Page 25 of Imprisoned

“Professional.” He tastes the word like fine wine. “Is that what you tell yourself when you touch yourself, listening to the words in our session tapes? The one where I described exactly what I’d do to you if these chains were gone?”

His eyes darken as he leans forward slightly. “I know you’ve read it, Willow. I can see it in your eyes—the way they dilate when you remember the part about pressing you against the wall, my hand around your throat while I?—”

“Final warning, Mr. Morrison.” My hand moves toward the panic button on my desk.

“Alright, alright.” He raises his hands in mock surrender, chains clinking. “I wouldn’t want to cut our time short. Not when we have so much to discuss.” His tone shifts to something more clinical, but his eyes still dance with dark amusement. “Shall we talk about my childhood trauma? That’s what you therapists love, isn’t it? Digging into the past?”

“Yes, let’s focus on that. In our last session, you mentioned your father?—”

“You don’t really want to talk about my father.” Axel cuts me off mid-sentence. “Two months of dancing around this, Dr. Matthews. And now you’ve had the camera disabled. Your resistance is weakening with each session. I can see it in your eyes.”

My mouth goes dry. I shift in my chair, trying to focus on being professional. “Mr. Morrison, we’re here to discuss your?—”

“I bet you climbed into bed.” His voice drops lower. “Pressed play on that recording. Did you touch yourself while listening to my voice?”

“Stop.” The word comes out breathier than I intended. I clear my throat. “This is completely inappropriate.”

“But you like ‘inappropriate.’ Your cheeks are flushed.” He smirks sinfully at me. “Your pupils are dilated. Your breathing’s faster. You can lie with your words, but your reactions to me tell the truth.”

I shift in my chair, hating how my body responds instinctively. Of course a man like him would see right through me? I try to focus on my notes, but the letters swim before my eyes.

“Let’s return to discussing your childhood experiences?—”

“You came hard, didn’t you?” His words slice and cut through the haze in my mind. “Thinking about everything I said I’d do to you. Imagining my hands on you instead of yours.”

“That’s enough.” I stand up, hands trembling. “This session is?—”

“Sit down, little pixie.” His tone carries such authority that I find myself sinking back into my chair before I can stop myself. “You’re not going anywhere. We both know you don’t want to.”

He’s right. God help me, he’s right. I should call the guards, end this session, report his behavior—report myself. Instead, I’m frozen in place, my body betraying me with every rapid heartbeat, every shallow breath.

“Now,” he continues, satisfaction dripping from every word, “shall we talk about what else you’ve been imagining?”

I stare at Axel across my desk, my heart hammering against my ribs. Everything I’ve worked for—years of study, dedication, and career-building—balanced against this primal need he awakens in me.

“I can’t.” My voice cracks. “This isn’t—we can’t… This was a mistake.”

“Can’t what?” His green eyes pin me in place. “Can’t admit what you want? What you need?”

I close my eyes, trying to center myself.

Remember your training.

Remember your ethics courses.

Remember everything that brought you here. It’s not too late to end this now.

“I took an oath.” The words taste like ash in my mouth. “To help people, to maintain professional boundaries, to?—”

“To deny yourself?” Axel’s chains rattle as he shifts forward. “To pretend you’re not aching for me right now?”

My thighs clench. The letter in my jacket pocket feels like it’s burning through the fabric, branding my skin. I should have reported it. Should have burned it this morning after I saw it. I should have done anything except read it repeatedly in between sessions until the pages were creased from my trembling fingers.

“My career.” It comes out quieter than intended. “Everything I’ve built.”

“Your career?” He laughs, low and dark. “Or your carefully constructed facade? Tell me, when was the last time you felt fully alive before meeting me?”

The truth hits hard. I’ve spent my whole life being good, doing the right thing, following the rules. And now, facing this man who breaks every rule and embodies everything I should reject, I feel more alive than ever.

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