeper, and a shudder ripped visibly over her, her face likely stained with tears by this point. He knew this submissive like the back of his clenched fist; she derived more pleasure from his control than most of the others combined.

He palmed her throat with his other hand, needing to feel movement under her skin as she swallowed. Tightening his fingers around the sides of her neck made her body shake, spurring on his first surge. The rest shot from him in rapid bursts, unloading down her throat.

The gratification he received from emptying himself gave him a brief moment of peace, but it didn’t last long. It never did.

He released her, which gave her permission to release as well, and she drew her head upwards, her soft lips dragging along his heated skin. She’d done well, pleasuring him exactly to his specifications, but it wasn’t enough. It never was.

She wasn’t the one at fault. He was the one who’d changed. She disengaged from his softening erection and remained kneeled in front of him, her gaze lowered and cheeks flushed. He brought his hand to her face and lightly stroked the warm skin with the backs of his fingers.

You have pleased me, Lizbeth. Thank you.

Her lips curved at the praise, and she closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. There was no need for her to use words, and he didn’t want to hear her voice. Fortunately, she knew the rules and followed them well.

She rested against him for another minute before quietly stepping up and gathering her things. After dressing quickly, she exited the room, leaving him alone. Whether she was done for the night or would find another to use her body wasn’t his concern. Lizbeth knew how to play in this world. He never worried for her.

He raised the glass once more, draining the remaining liquid and letting his eyes drop for a quick second. It was time to get the hell out of there.

Jon!

His eyes snapped open to see a flash of red hair and a narrowed gaze in the doorway aimed directly at him. Jacque took a step inside, and he set down the melting ice before tucking himself back into his pants. No need to rush and act all dramatic. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen before.

You of all people should know better. There’d better not be a drop of liquor in that glass.

Not anymore. I made sure of it. Her scrutiny intensified; she obviously didn’t appreciate the humor. I stand by the rules, Jacque. Hell, he’d helped make them. No alcohol was to be consumed during play parties, and for good reason. Control had to be strictly maintained at all times. I’m not playing tonight, just getting my dick sucked.

Jacque threw up her arms and sighed loudly. The corner of his mouth ticked upward. She couldn’t stay mad at him.

Shouldn’t you be downstairs overseeing the festivities? he asked.

She moved closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. Anthony is taking care of it, so I came looking for you. Thought you might be up here.

Jon nodded. He rarely went into the playroom anymore, instead preferring to use one of the upstairs rooms, and these days only Lizbeth accompanied him. It had taken Jacque long enough to even convince him to return; the threat of Ian and Julia showing up always in the forefront of his mind. But he soon realized that his worries were unnecessary. They had their own private room on the lower floor and would never come during a public party. Their own private room. He felt sucker-punched. This was the last thing he needed to be thinking about.

I need a favor, Jon.

And what would that favor be?

I’d like to refer a client to you.

He ran his hands down his face. I’m already fully scheduled, Jacque.

Yes, I imagine wallowing in self-pity does take up quite a bit of time.

He raised an eyebrow. He did not wallow. He worked, he drank, he fucked. Wallowing was something a teenage girl did when her crush didn’t ask her to prom.

If that’s your way of asking for a favor, I suggest changing your tactics.

And she would. He knew her well enough to know her patterns. Jacque was a straight shooter; she didn’t tip-toe around her opinions, but she was also kind and fiercely protective to those she cared about. Her concern for him was as subtle as a brick to the head, and he knew he was screwed. It’d be damn near impossible to deny her anything.

She touched his knee gently. It’s not just for me; it’s also a favor for Cherise. She smiled, no doubt knowing the card she was playing. And I know you love her almost as much as I do.

Of course, he did. Cherise had come into Jacque’s life and made her incredibly happy. How could he not love someone who gave his best friend such pleasure? They were perfect for each other.

Jon filled his lungs with a deep, stabilizing breath, exhaling slowly before speaking. Who’s the client?

Her smile grew wider. Her name’s Lilian—Lily—Swanson, age nineteen. Goes to North Hill Community College. Her older sister, Ivy, works for Cherise at the flower shop. She’s the one asking for help. Ivy noticed some bruises on Lily, and when she confronted her, Lily blew it off, saying it was a one-time thing and nothing to worry about. Ivy disagrees. She wants to see charges pressed. She’s worried sick that if Lily doesn’t stop protecting this guy she’s seeing, things will escalate. Ivy ended up giving her an ultimatum—seek professional help or get the police involved.

Jon raked his hands through his hair. He failed to see how this involved him. Not at this stage in the process. "If this is a domestic violence case, it is a police matter, Jacque. You know that. If Ivy is that concerned, she should file a report herself. She’s well within her rights to do so, with or without her sister’s consent."

