Chapter 5 New Difficulties

Alicia POV

His eyes flicked up, seeking approval that I gave with an eager nod. He removed my underwear with an almost artistic grace, his fingertips brushing my skin in a way that made my breath catch. When I felt the pressure of his fingers, the sensation flooded me and my face turned heavenward.

I needed more.

I craved it with a desperation that bordered on madness, a hunger that coiled deep in my belly and spread like wildfire through my veins. Every touch of Lucas’s hands felt electric, igniting sparks beneath my skin, his fingers moving with a precision that was almost cruel in its mind-melting sensation.

Each deliberate thrust of his fingers sent pleasure rippling through me, arching against him, my back bowing as a broken moan spilled from my lips. I relished in the unraveling, caught in the dizzying push and pull of sensation. My hand flew to his forearm, my fingers curling, gripping—clutching him as if I wanted him to stop. But I didn’t. God, I didn’t. The echoes of my want bellowed how much I didn’t want him to stop.

Instead, I held on tighter, as if trying to anchor myself against the storm he was stirring inside me. The craving was unbearable, an ache so deep it bordered on desperation, clawing at me from the inside out. Every inch of my body was hyper-aware of him—his breath, the extension of himself inside me, however restrained.

His fingers moved inside me, each stroke deliberate, each motion sending waves of unbearable pleasure crashing over me. My breath hitched. His name fell from my lips in a broken whisper, something of a plea for mercy or for more, I wasn’t even sure anymore.

And yet he understood exactly what I meant—what I wanted and that showed in the way that I clung to him, it wasn’t resistance but surrender. Because I wasn’t pushing him away.

I was holding on.

Holding on and so wet, soaking the sheet beneath me, losing myself in the way he tore me apart—only to bring me back from the brink again with every devastating and exotic movement.

I tried to contain myself, biting down on my lip so hard, so desperate to hold back the sounds trying to break free from my throat.

Lucas didn’t just notice my restraint—he punished it.

A slow, knowing smirk ghosted his lips as his fingers plunged deeper, moving with an agonizing rhythm that sent heat rushing through every nerve in my body. Coaxing out every last ounce of resistance mercilessly. He brought out every stifled sound so he could claim it as his own

“Do not hold back,” he murmured, voice dark, teasing, yet grounded with command. And then—he proved his point.

His movements slowed to something more sensual, more devastating, dragging out the pleasure in wicked, torturous waves that left me writhing against him. My breaths shuddered with every sound, my body trembling under his touch as I clenched the sheets, desperate for an anchor. But every cruelly patient motion that demanded more than I was ready to give.

Another sharp gasp tore from my lips, betraying me, and Lucas groaned in satisfaction—a rich, approving sound that only made the tension coil tighter inside me. His free hand skimmed up my thick thigh, warm and possessive, sending sparks racing through my skin.

“That’s better,” he praised, his voice a low hum.

And with that, he pressed deeper, rougher, and my restraint shattered entirely.

“Please—” I breathed, a plea of mercy, continuance and urgency.

A sharp cry tore from my lips as pleasure crested, my body shuddering violently beneath his touch. The release was devastating, like breaking apart and in the same breath, coming back together in utter bliss. I gasped for air, my mind swimming in the aftermath of the climax but Lucas didn’t indulge me in the moment.

He withdrew his fingers with measured care. My lashes fluttered shut, my head lolling against the pillow, utterly spent. The heat of him vanished, leaving only the sound of my own ragged breathing.

Then, as if the intimacy had never occurred, he went for his long white coat, sliding it over his shoulders with practiced ease and the man before me shifted. The Lucas who had just plundered me disappeared. Lucas was gone and in his place—Doctor Lucas.

The final barrier slid into place like a mask settling on his face. He didn’t need to say anything for me to feel the shift, the chilling detachment creeping back into his gaze.

“It is important for you to know,” he finally spoke, his voice cutting and clinical, “that my actions were entirely therapeutic. I have no interest in forming a romantic relationship with you.”

The words sank in uncomfortably, a pang of pain that hurt more than it should have. I could barely maintain eye contact now, hard enough before but now shame was curling in my stomach, but I couldn’t look away from him. He had given me everything, then stripped it away, leaving me raw and exposed.

