Page 31 of Imprisoned

“What if someone finds out?” she gasps, eyes darting to the camera in the corner. “The security footage?—”

“Handled,” I say with casual confidence. “The cameras are on a loop. Martinez is making sure no one checks the feeds. No one will ever know what happens in this room unless you tell them.” My smile widens. “And something tells me you won’t.”

Her hand continues toward the panic button, but I’m faster.

I grab her wrist, yanking it away from the button. Her skin is so soft under my fingers, just like I imagined. The chorus of destructive thoughts sings with approval as she struggles against my grip.

Finally.

Take what’s yours.

Show her who’s in control.

I grip her delicate wrists in one hand, her struggles as feeble as a butterfly against a storm. She’s so tiny compared to me, her bones like porcelain under my calloused fingers.

“Look who’s not in control now, little doctor.” I stand directly in front of her chair and grab her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. “No more hiding behind that notebook, no more pretending you’re above all this.”

Her pulse races beneath my grip. Such a fragile thing, thinking she could walk into a monster’s den and remain untouched.

“You really thought those chains could hold me?” I lean closer, drinking in the fear in those blue eyes. “That’s the problem with people like you—you believe in the system, rules, and restraints, but rules are for the weak.”

I tilt her chin up higher, making her crane her neck. “Tell me, what’s your opinion now? Still want to analyze mypatterns?”

She tries to turn away, but I hold her firm. “No, no, we’ll have none of that. Look at me when I’m speaking to you. That’s what you wanted, right? My undivided attention? Well, now you have it.”

Tears gather in her eyes. Such a pretty sight.

“P-please,” she manages.

“Please, what?” I bare my teeth in a grin. “Please stop? Please let you go? Or please don’t stop? Be specific, doctor. Isn’t that what you’re always telling your patients?”

A tear spills down her cheek.

I catch it with my thumb, a mockery of tenderness. “You wanted to understand the monster. Congratulations—you’re getting a fucking front-row seat.”

I study her reactions carefully, noting how her thighs press together beneath that proper pencil skirt—such telling body language from my little doctor. I focus on how her pupils have dilated despite her fear—or perhaps because of it.

“Tell me, little doctor,” I keep my grip firm on her wrists, leaning close enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume. “Are you familiar with autassassinophilia?”

Her eyes widen.

“The clinical term for being aroused by the risk of death.” I trace my thumb along the racing pulse in her throat. “Fascinating condition, isn’t it? The ultimate surrender of control.”

Color floods her cheeks. “Stop this, Axel.”

I tilt my head, studying her. “Your pulse is racing, but not just from fear. Those pretty thighs keep clenching, and your breathing...” I lean closer, my lips nearly brushing her ear. “That’s not panic, is it?”

She shivers, and it’s not from being cold. No, my perfect doctor is fighting a very different battle right now.

“The great Dr. Matthews,” I murmur against her skin, “turned on by being at the mercy of a psychopath. What would your colleagues say?”

Her attempt at a response comes out as a shaky exhale. I can feel her resolve crumble, and she starts leaning into my grip instead of away.

“Your body knows what you really want,” I tell her, drinking in her conflicted expression.

I savor her distress, her conflicting emotions displayed on that delicate face. She’s ashamed to want this, but she does.

My sweet, innocent little doctor, so desperate to keep up appearances. I will tear them all down, peel away the layers until she’s mine, inside and out.

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