“This field of study is just emerging but most researchers agree, the definition of a sex addict is someone whose deviant sexual behavior interferes with daily life—their relationships, job, et cetera.”
Well, shit. I wouldn’t fight her on this. I was radioactive. An a**hole. A user of women, but shit, they’d all been willing. Maybe she was right, though. I hated the tears and drama that came with my less-than-stellar behavior toward the opposite sex. And the last thing I wanted was my behavior to rub off on my brothers. I wanted better for them.
Dr. Lowe scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Here’s the group you’ll be attending. First meeting is tomorrow morning and they meet weekly. I’ll receive reports on your progress and what you’re learning about yourself during these group sessions. If you progress well, I’ll be able to note that in my letter to the judge. The choice is yours.”
She shoved the paper at me.
“Okay.” I kept my voice neutral as I picked up the paper, but inside? Inside, I was fighting the urge to curse and crumple it into a ball.
This was bullshit.
Chapter Two
McKenna
I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer. I needed to stop my hands from shaking. This was going to be fine. I could do this. My pep talk did little good, though; I knew how pathetic I was. A sexual addiction counselor and technically still a virgin.
It wasn’t from lack of effort on my part. I’d made up my mind my sophomore year of college and decided to have sex with my boyfriend at the time, Jason. He’d been thrilled, of course; I’d made him wait six long months with only heavy make-out sessions to sustain him. He’d been weird about sex—often leaving me to initiate things and tell him when I was ready for more—which only made me feel undesired and insecure. I didn’t know what I was doing. I wanted him to take the lead, but never had the courage to tell him.
When I finally told him I was ready, we were in the backseat of his Toyota Prius, since we were both too embarrassed to tell our dorm roommates that we needed some privacy. He’d done it before but seemed almost more timid than me, repositioning us over and over in the tiny car, and then losing his erection when he’d finally slipped on the condom. I felt like a failure. Like it was somehow my fault, and it wasn’t an experience I wanted to repeat. So I hadn’t.
The only part of being a virgin that bugged me was that if anyone here knew, I was sure I’d be a laughingstock.
But I thrust my shoulders back, ready, or at least ready to fake it for my first solo group session without my mentor, Belinda. I could do this. I’d be fine. It was a different group than the one I’d trained with. Belinda had recommended that, which I thought was good advice.
I’d gotten to know the roughly dozen or so regulars who attended her Tuesday night meeting. I’d become familiar with their stories—like Pamela, the sweet Italian girl who was always looking for love, trying to make up for her father’s rejection. Or Ted, the middle-aged businessman who’d become addicted to Internet p*rn during the economic downturn when he was laid off and home alone every day. Bored and horny.
Today I’d have a whole new group to get to know, the Saturday morning group. As scary as it was, this was a fresh start. This group wouldn’t see me as just the trainee. I was the group leader. I’d studied for this, gone to school for this. But that didn’t mean my stomach wasn’t flipping violently when the doors opened and the first person entered the room.
An older man with hair graying at his temples.
I smiled warmly, then averted my eyes and went back to organizing the papers on my desk. I didn’t want him to feel watched or uncomfortable in my presence. There was a fine line between being friendly and open, and giving people their space. I certainly never wanted anyone here to feel judged.
The room began to fill, people mingling near the coffeepot, making small talk about the weather or local sports teams—discussing anything but the reason we were all gathered here. Most were middle-aged men, not surprising there, it was the same with my last group. But a few younger people and women made it a little more diverse.
When everyone had taken a seat in one of the chairs arranged into a semicircle in the center of the room, I was just about to take the spot at the front when a guy about my age, looking tense and unsure, opened the door and just stood there.
He was tall and extremely fit with wide shoulders and a toned chest, hinted at by the way his T-shirt clung to him. His hair was cropped close, just long enough to be messy in the front. But his deep, expressive eyes were his most stunning feature—a mix of dark hazel and warm brown framed in thick lashes and bright with intelligence.
For a split second I struggled to pull my gaze away from his. I’d appreciated attractive men before, but this man possessed a magnetism that made it impossible for me to look away. My heart thundered in my chest while I stared, mouth open, watching him.
His hand curled around the doorknob, but he made no move to enter. He was obviously new here. And by the looks of it, about to flee.
“Are you here for SAA?” Our abbreviation for sex addicts anonymous. “Come on in, we’re just about to start.” I found my voice and motioned him forward.
He swallowed hard, his throat contracting as emotions flashed across his face. Then his expression hardened and he entered the room, letting the heavy door fall closed behind him with a thud.
Mister Tall, Dark, and Devastatingly Handsome took the last open seat, the one directly across from me, and raked his gaze over my skin. A hot shudder passed through me and I fought to control my nerves. Something about having to address the group with his dark eyes on me made me incredibly nervous.
