Saturday, November 3, 2012
Spotlight on Submission Therapy
But underneath that seemingly strong façade, Natasha is a swirling mess of anger, anxiety and sexual addiction. Only her therapist, Dr. Benson, knows how close she is to burning out...or exploding. He insists on a radical form of treatment – Submission Therapy – knowing that it’s her only hope.
Skeptical but intrigued, Natasha agrees to attend the first session. What she finds there is an erotically-charged environment that will forgive none of her habitual bad behavior. And a steely-eyed man who seems to read her every desire - even the ones she won’t admit to herself.
Will Natasha learn what it means to submit? Or will she allow her brittle pride to rob her of what she truly needs?
You can find Submission Therapy on Amazon, Amazon UK, All Romance Ebooks, Smashwords, and Excessica
Submission Therapy EXCERPT: © November 2012 by Willsin Rowe and Katie Salidas
“You really should change that painting on your wall, Derek.”
“Natasha, I’ve asked you many times to call me Dr. Benson.” He leaned over and checked his notes, then jotted something down. Probably a remark about my attitude. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it damn sure won’t be the last.
“No doubt you have, Derek.”
For a shrink, he really seemed stuck on formality, for whatever reason. Some people’s lives are just so petty. I flicked my hand toward the gauche painting in question. “I mean, it’s not calming at all. Thick daubs of acrylic that look like cellulite on the canvas. And what’s with the oranges and blues together? That’s just insane.”
Dr. Benson didn’t appear to get the joke. Simpleton. He pushed his bookish glasses up on his long narrow nose and glared. “Natasha, I’ve been seeing you for a year, now.” His tone was laced with disappointment. “And you’ve made no progress. No change.” He sat back in his vinyl chair. “None at all.”
“Yep, got it, Derek.” I blocked out his face with my watch for a second. The man could talk! I had four meetings scheduled for this afternoon.
He flipped his notebook and it closed with an unusually loud snap. “You’re still control-dependent, and we’ve made no headway with your addiction to sex either.”
I could recite this lecture word for word now. Time was money and these sessions were already costing me too much of both. Apparently with no results to show for them.
I stood and smoothed my skirt. Derek may be a psychiatrist, but he’s still a man. A straight man, judging by the way his eyes scanned my legs. Too bad for him. If he weren’t just a dull, if handsome, shrink, I might have used him for some much-needed stress relief. He could call it addiction all he liked, but for me it was head and shoulders above these damn therapy sessions.
“Well, Derek. Thanks for a wonderful year. I can’t tell you much I’ve enjoyed losing two valuable hours each week, all for nothing.”
He smiled congenially but the strain in his voice was apparent. “If you’d done the exercises as I instructed, you’d have lost six hours.”
I dug my cellphone out of my Louis Vuitton Olive Monogram Antheia Leather Hobo. “Which is why I didn’t.”
“Which is why you’ve failed at therapy and why you are failing at life.”
The deadpan delivery of those words shocked me. Taken aback, I sucked in a breath and, for a moment, considered throwing my phone straight at his stupid smiling face.
“What the fuck did you just say? Have you seen the size of my house? My portfolio of investments? And I’ve failed? If anything it’s you who’s failed, Derek. You’re supposed to cure me.”
Derek folded his arms. “Natasha, we’ve discussed this rudeness of yours.”
“I’m not being rude; I’m being efficient, getting right to the head of the matter, which is your lack of results.”
“There’s a difference between efficiency and rudeness, Natasha, and you are being—”
I dialed Simon’s number. “Bring the car around.” Then snapped my phone closed and turned to leave.
“Derek, I don’t want to appear...efficient, but I have places to be.”
He surprised me by rushing to the door and blocking my exit. I was unprepared for such animation. Standing there filling the doorframe with his arms crossed he almost appeared authoritative. In his khaki pants and black Oxford shirt, and with his blue eyes narrowed behind dark framed glasses he looked like he’d just passed Door Security 101. “So why are you still here?”
The unfamiliar steel of his voice seemed to carry a lilt of taunting. I nodded at the hallway behind him. “I’m hardly going to climb over you.”
“You know what I mean. Why haven’t you gone to yet another doctor?”
Because no-one else will take me. Because I’ve carved a sharp-tongued path through them all. No way I’d expose myself like that. Not to this nobody. He already had too much of me sitting in his notebooks. I pulled out my gold cigarette case and flipped it open. “I really don’t know.”
“Natasha, you can’t smoke in here.”
I rolled my eyes. Tiny lives with tiny rules. “Derek, my company owns this building. One of my companies, anyway.”
He produced a business card from his pocket. “This is it, Natasha. Your last chance.”
I glared at the card, but he didn’t waver. Just held it steady as I blew a stream of smoke into his face. Finally I took the thing and checked it over.
“I see your people are no better than mine. I should proof-read for you.”
Sadly, he didn’t rise to my taunting. He remained remarkably collected, delivering his deadpan statement. “Master Sweet is not a room.”
I tapped the ash from my cigarette into a potted plant by the door. “So what is it? Candy?”
“Radical therapy. I’ve tried the softly-softly, ‘tell me how that makes you feel’ method. It’s had no effect. Clearly you need a more hands-on approach.” He tapped the edge of the card in my hand. “And what you’ll find in that room will gel perfectly with your current…addictions.”
A little about the authors...
And if you can believe all of those lies, there is some beautiful swamp land in Florida for sale…
Katie Salidas resides in Las Vegas, Nevada. Mother, wife, and author, she does try to do it all, often causing sleep deprivation and many nights passed out at the computer. Writing books is her passion, and she hopes that her passion will bring you hours of entertainment.
You can find out more about Katie Salidas on her Website or her Facebook Page.
Willsin Rowe falls in love with a scent, a playful expression or an act of casual intimacy more easily than with physical beauty. When confronted by any combination of those elements he is a lost cause. He has done many things over and over, done even more things only once, and half-done more things than he cares to admit. He loves to sing and doesn’t let his voice get in the way. He is intelligent but not sensible. He is passionate but fearful. He is not scruffy enough or stylish enough to be cool.
You can find out more about Willsin Rowe on Facebook Page.
Until Next Time,