CHAPTER ONE : Confidential Intake
The scent of white tea and vanilla lingered in the air—deliberately chosen, of course. Soft enough to feel comforting, seductive enough to blur boundaries.
Dr. Matteo Reyes adjusted the cuffs of his shirt beneath his pristine white coat, glanced once at the wall clock, then smiled slightly.23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbfnEBS99dM
Exactly 10:00 AM. Right on schedule.
He opened the file in front of him.23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5q61pIQLzD
Patient: M. De Luna23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZzLh1ZlRRe
Age: 4323Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0S9B6GhxGh
Status: Divorced23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡer9zWSqmaa
Referral reason: “Touch deprivation. Anxiety. Intimacy issues.”
Standard. Almost boring.23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDmsbbvDY2W
But there was something about the way the intake note ended—written in delicate handwriting:
“I just want to feel… like a woman again.”
Matteo’s jaw flexed.
He had read thousands of files like this one.23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0G3HV9nDig
Women hiding behind clean clothes and louder smiles. Women who stopped wearing lipstick because no one would kiss it off anyway.23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHt2fN3UzSr
Women who walked into this clinic expecting therapy, and left with something closer to revival.
This was the unspoken truth about his job.23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfheSZTOMvE
He didn’t heal bodies. He reminded them they were alive.
The door clicked open.
She stepped in wearing a fitted navy dress, no jewelry, her heels silent against the clinic floor. Her hair was neat, makeup neutral—but her eyes…
Her eyes were tired. Not just sleepy. Tired in a way only loneliness could shape.
“Good morning, Ms. De Luna,” Matteo said, rising from his chair, offering a hand. “You may call me Matteo. No titles in this room.”
She took his hand, a little hesitantly.23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRjsXlLMmf0
Her palm was soft but cold. Her grip unsure. The first touch always told him everything.
“Thank you for seeing me,” she replied quietly, avoiding his gaze. “I wasn’t sure… if I’d actually go through with this.”
“You did,” he said, his voice low, reassuring. “And that’s the hardest part.”
He motioned to the velvet chaise in front of him. “Please. Make yourself comfortable. We don’t rush here.”
She sat, slowly. Crossed her legs. Her knees bounced slightly—nerves. Embarrassment.
Matteo watched her for a moment, then leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs.23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOW6lIGVZD9
Time to begin the ritual.
“Before anything else,” he said, voice gentle but firm, “this room is safe. There’s no judgment here. Only honesty.”
He tapped her folder. “I see that you’re here for touch therapy.”
She nodded stiffly. “I… haven’t been touched. Not in the way that matters. Not in years.”
Matteo nodded, expression unreadable. “And are you comfortable being touched… today?”
Silence.
She bit her lip. Then met his eyes. Finally.
“I’m not sure,” she whispered. “But I want to remember what it feels like to be wanted.”
Matteo felt something shift in his chest—but he buried it quickly.
He offered her a half-smile, warm and unapologetically intense. “Then we’ll take it slow. No pressure. You are always in control here.”
He stood up, slow and deliberate. Walked around the desk. Stopped in front of her.
“May I?” he asked, holding out both hands.
She hesitated. Then reached out.
When their hands met, she inhaled sharply. Just skin to skin—but it was enough to break something inside her.
And Matteo knew:23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpCB287JLnt
She wasn’t just here for pleasure.
She was here to remember she still had a heart.
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