Read Unorthodox Therapy Online
Authors: Lilah E. Noir
Unorthodox Therapy
UNORTHODOX THERAPY
Lilah E. Noir
Copyright © year Lilah E. Noir
All rights reserved.
Kindle Edition
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. You can find more information on
http://www.lilahenoir.wordpress.com
WARNING
This story contains strong BDSM elements and explicit sexual scenes including male domination and female submission, spanking, humiliation, oral sex, anal play, punishment, discipline, heavy level of sadism and masochism.
The relationship between my leading characters is consensual and it’s a love story with many romantic aspects but the book is
not
a romance. At least not a classic romance so be prepared for surprises, twists and turns and an overall emotional rollerocaster. There are are elements of dark erotica, as well as scenes of violence and mental abuse that some readers may find disturbing or triggering. If you find any of this offensive or objectionable you’d better not buy this book.
Unorthodox Therapy is Part 1 of a trilogy and will be followed by its sequels, Unorthodox Chemistry and Unorthodox Union that should both come out by the end of 2017. If you dislike waiting between the separate parts but you are intrigued by the book and its plot you can subscribe at my mailing list for updates and news -
here
.
All characters are over 18 years old.
CHAPTER ONE
Lina
The drumming of the raindrops on the windowpane was in perfect synchronicity with the dull pounding at my temples. Gradually, the sensation would spread through my entire skull. By lunchtime, what had started as an unpleasant pulsation would transform into an acute stab right at the center of my heated brain. At that rate, any small detail, sound or smell I'd never paid attention to before would irritate me. It would take all my willpower not to blow even the smallest problem out of proportion or vent my frustration at the first person nearby.
Like that very moment – that tease, Katie, my personal assistant. How dared she breathe so loudly? What about those damned high heels she had bought? They made such an obnoxious noise, not to mention the racket she made typing those e-mails and reports when I’d entered the office earlier. Don't even get me started on her perfume. I swore the little wench had bought something with the fragrance of nicotine just to torture me.
I realized I was being ridiculous but it didn't help me feel even remotely better. The poor girl must have felt my tension in the morning when I hissed something mean in response to her cheerful, “Good morning”. Or perhaps it was due to the vein in my neck throbbing every time I was agitated? Or because I was squeezing my fists? I really needed to work on controlling my body language before the big presentation that day. How the hell could I face clients when everyone would see I was a mess?
Playing charades was part of my job, and over the years, I had become an expert. Except for moments like this.
She smiled in sympathy, which pissed me off even more, and I dragged my manicured nails across my sweaty palms. Her kind, brown eyes scanned me up and down and increased my frustration. I'd been working with Katie for two years after going through several other PA’s. She was the second best I'd ever had. There was no doubt she was professional and reliable, but damn it, I hated being treated with kid gloves by my employees.
Perhaps it was some pseudo-feminist cliché but I was not weak and I didn't need anyone's pity.
“You know, Lina, it's none of my business, but...”
I cut her off with my best Ice Queen voice. Well, it could have been Ice Queen if my anger hadn't been bubbling beneath the surface, obvious even to a four-year-old.
“Damn right it's not, Katie.” I knew I'd reached my lowest point when I vented my frustration out at my PA for something she had absolutely no fault in. The demon of abstinence was taking over my body. “I don't give two fucks what kind of miraculous smoking addicts’ therapy your boyfriend's best friend's neighbor has come up with. So how about you stick to your duties and keep your curious nose out of my business?”
Katie didn’t even flinch. She just looked at me with a raised eyebrow and leaned forward in her chair.
“I was merely going to suggest that we use Conference Room B on the second floor for the afternoon meeting. The light is better, there's more space, and the view is soothing, which makes people easier to persuade.”
Damn, I was a bitch at times. I pressed a clenched fist to my burning temple and tried to breathe more easily. It was crucial to focus. If I nailed a contract with this new client, it would shoot my company up to a whole new level.
Get your shit together, Riley.
I resisted the urge to dig my fingers into my hair to try to calm down. Instead, I let my hand slide down to my hip. Katie kept staring at me with a worried expression. Her fingers were frozen at the keyboard as if she was a classic pianist interrupted by an aggressive audience member.
“I'm sorry, Katie.” She blinked a few times in disbelief. Yes, hearing me apologize was as rare as spotting a four-leaf clover, but I had my moments. Judging by the look on her face Katie wished she could record it. “I'll consider your suggestion. Right now, I must take a last look at the updated overview of the marketing strategy they have so far. I’ve got my bases covered but there may be some last detail I haven’t considered.”
