The Practitioner

by Ronica Black

  “Yes, you do. You’re just afraid to say it out loud.”

  Johnnie stood very still. Had she insulted her?

  “Tell me what you think this is.”

  “I-I’m not sure exactly what this is,” Johnnie said softly.

  More silence. More movement behind the desk.

  “You don’t have to look at me. Not if you don’t want to.”

  “I don’t.” It came out before she could stop it. If she looked she’d panic. The woman sounded like sex on a stick. If she was, it would be too much, and she would either run or pass out right there on the expensive looking rug.

  “I do, however, want to look at you, Riot.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, unlike you, I cannot help myself. I’m curious. And intrigued.”

  “I feel underdressed,” Johnnie stammered, suddenly worried about it.

  The woman laughed. “I’m not worried about your clothes. They are the least of my concerns. What I want to see is…you.”

  Johnnie felt herself tremble. She could feel the weight of her words, her stare.

  “Close your eyes, Riot.”

  Johnnie closed her eyes.

  “Now, turn and face me.”

  Heart hammering, Johnnie turned. She struggled to breathe and nearly dropped the clipboard as she allowed herself to be analyzed.

  “Can you feel me looking at you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you sense my gaze traveling up and down your body?”

  “Yes.”

  “What does it feel like?”

  “Warm. Heavy.”

  “Electric?”

  “Yes.”

  “Almost as if I were touching you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Very nice. You can turn and face the couch now.”

  Johnnie turned and opened her eyes. She felt dizzy and stirred.

  “We will do things your way today.” More movement and the sound of a chair wheeling. She knew the woman had stood.

  “I’m behind you now, coming up very slowly. I’m pushing my chair. Can you hear it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’m behind you now. You can sit.”

  Johnnie sat very slowly, very carefully, as if she didn’t trust her own legs. She could feel the woman behind her. Her presence infiltrating hers. Warming it, caressing it, welcoming it.

  “Hand me the clipboard and pen.”

  Johnnie did as requested and realized that the tendons in her hands and fingers were sore from her tight grip.

  She heard the woman flip through the pages.

  “You’re an artist.”

  “Yes.” Johnnie’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t put that in there.”

  “Your jeans and your hands give you away I’m afraid.”

  “They’re clean,” Johnnie said quickly. “Just the paint is hard to get off…”

  The woman laughed, rich and deep. “I’m not complaining.”

  Johnnie burned.

  “You’re a worrier,” the woman said and tossed the clipboard back onto the desk, causing Johnnie to jerk with surprise.

  “No, I mean, not really.”

  “You’re a worrier,” the woman said again, this time leaning down near her ear. Johnnie could feel her breath, and gooseflesh erupted along her skin as if she’d just licked the length of her spine.

  Johnnie straightened and cleared her closing throat.

  “No need to answer, my dear. I already know.”

  A touch came, light and singular and ran around the rim of her collar. “You’re depressed. Very sad.” The touch halted. The woman leaned in again, this time breathing upon her other ear. “And very lonely.”

  Johnnie felt her skin erupt again, and she gripped the armrests for some sort of control.

  “You don’t have to answer. You don’t have to look. You just have to listen. And feel.”

  Chapter Four

  Fingers, nimble and warm, crawled up into Johnnie’s scalp. The sensation was so sudden and so erotic, a strange noise escaped her throat.

  The fingers tightened and gripped her, holding her still. The sensation caused her clit to pulse and engorge. “You haven’t been touched in so long, Riot. How long has it been? Years?”

  “Ye-yes.”

  “How many?”

  “Four.”

  “You could come right now couldn’t you? Just to the sound and feel of my voice in your ear and my fingers in your hair.”

  Johnnie made another small noise as the fingers massaged and then tightened again.

  “You’re so starved for it you’re like an exposed nerve ending. The slightest little thing will send you over. That’s why you won’t look at me. That’s why my touch is electrifying you in that chair.”

  Johnnie was busy struggling for words when the woman suddenly released her and Johnnie nearly fell limp like a ragdoll in the chair. She straightened quickly and tried to believe that her bones weren’t melting.

  “Turn to your right. I’m going to sit on the couch.”

  Johnnie turned and faced the door. She was so frazzled and so stirred, she wasn’t sure what she should do. Should she stay? Run out the door? Despite her whirling mind, her body was thrumming, and she was so wet she was afraid to move.

  She heard the woman cross to the couch, and she heard the shushing of the cushions and pillows as she made herself comfortable.

  “I’m crossing my legs,” she said, somehow knowing it would stroke Johnnie deep inside.

  “Can you see me in your mind’s eye?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re going to answer again now?”

  “If I’m able.”

  “So you are willing…just not always able. Interesting. You feel things very deeply don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Things that don’t affect most others.”

  “I guess.”

  “Oh, please don’t guess. I want you to know for sure before you admit something like that.”

  Johnnie cleared her throat. “I do, yes.”