I cleared my throat and began. “Welcome. This is a support group for people with sexual addiction. I’ve been working with another group, so I wanted to take a moment to introduce myself, and then I’ll ask you to do the same.”
I folded my hands in my lap and began, my eyes looking anywhere but at the guy across from me. He was too distracting.
“My name is McKenna, and I’ve been leading another SAA group for six months. I have a bachelor’s degree in counseling and I also work at a center for troubled teens. In my free time, I like volunteering and watching scary movies.”
I smiled warmly. “I’d like everyone to introduce themselves, tell us a bit about yourself, and if you’re comfortable, why you’re here.” I turned to the gentlemen to my left and nodded, thankful that I’d gotten through that with my voice steady and composed.
One by one each person introduced themselves, most giving a brief snippet about why they were here. Their revelations were vague and general, saying only things like I need help to get my life back on track. That was to be expected; we’d work our way up to the more personal confessions as time went on.
When everyone else had spoken, my eyes went to the beautiful stranger seated across from me. He cleared his throat and fidgeted in the chair, eliciting a loud squeal as the metal legs shifted against the tile floor. Something in his posture told me he had no plans to share anything about himself. Active group participation was a strong indicator of belief in the program, and one’s ability to successfully overcome their addiction.
I frowned, realizing he might be here for the wrong reasons. A college kid on a dare from his friends, or a way to pick up easy women. I wasn’t sure, so I fixed him with a stare.
“To be part of this meeting you must admit you have a problem, and that your life has become unmanageable and you need help. You must commit to attending the meetings and to sharing with the group.”
The newcomer rolled his eyes. “My name’s Knox Bauer. I’m a Virgo and I like long walks on the beach.”
I released the little breath I’d been holding. It seemed we might have a problem, one I’d have to address after group. I’d seen Belinda do the same thing before, to make sure everyone was here for the right reason.
I pushed on, ignoring his blatant disregard for the group—for now. Finally the clock on the wall indicated our hour was up, which was good because I couldn’t take another second of his eyes watching my every move. I felt distracted and itchy, and fought the urge to run—to flee this room and Knox’s heated stare. But I told myself to calm down. I could handle this. Too bad my training in no way prepared me for a super-hot alpha male invading my space.
After putting on a sincere smile, I wrapped up the meeting with, “Thank you, everyone. I’ll see you next Saturday and in the meantime, stay strong. And remember you can call me or your sponsor at any time.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. My first solo group had gone pretty well. All except for the newcomer, Knox, who seemed reluctant to take part in the group. It was time to address the issue head-on.
My eyes went to Knox, who was already rising from his chair. “Knox, can you stay behind a minute?”
He hesitated briefly, obviously thinking it over, and then lowered himself back to the metal folding chair.
The room was too small, too warm, and I crossed the room to adjust the ancient thermostat on the far wall. I didn’t even know if it worked, but the chance to get out of Knox’s line of vision for just a moment was a welcome reprieve. I pushed the switch to the coolest setting and sucked in a few deep breaths.
I returned to stand in front of Knox. His smile was playful as his eyes wandered the length of my body. His look was so sexual, so erotic, that my stomach twirled into a series of intricate knots and my knees trembled where I stood.
Chapter Three
Knox
The overpowering scent of citrus floor polish was giving me a headache. I wanted nothing more than to escape, but I nodded in response to McKenna’s request, lowering myself back down to the seat. Evidently I was about to catch shit for not sharing my feelings in this damn circle jerk of a meeting.
The people around me rose and filed from the room. I didn’t know what I expected sex addicts to look like, but it certainly wasn’t this. They looked like regular people, for the most part. Guys like me.
McKenna crossed the room to fiddle with the thermostat on the wall, seeming to buy her time, and then approached me once again.
I couldn’t resist letting my gaze slip down over her curves. Her confidence wavered as her eyes dropped from mine to the floor between her feet. There was something about me that threw her off her game. As confident as she’d been during the meeting, her self-assurance wavered as she stood before me.
Petite, but with nice curves, she was stunning. She had long glossy hair hanging down her back and delicate features—a small nose, wide eyes, and high cheekbones. I’d be blind not to notice how attractive she was. Her eyes darted everywhere but on me, letting me take my fill uninterrupted. Wasn’t there some saying about never trust a skinny chef? Well, never trust a beautiful sex-addiction counselor either. Or perhaps it was that I didn’t trust myself around her.
As I studied her, I realized she wasn’t like the girls I hung around. She was beautiful. Educated. Intelligent. Submissive. It was that last part that got my blood pumping south. Introducing her to the business end of my dick became priority number one, but then my lurid thoughts screeched to a halt. I cursed under my breath. That wasn’t in the cards. I needed to remember why I was here.