“It will be fine, Lina. You'll enchant them.” My PA must have felt a sudden rush of confidence, and took advantage of the momentary crack in my armor. “Just be your usual self and don't overthink it. Do you want some chamomile tea? It usually helps you when...” She trailed off and smiled nervously.
Her job description didn’t include making beverages for me. I made it clear on her first day of work that I wouldn’t expect it. Years before, when I’d been working my first internships, I’d loathed being used only to make coffee and keep the room pretty. So I swore I’d never treat any of my employees in such a way, but Katie insisted it wasn’t a problem for her to prepare drinks for both of us. She was eight years younger than me, but I often ended up feeling like her rebellious daughter. Go figure.
I straightened my pencil skirt and sank my nails into my thigh. The mild pain distracted me for a moment so I wouldn't burst out in indignation at her attempt to mother me. Indulging in wrath and acting like a wench to get some tension out of my system wouldn’t help me restore my balance.
Sometimes I missed the good old days when I would quietly write code and develop projects for someone else to stress over.
“Yes, yes, sure, but use honey instead. I'm jumpy enough without the sugar rush. Hold all my calls for the next hour.”
For a moment, I was sure Katie was about to say something more. However, she just nodded, got up from her desk and entered the kitchen area of my office. It was one of the small luxuries I was entitled to as CEO, as well as an executive bathroom and a large wardrobe for my spare suits. Over the past few years, the place had become my second home and I needed it to be as comfortable as possible.
I turned away from her desk and entered my own safe haven. The moment the heavy door closed behind me, I felt a temporary relief. I could be friendly, personable and confident, but only with the prerequisite of personal space. Some would say the soundproof walls were a bit excessive, but the sweet isolation from the world and its noise was one of few things keeping my sanity intact.
Nothing seemed to comfort me today, though. Twenty minutes later, I was still on the verge of an emotional meltdown. The cup of tea Katie had brought for me was going cold on my desk. It was delicious and I was supposed to be enjoying how my taste buds were going back to normal. Smoking would always deprive food of its allure, and made coffee feel like ash on my tongue.
None of it brought me any peace or comfort, though, even the improved taste of coffee. It was killing me not to start the day with a steaming mug of Arabica and a cigarette. Even caffeine was depressed without its eternal soul mate. Any attempt to find pleasure in life was lost without those faithful little paper soldiers, always within reach in my purse.
Food, walks, evenings out, yoga, the gym – nothing worked to distract me from my obsessive thoughts of nicotine. And sex? That was a can of worms I didn’t want to dig into at that moment.
It had been two months, two weeks, eight hours and fifty four minutes since my “last” cigarette, but it could have been centuries for all I knew.
The nerves got to me. I rose abruptly from the leather chair and started pacing back and forth like a wild beast in a cage. Was it normal to sweat so much? The nasty film of fluid stuck to my body like a second skin. Even when I removed the blazer I felt one step away from spontaneous combustion. The last thing I needed right before a make or break presentation was to worry about the stains on my blouse.
Anxiety and doubts were quickly polluting all the thoughts in my head. It was amazing to realize just how much the cloud of smoke had helped me not to notice all the red rags of daily life. I dropped down into the chair like a bag of potatoes. When I closed my eyes, I could have sworn all the external sounds turned to excruciating white noise. It surrounded like a thick wall closing tighter, squeezing my lungs and making the veins in my eyeballs burst. I gripped the armrests and forced myself to think of something else. Even the soundproof walls didn’t help.
Control. Focus. Strength. Clear your mind.
A hiss of agony escaped my painfully pursed lips and I rubbed my sweaty palms against the flaming hot skin of my cheeks. It had taken me so much time to fix my makeup that morning and now it was officially ruined. The white noise transformed into a scalpel – a rusty, disgusting device dissecting my brain and increasing my headache with every cut.
I tried to distract myself from my panic and browsed through my purse to find my makeup bag. However, as soon as I saw my face in the hand mirror, the raw taste of defeat filled my mouth. I let the small object slip through my fingers and onto the desk.
Snapping at my assistant was bad enough. Smashing the mirror against the wall would signal the first step to a complete unraveling.
My eyes were now bloodshot, which didn't come as a surprise. I rarely slept for more than four hours. The smeared makeup revealed ashen gray skin, dark circles, and eye bags. At least my hair was still in place. It was perfectly arranged, unlike the raging thoughts in my sore skull.