This is where things get a bit tricky. Ivy doesn’t know who the guy is. She suspected Lily was seeing someone but didn’t know details or even a name. Lily never talked about it, and Ivy didn’t push. Until the bruises appeared on her neck. That’s when she freaked out and started demanding answers. And when she didn’t get any, Ivy insisted that she enter therapy in the hopes of coming out on her own or else be declared an accessory to a crime and be forced to talk.

This was not how he pictured his day ending. Jon figured he’d get his temporary fix, then go home and finish off with a bottle, making him forget the night ever happened.

He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. If this young woman is a victim, her sister traumatizing her further with threats and humiliation is not the way to go.

I agree with you, Jon, and I met with Lily. Only briefly, and she’s a bit reserved, but it was enough to convince me that something else is going on here. My instincts could be off, but I don’t think this is an assault case. And I also know my limitations and your strengths. After speaking with her, I believe you’d be better suited to help and get her to open up.

I don’t know what’s going on, but this doesn’t appear to be the type of case for either of us, Jacque. Unless it involved working through the aftermath of sexual abuse, it was not their area of expertise. You wouldn’t hire a tax attorney to handle your divorce. If you need help with a recommendation—

No, trust me on this one. We’re therapists first and foremost. We help people. And I’m confident in your abilities to handle this one. Lily’s sister may be coming on too strong, but she’s doing it out of love. She’s trying to get her the help she feels she needs. She doesn’t want to make things more difficult for her if she can help it. Ivy also wants someone she can trust, and that’s why she confided in Cherise. She knows about me and my profession.

So, Ivy wants her sister to see a sexual surrogate?

Jacque shot him a look. No, Jon. Ivy wants Lily to see a trained psychologist, and she wants it done as discreetly as possible. Isn’t it our moral obligation to help if we can, despite our specialty field?

He rubbed the back of his neck, unconvinced that he was the right person for the job.

Does your silence mean yes? she asked.

No, it means I’m thinking about it. But he already knew he would take the damn case. Jacque was one of the few left he couldn’t say no to. Besides, what could it hurt just to meet with the girl? If he didn’t feel he was qualified, he knew several experts who could easily take his place.

She squeezed his knee. Great! I knew I could count on you. Oh, and one more thing. I hesitate to even mention this, but I don’t want you blindsided. Um, Lily reminds me of.... She paused. Damn it, Jacque. He knew exactly what she was going to say. Well, she kind of reminds me of Julia. In several ways.

Fuck. He sucked in deeply, the cool air hitting his teeth. Okay. So his new client shared a resemblance to Julia. Did it even matter? She could be a fucking carbon copy inside and out, and she still wouldn’t be the real thing.

Jacque didn’t say anything as she awaited his reaction. He hissed the air back out. Fine. If she’s available, send her over tomorrow afternoon.

She jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck. Thank you, honey. She gave him a big Jacque-style smack on the cheek, squeezing his head so tightly he thought he’d pass out. And send me the bill. According to Cherise, Ivy’s barely scraping by as is. I offered to take her sister on pro bono.

I’m not sending you a damn bill, Jacque. I’ll take care of it.

She gave him another ear-piercing kiss before letting him breathe again. You know, Jon, this could be good for you too. Maybe get you out of that slump.

He stood, rolled down his sleeves, and tossed back a few ice chips. He knew very well what she was insinuating: by putting his energy into helping a woman similar to Julia, he could, in turn, heal himself. Nice try but it was fucking bullshit. He didn’t need healing. Time would cure everything. Or shock treatments. After eight long fucking months, every single inch of her was still etched in his brain, and no amount of vices would wipe the slate clean. Didn’t mean he’d stop trying, though.

Fortunately, I’m not in a slump. Now, unless you need my assistance tonight, I’ll be heading out. There was a bottle of something at home beckoning him.

Nope, it’s all covered. We’ll be in touch. She grasped his face, and with her ridiculously high heels, she just about squared him right in the eyes. Thank you, sweetie.

You’re welcome, Jacque.

She flashed him a smile before turning around and teetering out of the room. He watched her leave as he turned over their conversation.

What the hell did he just agree to?

Chapter Two

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

What had Jacque said? A bit reserved? He would happily take a bit reserved over what sat before him.

You said you’ve never been in therapy before, but have you ever visited your student counseling center?

No.

Are you enjoying school?

Yes.

What classes do you find the most challenging?

None.

And your favorite?

The young woman shrugged.

