Page 43 of Imprisoned

Istare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, barely recognizing the woman looking back at me. Two months as a correctional psychologist, and I’ve obliterated every line in the book.

“What have I done?” My fingers trace the light bruises on my neck, evidence of yesterday’s session with Axel.

The phone in my pocket buzzes. Another text from Axel. I pull it out, my heart racing at seeing his words on the screen. Part of me wants to respond immediately—that desperate, addicted part that craves his attention. But I hesitate, deliberately setting the phone down on the counter.

Let him wait. Let him wonder. I need to reclaim some small measure of control in this wildfire we’ve created.

I walked into Mountain View two months ago with such high hopes and noble intentions. Now here I am, sending explicit photos to the most dangerous man in the facility, letting him bend me over my desk, recording our sessions for... I can’t even think about it without that familiar yearning spreading through my body.

But I can still dictate some of the terms of my own corruption. Make him earn my responses and my attention. It’s a small thing, but it feels like the only power I have left right now.

The worst part? I’m supposed to be helping him. Instead, I’m enabling his unhinged impulses while discovering my own. Every ethical principle I learned in school, every boundary Dr. Pierce warned me about—I’ve shattered them all.

My phone buzzes again with another text.

I jump, nearly dropping it into the sink.

You’re thinking too much.

How does he always know?

I grip the edge of the sink, trying to steady myself. The rational part of my brain screams at me to hand in my notice or do anything but continue down this path. But that other part that comes alive under Axel’s touch and craves him is growing stronger daily.

“I can’t stop,” I admit to my reflection. Two months. That’s all it took for Axel Morrison to tear down every wall I’d built to expose who I really am. The scariest part? I don’t want to stop.

I head into the living room and curl up on the couch, wrapping myself in the soft throw blanket my mother gave me last Christmas. My phone lights up with another message from Axel, and my heart skips.

I want to taste every inch of you again.

The words send shivers down my spine. My fingers hover over the screen, wanting to respond but knowing how wrong that is. Three life sentences. The phrase echoes in my mind, a stark reminder of the reality I choose to ignore. His next text comes through.

You are mine in every way, and I can’t wait to prove it to you repeatedly.

He’s right. I am his. What does that even mean when he’ll spend the rest of his life behind bars?

I think about the files I’ve read, the crimes he’s committed. The bodies. The torture. My training tells me this is textbook manipulation—a psychopath drawing me into his web. But none of that seems to matter when he touches me.

My phone buzzes again. This time, it’s a detailed description of what he wants to do to me tomorrow. My body responds instantly, even as my mind rebels against the impossibility of this situation.

What kind of future could we possibly have? Conjugal visits in a prison cell? Secret rendezvous in my office until I inevitably get caught? There’s no happy ending here, no white picket fence, no growing old together.

And yet, here I am, addicted to his messages, to our taboo sex, to the rush of doing something so wrong, so forbidden.

My lungs tense with anticipation as I read his latest demand. My body, traitorous as ever, responds with an instant throb between my legs. I know I shouldn’t, but something inside me—something Axel has unleashed—wants to obey.

My pulse races as I climb the stairs to my bedroom, each step bringing me closer to a precipice I shouldn’t approach. But with every beat of my heart, I hear Axel’s voice and feel his gaze on my skin. I’m no longer in control; I’m simply following his commands.

I shut the door behind me, reaching for the nightstand drawer, my secret place where I hide my guilty pleasures. My fingers wrap around the cold, smooth handle of the butt plug Ibought on a whim. I’ve never used it. But for Axel, I want to—no, I need to—explore everything with him.

I take it out, feeling its weight in my hand. For a moment, I hesitate. I’m a doctor, a professional. How did I end up here, about to?—?

“Just do it, Willow,” I encourage.

I also retrieve the lube from the drawer and head back to my bed, my heart hammering in my chest. Axel’s instructions play out in my mind, and I follow them to the letter. I spread the lube on the butt plug and slowly, carefully begin to penetrate myself.

It’s an odd sensation at first, and I almost stop. But then I think of Axel, his intense gaze, his dominant presence. I imagine it’s him touching me, filling me up. I moan as I push further, feeling a pleasurable stretch I’ve never experienced before.

It rings, that damn phone of mine. My heart leaps, hoping it’s him. And there it is, Axel’s name flashing on the screen. He’s calling me. I know it’s a bad idea to answer, but my thumb hovers, yearning to accept. My better judgment shouts in warning, but it’s too late. I need to hear his voice.

---