  “Much better, thank you. Be strong with your words. Even if you can’t be strong emotionally. I want you to know who you are. Own it. We can’t get anywhere until you know yourself.”

  Johnnie stared through the door and listened. She could see the woman uncross her legs and then cross the other over.

  “Do you want to know what I’m wearing?”

  Johnnie grew brave. “I know what you’re wearing.”

  “You do?”

  “You’re wearing what I requested.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because you’re good. You’re really fucking good at this, and you wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

  “Clever girl.”

  Johnnie could see the outline of her in her peripheral vision. She had dark, raven-like hair. The kind that reflected the candlelight. She was wearing an off-white silk blouse, a short black skirt, and black heels. Johnnie couldn’t tell, but she knew she had on the thigh highs as well.

  Exactly what she’d asked for.

  “I aim to please,” she said. “Do you find the room comfortable?”

  Johnnie loved the scent, the lighting, and the cozy feel. “Yes.”

  “As you grow, we will move.”

  “We will?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “What if I don’t grow?”

  “There’s that worry again.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize.”

  Johnnie could hear scratches on a paper. She was writing.

  “You’re taking notes?”

  She didn’t bother to stop. “Does this bother you?”

  “It surprises me.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because this is just…you know.”

  “Just what?”

  “Sex.”

  The woman stopped. “I know you don’t really think that.”

  “I’m not sure what to think.”

  “Would you like me to
tell you what to expect? Or would you prefer to…wait and see?”

  Johnnie shifted. The choice was once again hers, yet she still felt completely out of control.

  She couldn’t bear to know. She couldn’t handle it. It would excite her to no end.

  “I will wait.”

  “Daring. I like it. Tell me, how do you feel right now?”

  Johnnie shifted, uncomfortable with the question. “I’m not sure.”

  “Tell the truth. Nothing more, nothing less. There are no right or wrong answers.”

  “I’m nervous. Excited. Terrified.”

  “Turned on?”

  Johnnie swallowed. “Yes.” Then she struggled to change the subject, too moved by what she had just admitted, too moved by what she was feeling. “What if I don’t grow?”

  “You already have. You’re here aren’t you? Sitting with me…talking…experiencing.”

  Johnnie closed her eyes. She had no control. Her body was reacting and her mind reigniting like a pilot light that had long been out.

  “How do you know?”

  “It isn’t difficult to know.”

  Johnnie knew it was true. She was electrified and it had taken so little. She opened her eyes and focused on the door. It wasn’t locked. Anyone could walk in. What if someone did? What if someone saw her?

  “You’re worrying again,” the woman said.

  Johnnie nearly turned to argue. But she stilled and swallowed the observation, owning it.

  “You find it very hard to relax don’t you? Intensity buzzing through you night and day. I bet you dream. Vividly. And the nightmares…” She took a breath, and Johnnie sat with her heart racing and her head cracked open, oozing out all of her secrets.

  “Your art is your outlet. Without it you are…lost.”

  The last comment hit a nerve, and Johnnie grew angry at feeling so exposed. “How do you know so goddamned much about me?”

  The woman shifted and laughed a little. “It makes you uncomfortable.”

  “A little.”

  “How can I help you if I don’t know you?”

  Johnnie shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought sex was sex.”

  “I know you don’t believe that.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  “You don’t.”

  “And why don’t I?”

  “Because it’s written all over you. You’re an artist, a creator, a sensitive soul. You feel and sense what others cannot or refuse to feel and see. You take everything in and digest it whether it’s good for you or not. You feel. It’s what you do. It’s what makes you who you are. It’s what makes you such a good artist.”

  Johnnie clenched her jaw against the rapid thumping of her heart. “I just want sex. I need sex.”

  “No.”

  “I’m paying you, right?”

  “You are, but you don’t have to. You can leave at any time.”

  “You’ll give me my money back and I can just walk right out the door?”

  “Yes.”

  Johnnie stared at the doorknob. She wanted to stand and reach out for the motherfucker, but she sat nailed to the chair. The woman had her wide open, and she was verbally teasing her with long strokes of a feather. It was killing her, but she wanted more.

  “You’re sadistic. You’re going to get off on teasing me.”

  More soft laughter. “Such harsh words. I know you don’t mean them.”

  “You’re going to hurt me.”

  “Never.”

  “I didn’t mean physically. I meant—”

  “I know what you meant, and the answer remains the same. I will not hurt you.”

  “This is hurting me.”

  “No, it isn’t. It’s me reading you, and you’re reacting because no one has ever truly done it before.”

  “I can’t do this.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “I don’t want to do it.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because you haven’t moved. You’re still sitting there.”

  Chapter Five

  Johnnie turned quickly to yell at her, but the sight of her took her breath away. Fiery green eyes, dark hair, cheekbones the wet dream of a sculptor, she sat there with a wicked grin, devouring everything Johnnie did and said. Johnnie turned back, breathless, chest heaving.

  “Did you like what you saw?”

  Johnnie clenched the armrests and pushed back against the chair. Why couldn’t she just fucking stand?