Jon took a calming breath. He was doing his best to make her comfortable, to establish rapport between them, but she didn’t even have an opinion on whether she preferred to be called Lilian or Lily. He’d asked her basic questions for nearly an hour and had only received one-syllable answers in response, if at all. Normally that was fine; more often than not it took time to reach that level of openness with his new clients, but the problem lay with her complete lack of interest. It could be difficult enough to break through when the person actually wanted help. She wanted no part of being there. Coercion did not make for a healthy session.

Lily didn’t appear anxious or afraid, just... bored. She looked anywhere but him—the floor, the walls, her crossed hands. It was like she was hiding from him, hoping he’d eventually forget about her and stop asking all these annoying questions.

So, you live with your older sister? He’d discovered that little tidbit of information from Jacque, not her. Lily nodded, and he continued. For how long?

A few years. Since our mother died.

They were moving into full-sentence territory, and he felt a spark of encouragement. And your father?

She glanced at him for a brief second, peeking through strands of hair, before looking away again. I’m not convinced I even have one.

Would you like to talk about that?

Is it even relevant?

She stared out the window. The session would be over soon, and he had the feeling she couldn’t wait to run out the door. Jon tapped his chin with his steepled fingers. It might be. It might not be. But whatever you’d like to share, I’m here to listen.

Silence. A breeze blew in through the half-open window, blowing her long blonde hair from her eyes. Lily?

She didn’t respond; the neighbor’s remodeling project appeared to hold more interest. Lily? he repeated. Is there anything you’d like to talk about?

My sister’s forcing me to come here, Mr. Blazek, but she can’t make me talk.

Jon studied her, taking in her demeanor, her small act of defiance. Physically, she did resemble Julia, but there was more to it than that. So far, he agreed with Jacque’s assessment on all counts. There was more at play going on here, and it didn’t appear to be a cut-and-dried case of a woman protecting her abusive boyfriend. Of course, his first impression could amount to shit, but his hunch was telling him differently. And unless he suspected a harmful situation, he wouldn’t break trust and report an allegation based on another’s claim. Yes, there’d been physical evidence, but he had his suspicions about that as well.

What do you do for fun, Lily?

She snapped her eyes back to him, scrunching up her face. Fun?

Yes, fun. When you’re not busy studying, what do you like to do?

Her face darkened, and she broke contact. I don’t— The chime of the front office door cut her off, and she slumped forward before rising. That must be Ivy. She’s picking me up.

When would it fit into your schedule to meet again?

Lily sighed. I’m sure my sister will be all over that since she keeps such good tabs on me.

She grabbed her purse off the floor and headed towards the door, opening it before he had a chance to do it for her. A dark-haired woman stood in the waiting room, digging through her bag.

Can I help you? Jon asked, and the woman picked her head up.

Like I said, my sister, Lily responded, brushing past her and heading outside. I’ll be in the car.

How’d it—

Everything’s fine, just like I keep telling you, Lily shouted back from the pathway leading out of his office. The woman remained inside, shaking her head as she watched her go. Based on physical features alone, the two sisters couldn’t look more different.

Once Lily was in the car, she turned towards him. Mr. Blazek. She stuck out her hand. I’m Ivy Swanson.

He shook her hand. Call me Jon.

So, Jon... as you noticed, I didn’t get too far with Lily, so I’ll ask you. How’d it go today?

It’s definitely a process, and first sessions are usually a bit awkward.

Technically two sessions now. She’s already had one with Jacqueline Lamont.

Yes, well, she’s only had one with me, so technically one.

She frowned, glaring at him a moment before digging through her purse again. And did you find out the name of the man who assaulted her?

No. As I mentioned, it was just the first session. I don’t know how familiar you are with counseling and the way it works, but a certain level of trust needs to be built before any real progress is made.

She sighed her disapproval, pulling out her phone and tapping on the screen. "I’d like to set up her second appointment now if that works for you."

Is this woman for real? Of course.

And I’m sure you won’t mind me sitting in for it.

As a matter of fact, I do mind.

Excuse me?

Her eyes bore into him, and he was suddenly in the middle of a stare-down. The dissimilarities between Lily and Ivy went far beyond the outer layer. They were polar opposites.

Jon pressed his palm to the back of his neck. He was starting to get a fucking headache, but he had to do what he could to keep this little visit respectful. He believed that Ivy did care about her sister’s well-being, but her methods needed a wake-up call. There was no way in hell he’d ever get Lily to talk with Ivy hawking in the room.

If I ever feel that Lily would benefit from you joining one of our sessions, I’ll let you know. Until then, I’d prefer to continue working with her one on one.

She never broke eye contact; her irises pierced into him. They were the color of the acorns that covered his yard in the fall, complete with sharp points that stabbed his feet when he walked across the grass barefoot.

"My sister needs desperate help, Mr. Blazek, whether she knows it or not. And I’m going to make sure she gets it. What I’m not going to do is