Page 10 of Imprisoned

She scribbles something in her notepad. “These impulses you’re describing—would you categorize them as intrusive thoughts?”

“They’re not intrusive if I welcome them.”

“Mr. Morrison?—”

“Axel.”

“Axel,” she says, clearing her throat. “We need to maintain appropriate boundaries. I’m here as your doctor to help you work through your violent tendencies.”

“And I’m being honest about those tendencies.” I sit up straighter, making the chains rattle. “Right now, the only violence in my head involves throwing you against that wall and fucking you until you scream my name, begging for more.”

“Do you often use sexual aggression to deflect from therapeutic discussion?” she continues, attempting to steer the conversation back to something more appropriate.

“Never. It’s just blood and death.” I note how her pulse races in her throat. “You’re the first one who’s made me want something different.”

“I see.” She straightens her papers. “And how does this change of impulse make you feel?”

“Hungry.” I let my gaze trail down her body. “But also quieter. Focused. The demons telling me to kill are silent when I look at you.”

Every time I shift in my seat, her eyes follow the movement. When I flex my hands against the cuffs, I see her eyes dilate.

“These urges you’re describing,” she says, her gaze dropping to the tattoos on my neck before snapping back up. “How do they differ from your typical violent impulses?”

“They’re less chaotic.” I lift and drop my shoulders, watching her eyes track the motion. “Usually, it’s mayhem in my head. But with you? Everything narrows down to one clear fixation.”

She licks her lips, probably not even aware she’s doing it. Her pen hovers over the notepad, forgotten. “And this clarity—does it feel therapeutic?”

“Want me to show you exactly how it feels?” I ask.

Her eyes drift to my mouth before she catches herself. I note the hunger in her expression.

She wants me.

“Let’s keep this clinical,” she says. “You mentioned the voices are quiet. Is this the first time that’s happened?”

“First time without violence being involved.” I watch her pupils dilate. “Usually, they only shut up when I’m killing. But right now? All I hear is the sound of your breathing getting faster.”

She shifts in her chair, and her eyes dart between my tattoos and my face like she’s trying to piece together the puzzle of me. I see right through her analytical approach. There’s a need burning behind that professional veneer, and it’s only a matter of time before it consumes her.

5

WILLOW

The drive home is a blur. My hands grip the steering wheel as I replay every moment of my first session with Axel: the way his eyes followed my every movement, how his voice dropped to that low, gravelly tone when he described what he wanted to do to me, and the predatory grace in his posture despite the restraints.

I barely register the familiar streets passing by, my mind still trapped in that office with him.

When I finally pull into my driveway, the sky has darkened to twilight. I sit in my car for several minutes, composing myself before going inside. My reflection in the rearview mirror shows flushed cheeks and dilated pupils—evidence of how affected I am by a psychopath that no amount of professional distance could hide.

I stumble through my front door, dropping my keys twice before locking it behind me. The house is quiet—Mom’s working late at the law firm tonight.

Thank God. I need space to process... whatever that was.

My skin burns where Axel’s gaze lingered during our session. Those green eyes see right through me.

“Fuck.” I flee to my room and press my forehead against the cool wall, trying to ground myself. I can only think about how his voice dropped when he described his hunger for me. Raw power radiated from his muscled frame, even in prison scrubs.

I should call Eleanor and report that I’m compromised because the session went too far. But the thought of admitting how he affected me...

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