Another Wednesday morning in bed with Foster. Aubrey was dozing on her back.
She was awakened to the feeling of one of his hands exploring her breasts. Of course, she would oblige him.
His hands were smooth, and he had a manicure, but thinking of Ian’s roughness started to arouse her.
“Oh, Ian, I want you to fuck me,” she whispered to herself.
Foster moved one of his hands down to the front of her briefs, easing a finger into the wrong spot.
Aubrey was used to this, so she guided his finger into the sweet spot between her thighs; she loved to feel Foster’s finger there while she thought of Ian. She guided his finger further inside her while she let the other lightly touch one of her breasts.
Foster must have decided it was time to enter her because he pulled down his boxers and clumsily tried to mount her in his usual missionary manner. His legs got tangled in hers, and he accidentally put his full weight on one of her arms when he was changing positions. He started to mumble an apology, but Aubrey stopped him.
His voice would ruin the image of Ian that was now so firmly planted in her mind.
Foster kissed Aubrey on the neck—never on the lips—in the morning. And while she may have looked like her mind was somewhere else, Foster knew that she was only thinking of him.
Their morning sexual encounters kept their supposed passion alive, and it was a great way to start the day before Foster had a full day of boring work to get through. He used to rush home to Aubrey after work, but now that they had been married for several years, he stayed late and had a few drinks with his coworkers after a long day.
Aubrey wriggled out of her briefs, but left her pajama top in place.
Foster had shoved it up over her breasts, so it didn’t matter anyway.
He kissed her breasts and fondled them. He pressed his engorged erection against her inner thighs; he kissed her neck and murmured some sweet nothings into Aubrey’s ear, but she wasn’t listening.
He was kissing her on the cheek now while at the same time teasing her slit with the head of his cock, putting it slightly in and then withdrawing it as he kissed her neck again.
But all Aubrey felt was Ian Henshaw III pressing on her with his broad chest, his muscular butt cheeks clenching together as he thrust inside her. She even imagined that his hot breath was like the mint gum he used to cover up the cup of coffee he had enjoyed on his break from supervising the laborers who worked for him every day.
“My wife hasn’t let me fuck her in months,” Ian would whisper into her ear. “Let me make love to you, Aubrey,” he would say.
Her husband, Foster, entered her sharply, shocking her out of her fantasy, but only for a moment.
As far as she was concerned, it was Ian inside of her now, and she moaned with pleasure. Even though it was her husband thrusting into her and grunting annoyingly, it was Ian who was making her so wet with desire.
One thing that Aubrey could say about Foster was that his cock was so big that it hurt her sometimes, but while he was thrusting, Aubrey imagined Ian and how bad he wanted her, how much he wanted to please her.
“Won’t your wife find out, Ian?” Aubrey imagined.
“Who cares? I need to have you now.”
Foster was a large man in every sense of the word, and even in his clumsiness, he could sometimes hit a spot that pleasured Aubrey to the point of ecstasy. This morning, for some reason, he hit it dead on, and as he thrust continuously into her, Aubrey felt something small between her inner thighs that could turn into something wonderful. But while that familiar feeling was something she often began to enjoy, Foster usually finished long before her.
This morning, however, was different.
Maybe it was her intense fantasy or Foster’s heavy and rhythmic pumping. Still, as he pushed into her and kept hitting that same spot, Aubrey felt what started as a small sensation in her pussy turn into one small wave of pleasure, which was followed by another, and then another.
She felt the powerful orgasm course through her body, still going strong as Foster released. Her muscle contractions persisted for a few more intense moments before subsiding as they both caught their breath.
“I love you,” Foster whispered.
“I love you too,” said Aubrey Prentice to Ian Henshaw III.
They lay there together for a few moments, recovering from the intensity, and then Foster quickly kissed her and jumped into the shower.
Aubrey lay in bed for a few more moments and then got into the shower herself.
She had her own bathroom. Not for any particular reason other than she did not want to share a bathroom with any man, even her own husband.
When she stepped out, she heard the doorbell ring.
“It must be Calder,” she thought. It was his day to cut the grass and trim the hedges.
She was having a casual affair with Calder, but she would have to cut him off now that he would be her test subject. She would let him down gently. He was only nineteen.
“It will be all right,” she thought. “I’ll help him find a girlfriend his own age.”
She heard Foster go downstairs and tell Calder it was okay to start mowing the lawn, and that Aubrey would come down later to show him what other parts of the lawn needed attention.
She would have a long talk with Calder.
