Chapter Text
It’s already been a long day, and Dr. Rey Niima wants nothing more than to slip off her heels and sink her toes into the plush rug under the desk.
Just like the wood paneling on the walls and the worn leather couch by the window, the burnt-orange shag rug is so stubbornly dated as to seem almost prideful. An announcement to all who enter that Dr. Moden Canady has no interest in current trends or your opinion of them.
It’s a truly ugly office.
If it were hers, Rey would gut it and start from scratch with a palette of calming neutrals and greys. But this is not her office, and these are not her clients. She’s just the temporary therapist while Dr. Canady recovers from emergency open-heart surgery, so the shoes will stay on.
She takes a sip of her latte – three sugars, nearly tooth-rotting, just how she likes it– and flips open the manila case file for the next client.
Benjamin O. Solo
Age 34
Divorced two years ago
Partner at Skywalker, Organa, Solo LLP
Billing: Private Pay
Primary diagnosis: Sexual Addiction, classified as Sexual Disorder, Not Otherwise Specified.
Rey frowns. This category is not contained in the current DSM-5, but as his decor and the paper case files illustrate, her mentor Dr. Canady doesn’t adopt change readily. With a sigh, she pushes back from the dark cherrywood desk to scrounge through his overloaded bookshelves for the old DSM. She plucks out his threadbare copy and thumbs through to the description for Sexual Disorder (NOS):
Distress about a pattern of repeated sexual relationships involving a succession of lovers who are experienced by the individual only as things to be used.
Rey rubs her upper lip with a finger. Although the term sexual addiction is commonly used, it’s not considered a true addiction like substance-abuse or gambling. Rather, hypersexuality is a coping mechanism for other emotional states or conditions, such as grief, stress, depression, anxiety, or even control disorders, like OCD.
Not her particular specialty, but one she feels capable of managing. Often comorbid with impulse control issues and risk-taking, which her training in cognitive behavioral therapy will assist. Mr. Solo appears to be seeking treatment on his own, since no arrest history or court orders are noted, and he’s not submitting a claim through insurance, either, perhaps to protect his privacy. All signs of his willingness to work in session.
But Rey doesn’t have to guess, she’ll find out soon enough. The clock on the wall reads 6:51. Mr. Solo’s appointment is on the hour. Today is Thursday, Dr. Canady’s late appointment day, so the front desk assistant Kaydel has already gone home. Rey’s alone in the office with a good ten minutes to catch up on Dr. Canady’s handwritten notes and prepare.
She returns to reading. A moment later, there’s a solid rap on the door. Rey ignores it, assuming Mr. Solo is letting her know he’s there. When the handle of the door squeaks, disobeying the “In Session- Do Not Disturb” sign, her eyes fly up as it opens.
“Excuse me,” Rey announces in a firm tone, less a question than an exclamation. It’s her doctor voice and it oozes authority. Her crisp British accent and natural huskiness lend it even more power over Americans, she’s noticed.
Whoever is on the other side is unconcerned, and the door swings open anyway. Nearly filling the open rectangle of light is a tall man in a dark business suit. His long brown hair is swept back from a rather striking face.
Rey stiffens, the lizard part of her brain that’s wired for danger pinging at the sheer size of him.
“Are you the new night girl?” he asks, dark eyes sweeping the room before landing on her again. His dismissive tone belies the curiousness of his gaze.
She blinks at the gall of the question, and it takes her mind a moment to flip over from the normal human reaction to such rudeness into clinical mode. She trains her face into an impassive expression.
“No, I’m Dr. Niima. Are you here for an appointment?”
A shadow of confusion flickers across his face. “Where’s Doctor Canady?”
She swallows to mask any irritation. The man still hasn’t given his name, and she hasn’t risen from her chair. They’re locked in a subtle dance around each other, establishing who will take the lead in the interaction. If he is indeed her client, it’s her job to make him feel comfortable in session and build a rapport, within her set of boundaries.
Her tone is calm and polite. “You didn’t receive the message? Dr. Canady’s assistant called everyone to explain he’s on unexpected medical leave. I’ll be seeing his clients for the interim.”
“Is that right.” He appraises her openly.
“Yes. I was his resident, so he asked me to step in while he recovers. And you are–”
“Ben Solo.” He crosses the room to offer his hand over the desk. As he reaches out, the fabric of his suit jacket pulls taut across his chest and she recognizes how large he is in comparison to her. Of how alone they are in the office.
“Dr. Rey Niima.”
His grip is firm and warm when he takes her hand. The corner of his mouth rises into a sly grin. Rey releases him first.
Cocky. Handsome in an off-kilter way, and a huge flirt. Ben Solo knows exactly what he’s doing, she realizes. Rey takes a deep drag of breath into her lungs and steadies her voice before looking up at the clock again.
Still six minutes remaining until his appointment.
