Page 71 of Fixation
I keep them locked in for a few reasons.
Reason one is that sweat had drenched my clothes he’d been at work. That meant the fever was going down. I feel better now too. Anderson is helping me. I can’t hate him for it.
Reason two has nothing to do with being grateful.
It’s so I can manipulate him.
Up until this moment, Anderson had been mostly professional around me. Clinical. Composed.
An actual, deranged doctor, sticking to his act with the devotion of an A-list actor.
There was an underlying sexual desire beneath his skin, which he hid exceptionally well.
His control is back now that he’s come, but it’s shaky.
The wall he’s erected around himself is crumbling. Fucking my hand while I slept is unethical as all fuck.
A crack means an opening. I can learn about him when his guard is down like that. About his weaknesses.
“You can wash me.” I lean up on my elbows, chin raised high. I’m as proud as a prisoner could ever be. “On one condition.”
“More bargaining?” His lean arms cross over his chest. His tongue darts out to wet his upper lip. I could die, but I won’t. I won’t give in to this. To him. “Let’s hear it.”
“You’ll answer my questions.” Daring him is a bold move. Raising my voice is risky. “You’ll tell me about yourself.”
Light shines behind his eyes. He snuffs it out immediately.
Too late. I’m already onto another weakness.
This isn’t just about fucking.
There’s something in me he’s fixated on. Not my body—me.
Why?
“I’ll answer two.” No, I don’t notice his thumb dragging over one of the barbed wires inked to his skin. I don’t notice how perfect his fingers are compared to my calloused ones. “You’ll answer three.”
“That’s unfair,” I huff, reaching for the blanket the second time.
“I’ll answer two, none of which will beWhy me?” he says in his authoritative voice while his hand curls around my wrist. He locks it tight around me, the punishing grip sending ice up my spine. “You’ll answer three. Understood?”
I have no choice. “Understood.”
“Understood, what?”
My eyebrows knit together. A second later, realization comes.
Oh God. He’s actually making me say it.
Heat rushes up my neck. Up my cheeks.
He tracks it with his eyes. Still detached, butsohot.
I dip my chin. “Yes, Dr. Maguire.”
“Good.” In long, decisive steps, he rounds the bed. Plucks a key from his breast pocket and unlocks the handcuff around my wrist.
While he rubs the slightly reddened skin, something buzzes on the treatment cart.