Not because she needed to—but because it felt like the right next step, the next controlled experiment in this strange new branch of her career.
Calder was safe enough. Someone she could practice on without the risk of falling in love with a dangerous man.
At least, that was what she told herself.
It would be a good way to sharpen her technique, to test whether she could maintain clinical distance while still addressing the explicit, unfiltered fantasies these men confessed in her office. A rehearsal for the bigger stage. Treating men like Ian Henshaw, who effortlessly took advantage and made her feel things she wasn’t supposed to feel.
With Calder, she could work on controlling the session instead of being pulled in by his allure.
She could practice redirecting his arousal into her analysis.
She could practice keeping her voice steady when a man described his desire in vivid detail.
She could practice not reacting. Physically, emotionally, or psychologically, when a patient revealed something raw and indecent.
And if she failed with Calder?
Well, Calder wasn’t the heir to a multimillion-dollar company. No one would panic if their sessions went sideways. No one would gossip about Dr. Prentice “getting too involved.”
He was the perfect test subject.
She needed to know she could do this.
She needed to know she could hold power without letting it electrify her.
She needed to know she could hear a man’s darkest fantasies without imagining herself inside them.
So yes, she would schedule a long session with Calder in the backyard after he was finished landscaping. He wouldn’t be any the wiser.
And no one could hear what they were saying.
She would listen, analyze, and guide him.
She would claim control of her practice, of her boundaries, of herself.
At least, that was the plan.
This would be a new life for Aubrey. Glamorous, lucrative, and most of all, her own.
Aubrey thought back to college when she was less socially acceptable.
She dedicated all her time to studying. Her nose was always buried in a book. Textbooks never whispered behind her back in the lunchroom. Research never asked why her hair looked “so limp today.” Her father, who was brilliant, soft-spoken, and socially oblivious, told her that people who mocked intelligence were frightened by it. Aubrey wanted to believe him. Sometimes she did.
Other times, she cried quietly in the upstairs bathroom with the shower running so he wouldn’t hear.
But she excelled. By nineteen, she was tutoring students older than she was. By twenty, she had a degree framed on the wall and more credits than friends.
She learned early that being exceptional came at the cost of being liked.
But after four years of medical school and a four-year residency, Aubrey finally opened her own practice as a licensed psychiatrist. She did it young. Some of her peers thought she made it too young. Too fast. Too reliant on her father’s influence.
She ignored them. Most of the time.
Of course, it had helped that her father had pushed things through and paid for everything, but Aubrey knew what she wanted. She wanted a life defined by intellect, not popularity. She wanted the power of understanding the human mind. Why it broke, why it bent, why it hurt.
So she worked harder than anyone else. For years.
Still, despite all of that, the truth remained:
She was loved by her father, but not by anyone else.
Not then, anyway.
Not until her mid-twenties, when things began to change. Slowly at first. A new hairstyle. Better skin care. Contacts instead of thick glasses. A wardrobe that didn’t hang on her like a lab coat.
She didn’t become conventionally beautiful by accident.
It took effort. Embarrassing amounts of effort. Personal trainers, dermatology appointments, online beauty tutorials she watched late at night. She recreated herself with the same unhealthy obsession as she dedicated herself to her studies. Every improvement brought the same hit of pride she used to get from acing exams.
And one day she woke up and realized something shocking:
People looked at her differently now.
People wanted things from her. Admired her. Envied her. Desired her.
All the things she used to think she’d never have.
Did the transformation come from hurt?
From ego?
From the ache of never being chosen?
She didn’t know.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
But whatever drove it, it worked. And it left her standing at twenty-seven as a polished, confident psychiatrist with a private practice and a reputation for poise. But secretly carrying the ghost of the mousy girl who hid in bathrooms to cry.
A ghost who whispered, sometimes at the worst moments:
Now they like you.
Now they want you.
But only because you changed.
Foster interrupted Aubrey’s thoughts.
“Calder is here,” he said, followed by a quick love you.
Love you too.
“I’ll see you tonight,” he said. “Would you like to have dinner at the club?”
“I’ll be there at seven,” she replied as Foster ducked back out of the bathroom doorway to go to work. Wednesdays were Aubrey and Foster’s date night.
It was part of the reason why their marriage still worked.
Having a date night was a way of committing to being a couple. And it was something that Aubrey recommended for all her patients.
So she had to follow through with date night even though she’d rather be anywhere else than with Foster tonight. “Maybe a lecture at the college,” she mused to herself.