"Close your mouth, Frida. You’ll catch flies," Laz teased, gently clamping her jaw shut.
Before she could respond, he scooped her out of the chair, and her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.
Her gaze lingered on his lips, her desire evident. Laz chuckled softly, placing her on the bathroom counter. "If you keep looking at me like that, sweetheart, I can’t be held accountable. In the end, I’m just a man."
From his back pocket, he withdrew a small, elegantly wrapped box. With a serious expression, he met her eyes. "Open your legs," he instructed softly.
Frida’s breath hitched, her pulse quickening as she complied, parting her legs slowly. Laz’s fingers brushed her sensitive folds, eliciting a soft gasp as he teased her. She bit her lip, closing her eyes as his touch ignited a fire within her.
With deliberate care, he introduced a small dual vibrator, slipping it in gently. His hand moved to her neck, tilting her face up to his. "Look at me," he murmured, his tone a mix of authority and tenderness.
"Laz," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"Shhh," he hushed her, sealing her lips with a kiss. "Good girl."
He reached for the bandaid on her cheek and carefully removed it, inspecting the injury beneath. His thumb traced her skin, his touch tender.
Her lips parted, and she flicked her tongue against his thumb in a playful gesture. Laz’s eyes darkened as he watched her, and when she took his thumb into her mouth, he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly.
"You think you’re the only one who can play games?" She challenged, her voice rough.
Before she could continue, the vibrator sprang to life, sending waves of pleasure through her body. She gasped, clutching his arms.
"Be a good girl, Frida. Let me finish your facial," he murmured, reaching for a cleanser.
"You do skincare too?" she asked, a teasing smile on her lips.
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Does face wash count?"
She laughed softly as he went through the steps with surprising precision, ending with sunscreen. Then, he carefully cleaned her wounds and replaced the bandaid.
"All done. Now go get dressed—we have therapy to get to!" he said cheerfully, lifting her off the counter and nudging her towards the stairs.
Outside, the sun was bright, but snow fell softly over the city in large heaps and chunks, blanketing everything in a serene white.
Frida glanced out the window, feeling nervous. It was the dead of winter, and she hadn’t brought anything suitable to wear when she’d come to Laz’s house.
Her eyes landed on the bed, where an adorable outfit had been laid out for her.
Just then, her phone buzzed. She picked it up, and Laz’s voice greeted her. "I picked out an outfit for you. Towels are strictly for indoor purposes."
She smirked, leaning against the wall. "Oh, like you don’t like me in a towel, Laz?"
A low chuckle rumbled through the phone. "Oh, I do. Very much. All I can think about is throwing it off and having my way with you..."
Her breath hitched at his words, but before she could respond, the call ended abruptly.
Frida blinked, the heat rising to her cheeks as she fanned her flushed face, the memory of his teasing tone lingering in her mind.
Frida returned in a cozy winter outfit, complete with a fur coat, moon boots, and furry earmuffs.
"You look adorable," Laz said, grinning.
"I look like the Easter Bunny," she muttered sarcastically.
He pinched her cheek. "You’re my winter bunny."
They walked hand-in-hand out of the Airbnb. "So... are we driving?" she asked, eyeing the driveway.
Laz turned, a mischievous grin on his face, revealing a massive hot air balloon tethered nearby.
"We’re flying there," he announced.
Frida laughed nervously. "You’re kidding, right?"
He shook his head. "Nope. Therapy via hot air balloon. It’s not far."
"No way," she protested, backing up. "You have a car, a bike, even a private jet—"
Before she could finish, he swept her off her feet, carrying her towards the balloon.
"Laz!" she squealed, clinging to him.
"Trust me, Frida. You’ll love it," he reassured her, loosening the ropes.
As the balloon began to ascend, Frida buried her face in his chest, eyes squeezed shut.
"Frida," Laz whispered, his voice soft. "Open your eyes, my darling bunny."
She shook her head.
He pressed a kiss to her nose, turning her to face the breathtaking view. Snow fell gently over New York City, its twinkling lights stretching out endlessly below them.
"It’s beautiful," she murmured, awestruck.
"It is," he agreed, his arms wrapping around her from behind. His lips brushed her ear. "Would you like to come to the view?"
Before she could process his words, the vibrator sprang to life again. Frida gasped, her body trembling as Laz pressed her against the edge of the balloon.
"Hold on tight," he murmured, his hands sliding under her coat to cup her breasts, his lips tracing her neck.
Her breaths came in ragged gasps as the pressure built, the sensations overwhelming. Laz’s hand covered her mouth, muffling her cries as she shattered, waves of pleasure coursing through her body.
She slumped against him, breathless, as the balloon descended gently into the hospital parking lot.
"Laz, you’re insane," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
He chuckled, pulling her closer as his lips met hers in a deep, lingering kiss. "Anyone who has a girl like you and isn’t insane?" he murmured against her lips, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "They’re the real crazy ones."
"Just remember," Laz said, squeezing her hand. "I’m here for you."
------
"Welcome," the therapist greeted warmly, her eyes lifting from the folder in front of her, only to widen in surprise when she saw who had entered.
"You’re the anonymous patient your boyfriend wanted me to see?" she asked, startled.
Frida winced, sinking into the chair and trying to look comfortable. "He’s not my boyfriend."
"Why not? He’s cute, funny, caring..."
He’s killed people.
And my other self wants to kill him. The unspoken words rang in Frida’s mind as she forced a neutral expression.
The therapist’s cheerful demeanor faltered, replaced by a look of concern. "What’s the matter, dear?" she asked, her tone softer now, opening the folder and slipping into her professional mode.
Frida hesitated, her gaze falling to her lap before she finally whispered, "He killed for me..."
"...And I liked it." She whispered.