His Final Patient

Dr. Daniel Carter’s office was a sanctuary of leather and quiet regret. For thirty years, he’d sat behind his desk, listening to fractured minds spill their secrets. Thirty years of burying his own desires deep, where no one could find them. One week until retirement, and he was almost free.

Then *she* walked in.

Lena Vale.

Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders like a spill of ink. Her red dress clung to her curves, daring him to look. Her lips, painted crimson, curved into a smile that felt too personal, too knowing.

“Dr. Carter?” Her voice was velvet, warm and low, curling around his name like a caress.

He adjusted his glasses, throat dry. “Yes. Please, sit.”

She didn’t sit. Instead, she prowled the room, her heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor. Her fingers grazed the spines of his books, lingered on his framed diplomas, then traced the edge of his leather chair—*his* chair.

“You’ve helped so many people,” she murmured, her eyes flicking to his. “All these years, fixing broken souls. Don’t you ever… want something for *yourself*?”

His pulse quickened, a traitor to his calm facade. “This session is about *you*, Ms. Vale. Not me.”

Her smile widened, slow and deliberate. She finally sank into the chair across from him, crossing her legs. The hem of her dress slid up, revealing a glimpse of smooth thigh.

Daniel forced his gaze to his notepad, his pen trembling slightly.

---

### **2. The First Confession**

“I have dreams,” Lena said, leaning forward just enough to make the air feel heavier. “Vivid ones. They keep me awake.”

“Nightmares?” Daniel asked, his voice steady despite the heat creeping up his neck.

“Some are.” Her tongue flicked over her bottom lip, a fleeting gesture that hit him like a spark. “Others… they’re different. Sweeter. *Hotter*.”

He swallowed, gripping his pen tighter. “Can you describe them?”

Her eyes locked onto his, dark and unyielding. “In them, *you* touch me.”

The room seemed to shrink. His pen froze mid-word.

“You hold me down,” she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Your hands on my wrists. Your breath hot against my neck. Your lips…” She paused, letting the silence burn. “You know how it feels, don’t you?”

His mouth went dry. “That’s… inappropriate, Ms. Vale.”

She leaned back, her lips curling into a smirk. “Is it? Then why am I here, Daniel?”

The use of his first name sent a jolt through him. He should end the session. Send her away. But his hands stayed rooted to the desk, his eyes unable to break from hers.

“Tell me about the nightmares,” he said, redirecting.

Her smile faded, just for a moment. “They’re cold. Dark. I’m trapped in a car, glass everywhere. Blood on my hands. And you’re there… but you can’t save me.”

His chest tightened. *A car accident.* The memory flickered, unbidden—a crash from ten years ago. A woman he couldn’t save.

He shook it off. “Let’s focus on the present. Why are you here?”

Lena tilted her head, her gaze piercing. “Maybe I’m here to remind you… of what you’ve buried.”

---

### **3. The Second Session**

Lena was late the next week. When she arrived, her hair was slightly tousled, her lips swollen as if kissed too hard. Daniel tried not to imagine who—or what—had left her looking like that.

She sat without preamble, her dress tighter today, the neckline dipping low. “I remembered something,” she said, her voice soft but deliberate. “About *us*.”

“There is no ‘us,’” Daniel said sharply, his knuckles whitening around his pen.

She laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent heat pooling in his gut. “In my dream last night, you said the same thing. Right before you pushed me against this desk and…” She trailed off, her eyes glinting with challenge. “You want me to say it?”

His jaw clenched. “These fantasies—”

“Feel *real*,” she cut in, standing. She moved closer, her hips swaying with every step. “Don’t they, Daniel? Don’t you feel it too?”

Her perfume hit him—jasmine and something darker, intoxicating. She stopped inches from his desk, leaning forward, her hands braced on the wood. The neckline of her dress gaped slightly, and he caught a glimpse of lace beneath.

He should stand. Move away. End this.

But his body betrayed him, rooted to the chair, his breath shallow.

“You’re crossing a line,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended.

“Then tell me to stop.” Her eyes dared him.

He didn’t.

---

### **4. The Breaking Point**

The third session was a mistake.

Lena wore black this time, a dress that hugged her like a second skin. She didn’t sit. Instead, she perched on the edge of his desk, her thigh brushing his hand as she leaned in.

“You think about me,” she whispered, her fingers grazing his tie, tugging lightly. “When you’re alone at night. In your bed. Don’t you?”

His hands gripped the arms of his chair, knuckles white. “Stop.”

“Make me.”

The words were a spark to dry tinder. His control shattered.

Daniel surged to his feet, yanking her against him. Lena gasped, her body soft and warm, molding to his. Her lips crashed into his, hot and hungry, tasting of wine and forbidden promises.

It was *wrong*. He knew it. But her fingers were in his hair, her hips grinding against him, and every rational thought burned away.

“See?” she breathed against his mouth, her nails scraping down his back. “You *want* this.”

He did. God help him, he did.

He lifted her onto the desk, papers scattering. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. The heat of her skin seared through his shirt. Her moans were soft, desperate, echoing the fantasies he’d tried to bury.

“Daniel,” she whispered, her lips brushing his ear. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

---

### **5. The Truth in the Dark**

Hours later, in the dim light of his apartment, Lena lay sprawled across his bed. Her hair fanned over the pillow, her skin flushed and glistening. She traced the scar on his chest—a jagged line from a night he’d tried to forget.

“You remember now, don’t you?” she murmured, her voice soft but heavy with meaning.

Daniel froze, his heart pounding.

*The car accident. Ten years ago. A woman with dark hair, blood on her face, dying in his arms as he begged her to hold on.*

“You’re not…” His voice cracked. “You can’t be her.”

Lena straddled him, her body warm and impossibly real. “Does it matter?” she asked, her lips brushing his. “Am I a ghost? Your guilt? Or just what you’ve always wanted?”

Her hips moved, slow and deliberate, pulling a groan from his throat. He gripped her waist, torn between pushing her away and pulling her closer.

“You feel real,” he rasped, his hands sliding up her thighs.

“Then let me be real,” she whispered, her mouth claiming his.

The room spun. Her body moved over his, slick and desperate, every touch blurring the line between memory and madness.

Maybe she was a ghost. Maybe he’d lost his mind.

But when she moaned his name, her nails digging into his shoulders, he didn’t care.

---

### **6. The Empty Dawn**

Morning light filtered through the blinds, spilling over empty sheets.

Daniel sat up, his heart racing. No Lena. No note. No trace of her.

Just the faint scent of jasmine on his pillow… and a single red lipstick stain, stark against the white fabric.

He called the office, his hands shaking. “Any record of a Lena Vale?”

The receptionist paused. “No, Dr. Carter. No one by that name.”

He stared at the lipstick stain, his mind unraveling.

Had she ever been real?

Or had he spent his final week chasing a ghost born from his own buried desires?

---

**THE END.**