Falling In Love With Your Therapist Novels & Stories

Like we had all the time in the world. We pulled back slightly, foreheads touching. “What does this mean for us?” I asked quietly. “You’re still my massage therapist. I’m still the client who walked in stressed and heartbroken. And now… I’m falling in love with your hands, your voice, the way you make me moan your name.”

My heart was pounding so loud I swear he could hear it, and for a second he froze, but then he kissed back, weirdly at first, like he was testing if this was real or just another one of his guilt-fueled fantasies. I knew it wasn't professional. Duh. I'm his therapist, for crying out loud, the one supposed to fix his mess, not jump into it. But screw that I've been playing the neutral role for months, nodding and smiling while he spilled his guts about Ava and Liv, and all I could think was, finally, he's here, right in front of me, broken and beautiful and mine if I play this right. I took his hand, guiding it to my waist, pressing it there like, feel this, this is real, this is what you've

"You know how long we take talking. Apparently, those two love birds are renewing their vows." "Really? It is good to hear love is not dead." "It is not. You will see that yourself when you get proper therapy and handle a normal relationship." I frown slightly, turning at a sharp corner. "Proper therapy? I am getting proper therapy." "I meant the one where you are not attracted to your therapist and plan to sleep with him." I rolled my eyes at her. If only she knew. "I am not planning to sleep with him." I lied. "Then why do you have his home address in your purse."

Loved him so much that she couldn't be with him. She knew Derrick thought himself in love with her, that she was his mate. Much as she wanted to believe that, she couldn't. He'd fallen for her only because, at the time, he depended on her. Acting as his therapist meant their close involvement brought them together and imbued him with a false sense of intimacy. I think the intimacy came from you letting him touch you.

I questioned, tiredness seeping in like a thief. “I would have worn you out until you got addicted,” I flinched, nearly moving away from him. “That’s crazy,” He chuckled deeply and caressed my lips with his tongue before he said. “That’s how I love,” My head touched the pillow, my eyes getting heavier. “I’d be visiting a therapist tomorrow. A lot is going wrong with me that needs professional help.” Through the frame of my lashes, I watched his mouth move but wasn’t able to make anything of his response as I let nature take its course.

I sure would like to know as well. “Because he is my husband.” She gave a single shrug and I scoffed. Literally, I scoffed and rolled my eyes, earning myself a very bad glare from the therapist who had to be about 5 years younger than me. Or even 8. “That cannot be the only reason.” At this point, I wanted to hug her. “He is the man I fell in love with. And all I want is to feel loved again. I long for his love and just wish he would touch me like he used to.” Her voice started breaking, and I wanted to scream; there it is, the pity card.

I kiss him once more—soft and brief and bittersweet—and then I leave. In my car, I sit in his parking garage and try not to cry. Because here's what I realized in his kitchen: I'm in love with him. Not just obsessed. Not just attracted. In love. With my therapist. Who just told me we can't be together. Who's terrified of losing everything because of me. And I have no idea what to do about it. --- Two weeks later. We've been sneaking around. It started three days after that morning in his apartment. He texted me:

"I'm sorry, I can't do this speech and it was going really bad anyways... I just want to— I have to make a confession. I want to confess that I'm a liar, I was a shitty person, a shitty friend to the one person who would always have my back no matter what. I betrayed your trust, your love, I betrayed you. And I'm so sorry. I cannot express enough how much I have missed you since the day you said you were done with me. I'm so sorry for all the things I did and I can't tell you how much I love you. I don't care anymore. But I want to tell you guys that I fell in love in this place, I fell in love a little when I watched this person walk in the hallways with that huge radiant smile, always smil

She turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving him alone with the echoing accusation and the terrifying, undeniable truth she had forced him to confront. He stood there, trembling, the glass of water forgotten. You're in love with him. The words echoed in the silent room. He was. He knew he was. And that knowledge changed everything. It made the therapy a lie. It made his dependency a romance. It made him not a patient, but a participant in something forbidden and dangerous. And the most terrifying part was, he didn't care. The love felt like the only real thing in his life. Even if it was a trap, he was already caught.

he repeated, his voice a strained echo. "I love you because you are you," I continued, forcing myself to find the center of my own being. "Not because you are a reflection of my trauma. If we become one thing, there is no one left to love. Do you understand? I need you to be the man who disagrees with me. I need you to be the man who has his own secrets." I felt the static in the air begin to thin. The phantom pain in my shoulder faded to a dull throb, then vanished. The double-vision of the room stabilized.