CHAPTER THREE : Boundaries Broken
The second appointment was never about the body.
It was about the aftermath.
What happens when a woman realizes she was touched… and didn’t flinch?16Please respect copyright.PENANAdSga8nSYPR
When she walked out of a room and didn’t feel shame, but longing?
Matteo always knew:16Please respect copyright.PENANArPv9bu1IoY
The second time is when the real therapy begins.16Please respect copyright.PENANAmFYhJBGUQ9
And the real danger.
She came earlier than expected.
No lipstick. No heels. No jewelry.
Just a plain blouse, jeans, and a silence that felt heavier than the last time.
Matteo looked up as she entered.16Please respect copyright.PENANARp3UdNjHEA
And this time, she didn’t avoid his gaze.
“I didn’t wear perfume,” she said. “I didn’t want to… distract.”
He stood, folding his sleeves higher. “Distraction isn’t the problem,” he said softly. “It’s permission. And you’ve given it.”
The door clicked closed behind her, and they were alone again.
But something was different.16Please respect copyright.PENANAiA8YjrfTKM
The air wasn’t just warm. It pulsed.
She sat on the edge of the couch. No blanket. No cushion to hold.16Please respect copyright.PENANAbXI5Pv6ZzX
Just her hands, flat on her thighs.
“Touch wherever you want,” she said quickly. Then swallowed. “I mean—whatever you think is best. I trust you.”
Matteo didn’t move right away.
He’d heard those words too many times from women who didn’t mean them.16Please respect copyright.PENANArULWZ8j1cZ
But with her, it didn’t feel like surrender.16Please respect copyright.PENANA681AHrShLg
It felt like a challenge.
He walked over and stood behind her.
“Close your eyes,” he murmured. “We’re not here to rush. We’re here to feel.”
She obeyed.
He started with her shoulders—his fingers firm, kneading gently along the tight lines of her upper back. She tensed, then slowly relaxed beneath the warmth of his hands.
He leaned closer, his voice near her ear.16Please respect copyright.PENANAAwnzD2SBiY
“I’m going to touch your neck now. Tell me if anything feels wrong.”
She nodded.
His fingers traced the slope of her nape, stopping at the collarbone.
That was when she whispered, “It doesn’t feel wrong. It feels… forbidden.”
Matteo’s breath hitched—but only for a second.
He circled to face her. Sat down. Their knees brushed.
And when he lifted his hand to cup the side of her face, she leaned in—not out.
“Do you still feel numb?” he asked.
She opened her eyes slowly.
“No,” she said. “I feel everything. And it terrifies me.”
Matteo smiled—but not like a doctor.
Like a man.
“Then we’re doing this right.”
He should have stopped.
He should’ve stepped back, given her space, kept the line uncrossed.
But something about her—this quiet fire in a woman who forgot how to burn—undid him.
He leaned forward, forehead brushing hers.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.
She didn’t.
And that was when he kissed her.
Not a kiss of passion. Not yet.
A kiss of permission. Of slow discovery. Of silence turning into sound.
Her lips trembled beneath his, soft and uncertain. But she didn’t pull away. She kissed him back.
And for the first time in years…
Matteo forgot who he was supposed to be.
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