Page 9 of Imprisoned

“Usually, my mind’s full of noise. Violent thoughts. Urges.” I roll my shoulders. “But right now? Everything’s quiet.”

“And why do you think that is?”

I lean forward as much as my restraints allow. “Maybe it’s your presence, Dr. Matthews. You have a soothing effect.”

Pink floods her cheeks. She shifts in her chair, crossing and uncrossing her legs.

“Let’s focus on your treatment plan.” She shuffles her papers. “Have you been taking your medications?”

“Yes, though they’ve never worked quite as well as you.”

“Mr. Morrison?—”

“Axel,” I correct her again.

“We need to maintain boundaries.”

“Of course.” I give her my most charming smile. “I’m being honest about my mental state. Isn’t that what you want?”

She makes a note on her pad. “And these violent urges you mentioned—how long have they been present?”

“Since I was twelve. But right now?” I let my gaze trail over her face, down her neck. “I don’t want to hurt you at all, little pixie. My appetite runs in a different direction.”

The nickname slips out naturally as I study her. She can’t be more than five-foot-three, all delicate features and nervous energy—a tiny blonde fairy facing down a monster oblivious to the danger. The contrast between us is almost comical; my six-foot-four frame could snap her in half without effort. Yet here she sits, this fragile creature, thinking she can analyze the darkness inside me.

Little pixie.

Perfect for someone so small yet brave enough to flutter into my web.

Her cheeks flush a pretty red, but she maintains eye contact. She is professional, which makes me want to break through that control even more.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘different direction,’ Axel?”

“You’re supposed to help me understand my impulses, right?” I tilt my head to the side. “Usually, when I’m alone with someone, all I can think about is violence. The different ways I could hurt them and make them bleed.”

She makes a note on her pad, her pen scratching against paper. “And now?”

“Now?” I inhale deeply, catching another whiff of her perfume. “Now I’m thinking about how soft your skin would feel under my hands. Grabbing your hair. How pretty you’d look spread out on your desk. The sounds you’d make with my cock buried deep inside you.”

Her pen freezes mid-stroke. The flush spreads down her neck, disappearing beneath her blouse, but she doesn’t look away.

“That’s... inappropriate.” Her voice wavers. “Why do you think you’re having these thoughts instead of violent ones?”

“Maybe because you’re different.” I tilt my head. “Most people regard me with fear or disgust. But you? You’re curious. Fascinated. I can see it in your eyes.”

“I’m here to help you, nothing more.” Her pulse jumps in her throat, betraying her.

“Then help me understand why you’re the first to give me peace. The first one I’ve wanted to fuck instead of kill.”

Her chest rises and falls faster now. It’s almost cute how hard she tries to control the situation.

“Let’s analyze these feelings clinically.” She smooths her skirt. “When did this shift from violent urges to sexual ones begin?”

“The moment I saw you.” I clench my cuffed hands. “Something about you just clicked.”

“And before me, did you experience similar reactions to other medical professionals?”

A laugh escapes my throat. “No, doctor. They were all potential victims. But you? You make me want to corrupt rather than destroy.”

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