“Well, Mr. Solo, I’m looking forward to working together. Your appointment is at seven, so if you wouldn’t mind–”
He disregards the rest of her sentence and crosses the room to seat himself on the leather sofa adjacent to the desk. A flare of temper blooms hot on the back of her neck, but she tamps it down as he unbuttons his jacket and makes himself comfortable.
“I’ll wait.”
It’s obvious that he’s testing her. This is his comfort zone, so he’s feeling her out– where she’ll yield and where she’ll stand firm. Considering his case file, Ben Solo quite enjoys the sense of control and the attention he commands from women.
So Rey resolves to give him none. She pretends this is all fine with her. “Thank you. I’ll be right with you.”
She takes a slow sip of coffee before looking down at her papers again. It takes three times re-reading a single sentence for the words to settle in, her mind still buzzing from the interaction. Licking her lips, she scratches out notes on a steno pad and tries not to notice Ben Solo at all.
From her peripheral vision, there’s no movement from the couch. His dark shape is perfectly still. No reaching for a magazine or his phone, he’s just . . . sitting. Watching her work.
Rey refuses to be unnerved. She’s a professional and has dealt with far worse than an arrogant, controlling man. For the next three minutes, she will simply erase his existence from her mind and focus on the file.
“You seem young for a psychologist,” he murmurs.
Do not react. Rey’s tongue traces along her teeth behind her upper lip.
“Very pretty, too.”
She purses her lips and takes another sip of coffee without looking at him. Do not give him the satisfaction. It’s what he wants.
“Quite the upgrade from Canady. I could get used to the view.”
She speaks while looking down at her notes, “Dr. Canady will be back in practice in eight weeks’ time, his recovery allowing.”
The leather of the couch creaks underneath the weight of his body. “And what if I prefer the upgrade?”
The upgrade. As if she were a thing. Her eyes rise to meet his finally. “Not an option, I’m afraid. I’ve wrapped up my research project and will return to London in the Fall.”
“Pity.” His thighs spread wider as he leans forward, elbows bracing on his knees. Looking almost ready to pounce across the coffee table. “Guess we’d better make the most of our time together, then.”
Incorrigible flirt. Well, if Ben Solo’s so keen on testing her, she better prove what he’s up against. Rey leans back in her chair, replacing the cushion of space between them, and glances up at the clock again.
“Certainly. In exactly one minute and twenty-three seconds.”
It’s a calculated gamble putting her foot down with him like this. He could react negatively and take offense, throw up a wall and refuse to engage with her. But something tells Rey that Ben Solo enjoys a bit of sparring and the dance of swords. That he’ll respect her all the more for not giving in readily.
She’s proven correct when he breaks into a grin, chuckling to himself as he reclines back into the soft, worn leather of the couch. He extends a long arm and traces the seam with a lazy fingertip, his eyebrows raised like they’re sharing an inside joke.
It’s a level of false intimacy, this little act of his. A front. He’s using the game to keep her at arm’s length– like he must do with many, if not most, women– to prevent her from seeing the real man underneath and whatever vulnerabilities he’s hiding. To help him, she’s got to make the real Ben Solo feel comfortable enough to come out. She’ll have to prove to him that she’s worth the risk. Rey has a feeling that to earn his respect, she’s got to beat him at his own game a little bit.
She takes a last sip of coffee then picks up her notepad and pen and crosses to the hideous pea-green chair next to the couch.
Time to begin.
“So, Mr. Solo–”
“Call me Ben.”
“All right, Ben. So you’ve been seeing Dr. Canady for eight months?”
“If that’s what it says in the file.” His voice is bored, but his eyes are bright and sharp when she looks back to him. “Can I call you Rey?”
“I prefer Dr. Niima,” she replies. Her voice betrays no emotion other than calm friendliness. Professional boundaries are important to doing the work.
“But it’s such a pretty name,” he says.
“Thank you.” Keeping him on topic is clearly going to require work. “Why did you begin seeing Dr. Canady?”
His fingers fan a bit as he waves her off, looking up at the ceiling. Dismissive. “That’s in the file, too.”
“It is, but why don’t you tell me in your own words?” She crosses her legs and slides them to the side of the chair to take the pressure off her heels. Her black slacks hitch up to reveal the ankle straps of her stilettos, and she gently tugs her pant hem down again.
His amber eyes flicker from her ankle to her face. Calculating. There’s a glimmer there, and she can almost see his wheels turning.
“First, answer a question for me,” he says with a slow smile.
“All right.” Rey taps the end of her pen on the paper. A habit she’s had while thinking since her school days, to get out the extra nervous energy when she cannot pace.
“Do you find me attractive, Dr. Niima?”
The direct nature of the question takes her off guard momentarily. Then she feels silly for not preparing for it sooner, because of course he’s still testing her. Searching for those soft spots to push against, seeing what he can get away with.
Therapy cannot happen without vulnerability and truth. Rey answers honestly and without emotion. “Yes.”