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “Christ, this is maddening. I just want to fucking stand.”

  “Then stand.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you haven’t told me to move.”

  “Why do you care if I give permission?”

  “Because I want you to fucking touch me again.”

  Johnnie was sweating now, and she could feel it along her spine and near her ears. Her muscles were taut and she was still holding on to the chair for dear life.

  “You want it that badly?”

  Johnnie couldn’t answer.

  “Turn and face me.”

  Johnnie trembled. She was unsure if she could.

  “Turn and face me. I want you to look at me.”

  Johnnie turned, and her eyes traveled up the long legs to the blouse to the face, to the fiery eyes.

  “No, don’t look away.”

  Johnnie held her gaze and trembled as her eyes flashed in the candlelight.

  “I’m going to tell you something, Riot. It doesn’t happen often, but I very much like the look of you. I like the paint on your jeans, the strength in your arms and hands. I like your face, your captivating eyes and the way your upper lip trembles when you feel excited. I’d very much like to touch you again, but like I said before, this isn’t just about sex. It’s about you.”

  She eased back further into the couch.

  “Tell me something, Riot. Where do you want me to touch you?”

  “Anywhere.”

  She leaned forward and uncrossed her legs.

  “Come closer.”

  Johnnie eased her chair forward. The woman tugged on the armrests and pulled her in. Johnnie saw her face soften and her eyes warm. It caused her heart to nearly beat out of her chest.

  “Can I touch your face?”

  Johnnie got lost in the depths of her eyes. “Ye-es.” Her entire body shook with anticipation.

  Her warm hand cupped her jaw, and her thumb lightly stroked her skin. Johnnie heated beneath her.

  “So beautiful.” She stared at Johnnie’s mouth and moved in as if to kiss her.

  She took Johnnie’s hand in her own. “Close your eyes,” she said softly.

  Johnnie did so with her whole body on fire from her touch.

  “Tell me what you’ve been feeling these past few weeks. Tell me how you feel lost and alone and sad.”

  “I do. I am.”

  She turned her hand palm up and began lightly tracing her fingertips along her hand.

  Johnnie struggled to breathe, struggled to sit still.

  “Tell me how it would feel if I came into your home and touched you like this when you were feeling so low.”

  “If you just showed up at my door?” Johnnie couldn’t imagine. The thought alone was almost too much to bear.

  “Yes. What if on this very rainy evening I rang your doorbell. Would you let me in?”

  Her fingers continued to tickle Johnnie’s hand.

  “Yes.”

  “Would you sit like this and allow me to touch you?”

  Johnnie opened her eyes. The woman was looking at her with such a soft expression. The predatory look gone. Johnnie blinked at her, moved.

  “Yes,” Johnnie breathed.

  “Would you be able to sit still?”

  “I would try.”

  “Even if I did this?” She traced her fingers up the inside of her forearm.

  Johnnie inhaled sharply at
the sensation. “If you wanted me to, I would sit still.”

  “You’re doing very well, Riot. Sitting still, feeling, even though the sensation of it is awakening you, overwhelming you. You’re doing very well.” She was breathing quickly and it nearly matched Johnnie.

  “I feel like I’m going to faint,” Johnnie said.

  The woman smiled. “You’re wound so tight, that doesn’t surprise me.”

  She took her hand and lifted it to her mouth. She placed it along her cheek and then kissed her palm. Johnnie moaned, and the woman inhaled deeply and then released her. When she looked at her again, the look of desire was gone.

  “Tonight, you go home. You go home and feel.”

  “Please…” Johnnie wanted the look again. Needed the look.

  “You’re getting all that you need right now.” She straightened, as if regaining control of herself.

  “But I—”

  She wouldn’t look at her. “Make an appointment for next week.”

  Johnnie watched helplessly as she rose, grazed a finger along Johnnie’s jaw, and returned to her desk.

  “That’s it?” Johnnie was still breathless and thrumming, a live wire.

  “For today, yes.” She pressed a button on the phone and spoke. “Yes, schedule Riot again for next week will you?”

  She ended the call and returned slowly to Johnnie. Her eyes were dancing in the candlelight. They were predatory, but distant. She leaned in to whisper in her ear. “We have much more work to do.”

  Johnnie blinked. “Work?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I’m—”

  “What? Feeling alive? On fire? For the first time in how long?” She sounded irritated and edgy.

  Johnnie couldn’t answer.

  “Go home, Riot. Go home and feel all these feelings.”

  Johnnie forced herself out of the chair. Her legs felt weak, and for a moment, she wondered if she could walk. The woman opened the door. She stood eye-to-eye with Johnnie, with a flush of her own coloring her cheekbones.

  “Good night.”

  “Night.”

  Johnnie walked out. The door closed behind her before she had a chance to look back.

  Chapter Six

  Elaine locked the door to her office, rounded her desk, and pulled out the bottle of expensive scotch she had hidden in her drawer. She kicked off her heels, poured a glass, and crossed to collapse on the couch.