Let Me (O'Brien Family, #2)(34)
“It felt . . . great,” I say, thinking back.
“So you successfully felt something during the act? That numbness you often experience failed to manifest, correct?”
I nod, but again that cocky grin that should form based on the topic doesn’t appear. My expression and tone remain tight. With Sol, damn, I always feel. That disconnect he mentioned doesn’t happen when she’s around. I thought it was because she’s a woman I’m hot for, but based on what Doc Mason is saying, I can’t be positive that’s all it is.
“I felt everything,” I confess.
“What about the other piece?” At my frown he explains. “You claim it’s something that gave you pleasure, but was it a pleasurable experience?”
It’s then I realize where he’s going, and what he’s asking, and I swear it’s like a freight train hits me at the same time the light bulb goes off. “No. I wanted it to stop.”
He nods as if he’d anticipated my response. “Why do you think that is, Finn?” When I don’t answer he asks. “Do you think it was your partner?”
“No, S―”
I cut myself off when I almost say her name, remembering she works here and could get in a shit storm of trouble for messing around with a client. “Sal’s awesome,” I say. “Among the best people I know.”
“Sal?” he asks, like he doesn’t believe me.
“Yeah, Sal,” I say. “It’s short for Sal . . .veeno . . . ah.”
“Salveenoa?”
Shit. “It’s French,” I add, because I haven’t lied enough.
“Very well,” Mason says, clearly humoring me. “Is Salveenoa a man or a woman?”
“A woman. I’m not into men.” I shake out a hand. “No offense.”
The corners of his mouth lift. “No offense taken, Finn,” he assures me.
He considers me a moment. “So you like Sal, I take it.”
“I like her a lot,” I say.
“Do you trust her?”
“I guess,” I answer. “I mean, we haven’t been together long. I’m not exactly giving her my bank account information or anything, but yeah, I trust her.”
“Do you trust her not to hurt you physically?”
“Like punch me?” I ask. “She’s not the type to take a swing at me just because I annoy her.” I huff. “Not like psycho Chelsea, my ex. Shit, she hurled a toaster at me once.”
Mason cuts me off by lifting his hand. “We’ll get back to Chelsea. When I ask if she’d harm you physically, I mean during the act.”
“When she was going down on me?” I ask. At his nod I say, “No, she wouldn’t bite me or anything crazy―at least not on purpose. But I do have a big penis so she did accidently scrape me with her teeth.”
“That’s not what I mean,” he clarifies. “Let’s talk about what was happening when she was giving you pleasure. Were you able to watch her?”
I freeze because me and Mason here are going someplace I hadn’t planned on when I first plopped down on this leather couch. I can say yes, and switch subjects. I can tell him I’m done talking and we would be. But this thing has been eating me alive. So I stop playing and give it to him straight, even though everything male about me calls me a * for doing it. “No.”
“Did you encourage her movements or motions?”
Again I say, “No.”
He nods like we’re getting somewhere, even though I’m not exactly sure where the hell we are. “Has it always been this way for you when it comes to oral sex?” he questions.
Damn it, here we go. “In a way, but in another way it was a lot worse this time.”
For a few beats we just watch each other, both of us waiting for the other to say more, and me expecting him to tell me I’m screwed in the head for feeling what I’m feeling. Instead he asks, “Tell me, what you usually do during oral sex?”
“When I give it or receive it?” Again it’s like we’re talking about the stupid weather.
Mason thinks about it. “How about when you give it?”
“It’s not something I usually do,” I admit.
“Why?” he asks.
I don’t know what’s up with me. I want to tell him, but it’s like I can’t answer.
“Is it an act you don’t enjoy performing?” he offers.
It’s probably TMI, but I tell him anyway. “It’s actually something I love doing, but I don’t do it often.”
“Why?” he questions again.
I give it some thought. Who am I kidding? I give it a lot of thought, recalling that fantasy I had about Sol―the one I rubbed off to after she left―the one where I’m spreading her legs wide and burying my face against her.
I drag my hand through my hair, pulling my head out from between her thighs and back into reality before I pop some serious wood. “The times I’ve done it, it’s always been with a woman I’ve been with for a while, someone who I know is clean and who isn’t going to give me an STI.”
“So when you choose to perform, it’s with someone you feel safe performing it on.”
I should just nod and move on. But if I do, it’s like I might miss something I’m failing to see. “It’s not only a safety thing. It’s more like if I go down on her, then she’ll feel like she has to go down on me to return the favor.”