And the worst part?

I still wanted more.

A strange, unwelcome sense of betrayal curled in my stomach, tightening like a vice. Embarrassed, I worked fast to slip my underwear back on, then to cover myself—trying to ignore the hard-lingering ache of him still throbbing between my inner thighs. It was ridiculous of me—I knew that. He was a doctor, but beyond that, beyond professionalism, and even his actions that were seemingly justified under the guise of treatment. There was apparently nothing personal about it. Nothing intimate. Nothing meant for me beyond what was necessary—at least to him.

And yet…

Beyond the logic, I couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that there had been something more. Something I had reached for, desperate and foolish, only to grasp at air.

The rejection wasn’t spoken, but it was felt. Deeply. I shouldn’t have cared, shouldn’t have questioned it, but the thoughts came anyway.

Yet I couldn’t stave off this feeling that it all had more to do with the fact that he wasn’t sexually attractive to me—or just plain attracted. I think his response would’ve been different to a tight stomach and toned body compared to a flabby one. Maybe if I were the kind of woman men like him truly wanted, there would have been at least a hesitation in his voice, a flicker of something real in his eyes. Maybe I would have seen restraint, heard the catch in his breath, felt a tremor in the hands that had touched me so effortlessly, so indifferently.

But there was literally nothing.

No hesitation. No faltering.

And the realization slashed through me deeper than any blade. Because I had wanted to believe, against all reason, that for a moment—just a moment—he had felt something. But that was insanity, wasn’t it? A man like him, all sharp angles and refined beauty, the kind of presence that turned heads and stole breaths. He would never feel anything but pity for someone like me.

And that bitter truth settled deep in my bones, leaving me colder than before.

I wanted to leave, and when I tried, he pulled me back with almost a plea in his grip. It was as though he wanted something from me, but he kept it buried beneath that stone-like exterior.

“Since I have taken over,” his voice was low, but there was an undeniable weight to it, “I will treat you to the end.”

His words hung in the air like a promise. In the future, he’d offer me more—recipes, all organic and carefully crafted, and ‘body treatments’ that seemed to go beyond simple care.

“I am your therapist,” he continued, his tone measured yet laced with something intimate. “I hope you take comfort in knowing you can confide in me—your desires, all reasonable parts—and I will try my best to... satisfy them.”

His words reverberated in me, both a comfort and a weight I wasn’t quite ready for. I left with the ingredients for the meal he’d planned, but as I made my way home, a strange mix of elation and confusion swirled inside me. Part of me felt drawn to him, to this new, unsettling dynamic, but the other part of me felt uncertain of the path he was leading me down.

***

Sapped more emotionally than physically. I returned to our tiny apartment. A prick of joy sent a much-needed efflux of energy when I saw Kayla. She stood frozen for half a second, then rushed forward, wrapping her arms around me in a fierce embrace. She held on tight—longer than usual—and I let her. My attempt must have been more traumatizing for her than it had been for me. I knew that I would never be the same if the roles were reversed and I saw her in that tub instead of me. I was just grateful that she didn’t probe about it yet. Too relieved, she just appreciated the moment.

When she was ready to pull away, I noticed something clutched in her hand—a crumpled sheet of paper.

“I wish I could say I came bearing gifts,” she murmured. Slowly, she lifted the paper, revealing the sharp, blocky letters of an official notice.

It took me a second to register what I was looking at.

Outstanding Balance: Property Damage Due to Water Leak—Immediate Payment Required.

My stomach lurched at the staggering sum caused by my suicide attempt. My eyes shot to hers, but she was already nodding, confirming what I feared.

“We can’t afford this,” I whispered.

She opened her mouth, but before she could even form a response, her phone buzzed violently in her pocket. When she drew it out and glanced at the screen, a look of quiet horror settled over her features.

“It’s the landlord.”

I gestured for her to answer, my pulse spiking.

The call was short, terse, and one-sided. I couldn’t make out the words, only the furious, clipped tones of a man who had already made up his mind.

When Kayla finally pulled the phone from her ear, looking absently into the distance.

“What?” I demanded. “What did he say?”

“He wants us out,” she said, voice shaking. “Effective immediately.”

The words landed like a slap.

Homeless. We were about to be homeless.

And it was my fault.