Page 81 of Fixation
“Fuck,” I breathe out as he nudges a finger into my ass, twisting it left, then right. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Stop. Please. I—you were supposed to wash me. Please.”
He pauses. “Is there anything you need from me? Really need from me?”
Your hand in my hair. Your face in my pussy. The ice in your eyes, I want it to thaw. But also, please, let them stay as cold and heartless as they are.
Though what I actually need isn’t something from you. It’s from me. I need to remember who you are and who I am and how the fuck I got here. By being kidnapped.
“I want you to go to hell,” I spit out. “I want you to stop making me feel these things. I don’t want this.”
“Still dirty, I see.” My doctor wipes his fingers a second time, being thorough about it. He dips his hand and scoops water from the bowl. “Let me take care of that problem for you.”
The water splashes over my pussy. His fingers are right behind, rubbing, scrubbing. As if he’s actually trying to clean me.
“No!” My shout quickly transforms into a moan. “Don’t want it. Don’t want you. Leave me alone.”
Trying to crawl out of this bed, I put one hand in front of the other.
Anderson is there to put an end to my miserable escape attempts.
I’m being yanked toward him, the front of his body pinned to my side.
“Lying is such a filthy, dirty thing, Miss Arlington.” The pressure on my hip is gone, his hand is in my hair, shoving me to the pillow. “I’m helping you. You should be thanking me.”
“I don’t want to come.” But I do. I am coming while he fingers me, crying, thrashing. “Please, stop. Please, it’s humiliating. I don’t want it.”
“Yes, you do.” He moves around me, a shadow ghosting across my face.
I’m flipped onto my back, head hanging off the bed, jaw cradled in his hand. I’m speechless.
Anderson isn’t. “You don’t have the right coverage for this kind of care…”
For orgasms. He means orgasms.
If he hadn’t been holding my jaw right now, it would’ve dropped. From fear. From desire.
“But don’t worry.” His voice is rugged. “I accept other forms of payment.”
With his free hand, he pushes his pants down.
Everything in me hates to admit how beautiful his cock is. He’s big and perfect. The skin is smooth over his hard length. A vein cording it. The tip is wet.
“Open.” He taps the head on my closed lips.
“No.”Yes.
My answer is irrelevant. As soon as I part my lips, his dick is inside my mouth. He won’t let me bite him, holding my jaw just the way he wants it, his thumb pushing my teeth out of the way.
“That’s it.” He thrusts in, filling me. Holding still while allowing me to adjust to his girth. Soothing me with a stroke of his thumb. With the weight of him between my lips.
I relax around him, wanting him despite having my common sense scream at me otherwise.
“That’s a good patient. All better. All clean. You’re doing so well. I’d”—he rocks his hips, once—“fuck, do anything for you.”
He has to be insane. There has to be something fundamentally wrong with him.
My breasts swell. My aching center clenches. I’m just as depraved. As broken.
I drool and moan each time he hits the back of my throat. Relax for him with every praise.
