Page 18 of Imprisoned

He chuckles, his eyes never leaving mine. “You can’t deny it, Willow. You’re as twisted as I am. You wish these chains were off so I could bend you over this desk and fuck you senseless.”

I flinch as if he’d struck me. My eyes dart to the door, willing the guards to arrive and end this torture.

“Break those chains of denial. Tell me about the darkness you’ve kept locked away.”

The door opens, and two guards enter. Their eyes are alert and ready for a fight, sensing the charged atmosphere.

“It’s okay, officers.” I raise a hand to stop them from approaching. My voice is steady. “I’m merely ending the session early. You can escort Mr. Morrison back to his cell.”

Axel’s smirk widens as they unfasten him from the chair, and then he saunters toward the door in their grip, turning his head to glance at me over his shoulder.

“This isn’t over, doctor. We’ve only just begun.”

I watch as the guards lead him away, his eyes locked on mine until the door closes, leaving me alone with my swirling thoughts and the heavy silence of the room.

The reality of what happened crashes down on me. I sink back into my chair, my heart hammering. I replay the recording, listen to Axel’s graphic words and responses, and try to make sense of my reactions.

Eleanor’s voice echoes in my mind, urging me to maintain professionalism. Even as I chastise myself for my lapse in judgment, a part of me relishes the dangerous thrill. It’s a dichotomy that both terrifies and excites me.

9

AXEL

I’m led back to my cell, my body tight with need. Every step is agony against the rough prison uniform.

The guards unfasten the chains and then shove me inside my cell, but I barely notice. My mind replays every detail of our interaction—the way her chest rose and fell faster as I described what I’d do to her if I was unchained, how the pink flush spread down her neck and below her blouse, how she crossed her legs multiple times, clearly affected.

The door clangs shut behind me, alone at last. My cell is sparse but private—a privilege earned through my reputation for violence. No cellmate means no one to disturb my thoughts of her.

I lie back on my narrow bunk, pressing my palm against my erection through the rough fabric. Willow’s scent lingers in my memory, orange blossom and cherry. Such a heady combination. But the depravity I glimpsed within her truly excites me. That flicker of forbidden need when I described marking her pale skin.

My cock throbs painfully. My little doctor tries so hard to be good, to help “rehabilitate” monsters like me. But I saw right through her. Underneath that prim exterior is a woman whocraves the same chaos I do. She just needs someone to set her free.

I close my eyes, remembering how she squirmed in her chair, fighting her attraction. Such a proper little doctor on the surface. But I will peel back every layer until she admits what she wants. Until she begs for it.

The knowledge that our session was recorded only adds to my pleasure. Someone reviewing that tape will see exactly what passed between us, even if they try to deny it. Or perhaps she’ll steal it for herself and listen to it repeatedly.

The thought of her touching herself while listening to the recording of my fantasies is almost too much. I don’t care what she does. I barely know her. Yet. But the thought of her getting off on my words, picturing my hands on her, my mouth tasting her... I can’t resist anymore.

I tear off my shirt, the fabric restricting my heated skin. My hands roam over my chest, scratching lightly at the tattoos that cover me. I imagine those hands are hers, soft and hesitant at first, then growing bolder as I teach her how I like to be touched.

I pull off my pants, releasing my cock, hard and straining. It’s been too long since I’ve had a woman. Too long since I’ve had someone to play with. I pump my hand up and down my length, slowly at first, savoring the sensations.

My mind flashes to her, little Willow, flushed and breathless, as she makes her tight little cunt come thinking of me. I want to be there, watching her, but I also want to be inside her mind, feeling what she feels as she presses her thighs together and imagines it’s me filling her cunt.

I quicken my pace, my other hand gripping my thigh, fingers digging in. I want to mark her, put my hands on her throat, and hear her moan my name. I want to push her against the wall and taste every inch of her skin.

She consumes my thoughts—Willow, the girl with the innocent face. That shy smile and those nervous mannerisms hide a wildness that calls to me. She tries to hide it, but I see the truth. At that moment, she wanted me as much as I wanted her.

I find my release with a groan, picturing her face as I promise myself that she’ll be mine. One way or another.

10

WILLOW

The drive home feels endless, my mind spinning with fragments of today’s session. Axel’s words echo in my head, each syllable a caress that makes my skin tingle. The recording in my bag could be a brick of lead for how heavy it feels.

I park in the driveway and grip the steering wheel, breathing shallowly. The tape contains evidence of my unprofessionalism—the way he picked apart my carefully constructed walls like they were tissue paper. No one can hear that recording.

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