He skillfully unbuttons my jean shorts and adjusts me so they slide off both legs. His slow pace speeds my heart, fearful that it’ll end at any second. “Don’t stop,” I whisper, practically panting for oxygen. “I’m not going anywhere.” And then he leans closer to me, one hand braced underneath my leg so I don’t fall, the other gripping the porcelain sink behind me. He pulls my panties to the side. I didn’t notice him unzipping his pants—not until his erection slowly (so, so slowly) eases into me.
NO PUBLIC SEX. HE'S NOT LISTENING TO THE THERAPIST.
