The leather chaise creaked as Jade shifted, her arms locked across the swell of her belly, elbows sharp as weapons. She'd chosen the farthest chair from the door, a strategic retreat—but the room was small, intimate, the dim lamplight pooling around her like a stage.
The therapist across from her studied the intake form with a stillness that felt deliberate. Dr. Sasha Volkov. Platinum hair fell past her shoulders in a cascade that caught the amber glow, and her mouth was a precise slash of red, unreadable. She hadn't spoken since the introductions.
"You've read my file," Jade said. A statement, not a question.
"I've read your words." Sasha's voice was lower than Jade expected, a contralto that seemed to vibrate in the air between them. "The file is what you chose to tell yourself. I'm more interested in what you won't."
Jade's jaw tightened. "I'm here to observe the process. My OB recommended the program for stress reduction, but I don't—"
"You don't trust it." Sasha said it for her, without judgment. She leaned back in her chair, fingers laced over her knee. "That's fine. Trust isn't required for the first session. Only presence."
The word settled in Jade's chest, warm and unwelcome. She pressed her palms flatter against her stomach, felt the baby shift in response, a slow roll of protest.
Sasha stood. The movement was unhurried, her black turtleneck catching the light as she crossed the few feet between them. Jade's spine went rigid. The therapist didn't stop at the edge of the recliner—she kept coming, the scent of clean cotton and something faintly floral reaching Jade before her body did.
"May I?" Sasha's hand hovered near the arm of the recliner, waiting for permission.
Jade's throat worked. She nodded once, a sharp dip of her chin.
Sasha settled onto the edge of the recliner, close enough that Jade could see the fine grain of her skin, the tiny mole beside her left eye. Platinum hair brushed Jade's shoulder—featherlight, a deliberate accident. The contact sent a current down her arm.
"I know you want to take notes," Sasha murmured. Her gaze dropped to Jade's mouth, then lifted again. "I know you want to stay in your head, catalog everything, leave here with a report you can file away and control."
Jade's fingers curled into the fabric of her blazer.
Sasha leaned closer. Her voice dropped, dropped, until it was barely above the vibration of breath. "You don't have to hold yourself together in here."
Jade's breath left her in a shudder, a sound she didn't authorize. Her legs fell open an inch, a betrayal so instinctive she felt the heat rise in her cheeks before she registered what she'd done. The baby pressed against her ribs, and beneath that, lower, something damp and shameful gathering between her thighs.
Her nipples had hardened. She could feel the scrape of silk against her blouse, each brush of fabric a spike of sensation she couldn't control. She hated it. She wanted more.
Sasha didn't look down. She held Jade's eyes, that red mouth still close enough to feel the warmth of her breath. "That's it," she whispered. "You can let me carry the watch for a while."
The lamp hummed. The scent of lavender wrapped around them. Jade's hands uncurled from her stomach, fell to her thighs—palms open, exposed. She didn't know when she'd decided to let go. Only that she had.