Like a shark smelling blood in the water, she’s caught his full attention now. “Would you fuck me?”
“No.” Not a moment of hesitation.
“Why not?”
“You’re my client. It would be an abuse of power. It’s against the Hippocratic Oath and my licensing. I could go to jail, lose my career.”
“Ahh.” Ben doesn’t seem upset by this reply, and if anything his grin only widens. “Only if we got caught.”
This train of thought is not productive. “I answered your questions, now it’s your turn.”
“Why I’m here?” Ben combs a hand through his hair and shrugs. “Too many women. I like to fuck too much.”
Rey waits with a neutral expression for him to say more, but Ben doesn’t expand. She finally prompts, “Too much for whom?”
“I like your accent. It makes the most basic words sound dirty.” The way he deflects attention back to her is both aggravating and somewhat flattering.
“Mr. Solo–”
“Ben.”
“Ben.” It takes conscious work to keep the exasperation out of her tone. He’s triggering her in a way that few clients do, and Rey can’t quite pin down why yet. She’ll need to reflect more on that later, but for now she steels her expression. His lack of cooperation should be addressed with empathy.
“I know this change must be uncomfortable for you. You had a therapeutic relationship with Dr. Canady, and now it’s been disrupted.”
“Oh, no, this is fantastic.” Ben’s face transforms when he smiles, dimples appearing under the sharp cheekbones like a feat of magic. “Talking to a hot woman about sex? Believe me, it’s no hardship.”
She resists the urge to smile back. “So when you say 'you fuck too much'– too much for whom?”
“I think I could cum just hearing you say fuck.”
Rey presses her lips closed. Part of her wants to laugh, the larger part wants to scream. She does neither and simply looks at him and waits.
Ben relents. “My uncle, the managing partner of the firm. He heard about my extracurricular activities and it was either this or forfeit my profit points, so–” He opens his palms. “Here we are.”
Rey uncrosses and crosses her legs as the sands shift beneath her. This is not a willing client after all, a man ready to make changes in his life. Ben Solo was forced here– he’s essentially in therapy detention. His behavior is both clearer and infinitely more complicated.
“So your uncle sees a problem but you do not?” She asks, curious at how self-aware he is.
He shrugs. “A lot of men fuck around, I’m just better at it.”
“So you believe you don’t have a problem with sex?”
He takes his time licking his lips before leaning forward again, slowly, maintaining eye contact the entire time.
“Our whole culture has a fucked-up relationship to sex. We teach that it’s a sin, but if you’re married it’s a commandment. We tell kids not to do it, but sexualize teenage bodies to sell things in ads. People are shamed into suicide for who they want to fuck. Maybe if we all fucked who we wanted, whenever we wanted, the world would be better off.”
Rey cocks her head, watching him closely. Gauging his reaction. “Did you feel this way before the divorce?”
Ben sits up straighter, jaw working. “No. I don’t know.”
She can see the stiffness come into his shoulders. He’s not comfortable in these waters, so she asks softly, “Does it bother you to talk about it?"
His dark eyes seek hers, some of the humor gone. “There was no cheating, if that’s what you think.” Finally, a glimpse of real feeling. It may only be annoyance, but it’s genuine.
Rey looks down at her pen. “I was just wondering if your attitude changed after that.”
Ben pulls down the cuffs of his jacket, one at a time, then straightens the lapels as his tone turns frigid. “What changed is realizing I wanted to live my life, and not be stuck in a dead relationship with someone who could barely tolerate me.”
Divorce is considered a highly-traumatic life change, particularly for men who are unable to articulate their emotions. It’s not unusual to dive into the single life again with abandon to numb the pain, so perhaps the root of his behavior is losing that relationship. That thought is interrupted when an alert goes off on his watch. Ben looks down and smiles.
“To answer your question: No, I don’t think I have a problem, and neither do the women who leave my bed. I make sure of that.” He stands to button his jacket even though they still have twenty minutes left. “I’m sorry, Dr. Niima, but I have to cut this short. I have a date with a sweet little submissive who's catching a red-eye back to Tokyo tonight. But I look forward to sharing with you in detail next week all the depraved things I’m going to do to her.”
Maybe he really does have to leave, or maybe he's escaping the conversation when it hit too close to home. Rey’s lips part, and she takes a half-breath before responding, trying to find balance in her tone despite his lurid words throwing her off.
“Of course. Nice meeting you, Ben. I’ll see you next week.”
He's almost through the door when he stops and turns back to her. His thick fingers tap on the doorframe. “Oh, Rey, when I asked you before if you’d fuck me? Know why I was smiling even when you said no?”
She stands and leans a hip on the desk, tucking her hands in her pant's pockets. The man is nearly intolerable, yet intriguing nonetheless. She's always liked a good challenge. “I couldn’t possibly imagine.”
“Because out of all the reasons you gave, you never said you didn’t want to.”
He winks and leaves the door wide open so she can watch him walk away.